“What? What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You brokemyheart, you dick!” She jams her pointer finger into my chest. “How dare you try to turn this around on me?”
She pokes me again, and I grab her hand to stop her. Crowding closer until we’re almost nose to nose, I stare deep into her hazel eyes, desperate to understand. “How could I break your heart when I didn’t even see you, Rosebud?”
“Because I saw you,” she cries. Her tone is defiant, but there are tears pooling in her eyes.
My stomach gives a lurch, but it’s not the alcohol. “What do you mean, you saw me?” I whisper.
“I saw you kiss her.”
My drunk mind works overtime to understand. And then it hits me. “Oh, Rosebud. No.”
A single tear slips down her cheek. She brushes it off and lifts her chin. “Oh, yes. I wanted to surprise you, so I didn’t tell you we got in a day earlier than planned. I asked around and found out you were going to be at a bonfire, so I showed up.”
My stomach sinks because I know what she’s about to say.
“I was so excited to see you. I was going to tell you that…” She stops herself and shakes her head. “Anyway, it took me a while to find you in the crowd. There were so many people there. You didn’t see me, but I saw you. I saw you kissing some pretty blonde. She had her hands in your hair and this blissed-out look on her face.”
My mind conjures the scene immediately.
I don’t really wantto be here. Indie gets in tomorrow, and all I want is to see her. But my friends dragged me to this bonfire with the promise that it would help the time pass more quickly. If I went out and had some fun, I wouldn’t spend the night moping in my room.
They were sort of right. I’m having enough fun to keep me here and laughing, but it hasn’t pulled my mind away from my best friend and the girl I’m in love with. Even as I stand around and joke with my friends, part of me is going over my plan to confess my feelings.
I’m going to pack a picnic. We’ll sit on the beach under the moonlight, and I’ll tell her that I’m in love with her. That no one understands me the way she does, and I can’t imagine my life without her. That with her, I feel free. There’s no pressure to be the best, no expectations of greatness, and no nagging sense of duty to work my ass off and make something of myself.
When Indie looks at me, the world falls away and I’m able to simply enjoy life. And I think she’s able to do the same withme. We complement each other perfectly, and no one knows me better than she does.
The bottle of beer in my hand sweats in the summer heat, beads of condensation dripping onto my skin. It barely works to cool me off, thanks to the summer temperatures and the heat of the bonfire to my right.
“So what are your plans this summer?” my friend Brandon asks.
We’re standing in a group with a few guys from our graduating class and Carrie, who tried all year to get my attention, much to my dismay. I thought she’d gotten the hint that I’m not interested, but with the way she’s inching closer and closer to me and laughing way too loud at everything I say, I’m worried that isn’t the case.
“Mostly hanging out with Indie,” I tell him. The guys know all about Indigo. They all encouraged me to man up and tell her how I feel, and they’re rooting for us.
“That’s cool, man. You still gonna ask her to go to the draft with you?”
“The draft?” Carrie perks right up at that.
Despite the fact that most hockey players are absolute assholes, there are plenty of women who want to be with one because they think it will net them a cushy life or some notoriety. In reality, it’s a lot of uncertainty, a lot of time apart, and it usually doesn’t mean a whole lot of money unless you’re a major player. And there’s certainly no guarantee I’ll get to that point. Hell, even if I go first in the draft, it doesn’t mean I’ll end up playing in the NHL.
Carrie’s nice enough, but her interest in me is shallow. She thinks I’m nice, sure, but I know it has as much or more to do with the way I look and the possibility that I could be someone. She’s not Indie. Indie doesn’t care who I could be. She cares about who I am.
“Uh, yeah. End of June.”
“Oh my god, that’s so exciting,” she says, placing her hand on my forearm. It makes my skin crawl, but I don’t want to embarrass her, so I don’t immediately jerk my arm away like instinct demands. She bats her eyelashes at me, offering a coy smile that makes me frown. “I have no doubt you’ll go in the first round.”
“You never know. They could pass me up altogether.”
Carrie throws her head back and laughs as though I’ve said something funny. God, that’s embarrassing for her.
“They won’t, silly. But just in case, how about a kiss for good luck?”
Before I can wrap my head around what she said, she goes up on her toes, wraps her arms around my neck, and presses her open mouth to mine. Her breath tastes like beer and the cigarette she smoked half an hour ago. My stomach roils and my heart rebels.
How fucking dare she kiss me? I’ve had plenty of opportunities to kiss pretty girls throughout high school, but I never have. Because I was waiting to kiss Indie. And Carrie just took that from both of us.
