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Prologue
(a game of proximity…)
She stands right next to me.
She’s not flirting with me. I’m sure as fuck not flirting with her. I’m not sure I understand the concept of flirting for the most part. I’m not in the business of making anyone giggle just to see their smile or hear them laugh.
Probably ten feet in front of us is her boyfriend.
He’s got his shirt pulled from the back up over his head, covering his face.
There’s some other asshole jock across from him doing the same thing.
This is what these morons do.
To them, they’re hilarious.
Let’s get drunk and pull our shirts over our faces and then fight each other. Real punches and all!
I don’t know why I’m standing here watching this.
Oh, yeah, now I remember.
Because of her.
The one standing next to me.
The one I just said I’m not flirting with. The one I will never flirt with because I don’t flirt.
I mentally pat myself on the back for telling a smooth lie like that.
I begin the mental countdown from ten. When I hit zero, I’m bouncing. This party sucks anyway. Sometimes these college things just don’t work for me. It’s hard to explain. Maybe I’m an old soul. Or maybe I’m just miserable, waiting for the call that I can leave PU and hit the pros. I’m not big on the university loyalty like some of the others. I’m not going to go flaunt Puckford Pirates gear or tattoo my chest or anything like that.
In my mind, I’m down to four.
That’s when she sighs and starts to turn.
Her left hand brushes against my right hand.
Without hesitation - like a fucking Venus flytrap to some helpless prey - I grab for her hand.
I feel her pull, then stop.
Her inaudible gasp moves through her body, including her hand.
That’s right, honey. I’ll hold your hand in front of your boyfriend. Do you think I care?
I turn my head and glance down.
She’s staring up at me. The centers of her cheeks are bright red with perfect circles. I’ve unlocked a little bit of a fantasy here for her. Being touched in front of her moron boyfriend. Someone stealing her attention while her boyfriend has a shirt over his head, throwing punches.
That guy is drunk and would rather mess around with another drunk guy.
I’m sober and I could not give one fuck about anyone else in the world right now, except her.
There’s no need to speak either.
I release my hold on her hand and she hurries away.
