She Drives Me Crazy(44)

But it’s not enough for Honey-Belle.

“Oh come on, Irene, put some feeling into it!” she chides. “Your girlfriend destroyed that game! Doesn’t she deserve a kiss?”

Irene looks blindsided. My heart beats harder than it did on the court.

The crowd agrees with Honey-Belle. They’re shouting at Irene to let loose, to show me some love. Danielle is frozen between laughter and shock. Charlotte Pascal looks poisonous.

“For fuck’s sake, Irene!” Honey-Belle screams. “Seize the damn moment!”

Irene turns to me. There’s a challenge in her eyes, but a question, too. It’s like we’re having a wordless conversation, and when I see her eyes flit to my mouth, I know what’s going to happen before it does.

And I don’t stop it.

Irene presses against me, wraps her hand along my neck. I feel it like I’ve never felt anyone’s touch before. All I can see are her dark, blazing eyes, sure and steady, almost defiant.

She pulls me in and kisses me.

Something sparks in my belly, in my chest. Her kiss is gentler than I would have expected, but so firm, too. Her mouth is warm and soft. She tastes slightly of salt.

Irene pulls away and says something to the crowd, but I’m in a daze. My whole body is warm and buzzing.

The only thing my eyes can find is Danielle, standing there with her jaw hanging, and I know she can read the honesty in my face. I look away before she can see it too clearly.

Honey-Belle squeals with delight. She wrangles Irene into a hug that Irene tries to resist. I’m aware of people watching me, and I remember I’m supposed to look happy and in love. I force a smile and pretend like Irene has kissed me like this a hundred times before. Just the thought of that makes my head spin.

When Irene finally catches my eye, there’s something in her expression I haven’t seen before. I want to hold it and turn away from it at the same time. I overemphasize my smile and manage to say I’m getting another drink, but when I turn away I feel her eyes following me.



* * *



For the dozenth time this year, I wish I could go home with anyone else. But tonight, it’s not because I hate her.

It’s because I can no longer deny that I actually like her.

“Ready?” Irene asks, swinging her keys around her finger. It’s a nervous tick that doesn’t fit with her persona at all, and I want to tease her about it, but the words get stuck in my throat.

There’s an unbearable moment of silence when we first slide into her car, but she switches her music on and plays the volume much louder than usual. It’s a terrible song that I’m pretty sure neither one of us actually likes. We both do a lot of throat-clearing and seat-shifting as we wait at the first red light.

It feels weird to say there’s any kind of normal with Irene, but if we were being normal right now, we’d bulldoze through this awkwardness. We’d force the subject of the kiss into life, even if it felt excruciating. We’d give each other shit about how weird we’re both being.

But something has changed. It’s a shift I can feel in the air between us. I want so badly to get back to our usual banter, but my tongue is leaden against my teeth.

It’s not until we’re parked in my driveway that Irene breaks the silence.

“So … that could have been worse.”

I stare at the console. Whatever I thought she might say, it wasn’t that. Was I hoping for something realer?

“I mean,” she continues, taking a breath, “I guess they needed proof at some point, especially after Charlotte’s stupid antics. Plus, Honey-Belle’s thirsty like that.”

“Right.”

The music plays on. The car hums beneath us.

“Um,” Irene says.

I glance expectantly at her. “Yeah?”

She blinks across the space between us. I hate how attractive she looks with her dark eyes and full lips. I hate that it makes my heart flutter.

“You played great tonight,” she says with a half shrug. She’s trying to sound detached, but I hear the tremor in her voice.

“Thanks,” I manage to say.

“Did it feel the way you hoped it would?”

What a question. I fantasized about winning the Christmas Classic a million times, but I never envisioned kissing Irene afterward. And I certainly never imagined I would feel anything kissing her.

“Yeah,” I say breathlessly. “It was great.”

There’s a loaded silence between us. I can’t stand it anymore. “So … see you later,” I say, sliding out of the car. “Thanks for the—the cheering and everything.”

“Goodnight,” she says, trying to find my eyes. “And, you know, good game.”



* * *



It’s after midnight, but my family is still awake. They want to hear more about the game, to tell me every worry and triumph they felt while I was playing, and for a few minutes it successfully distracts me. I bask in the warm routine of the five of us flopped on the couch together, Thora with her sass and Daphne with her giggling and my parents with their cheesy jokes.

But then my mom tells me how pretty Irene looked at the game, and my stomach loop-de-loops in the most surprising way.

“Yeah, she looked nice,” I say vaguely. I try not to feel the echo of her kiss, but my lips are tingling so much I swear they’re probably swelling in place.