She nods. “I know. I told Nick that he shouldn’t go—that he’d look like a stalker.”
“Well, okay, valid concern.”
We both laugh a little but then she resets her grip. Her eyes are just as insistent as her fingers wrapped around mine.
“He made a mistake. Lots of them, actually. And you called him on it. And you were right to. But I’m going to say it again: Standing up for yourself doesn’t mean walking away. From that cute boy or those gross-ass shoulder pads.” Her eyes flash to mine. “Go back to him. Try again.”
There’s a settling to the corner of her mouth and her focus sharpens, the same winner’s smirk that slides in place as she steps into the batter’s box, smashes a kill, or snags a rebound. It’s at once beautiful and terrifying, the definition of badass.
Maybe it’s that look of hers. Maybe it’s the idea of Grey shrinking inside himself. Maybe it’s that I needed her to say the words twice for them to really sink in—Standing up for yourself doesn’t mean walking away—but my heart slows from frantic to confident, my vision clears, my breath and gut and blood all working in rhythmic synergy.
I can see Grey’s face so clearly. The truth in it. The way he feels about me.
I made a mistake, a huge one.
His mistakes weren’t any worse than mine. I lied by omission to people I care about, too, from day one.
In truth, we’re both our own biggest hurdles. And forgiveness isn’t something that comes easily to either of us.
But I can forgive him.
I know what I’m going to do: exactly what I would’ve done last year—stick my chin in the air and go after what I want.
And I want Grey.
Saturday morning, I arrive to weights early enough that the lights aren’t even on yet. I flip on the fluorescents and sit on the first weight bench, my heart thumping in my throat as I stare through the propped-open door and into the dim hallway.
Boys begin to trickle in ten minutes later. Tate, Topps, Jake. But not Grey. Not yet.
As I wait, my heart thuds past my throat and into my ears, until it feels as if my heart is on the outside, pressing into the room, into the boys. Like it’s so obvious that they all know what I’m going to do, but I don’t care.
I’m going to do it anyway.
Grey appears like a vision in basketball shorts. He’s in a fitted white T-shirt, the color perfectly outlining the cut and curve of his shoulders, chest, and upper arms. Thathalf smile ticks up the corner of his mouth as he makes eye contact. Nick is at his shoulder, Kelly just behind him—clearly they carpooled.
Like everything else, I don’t care. If I start getting distracted by them—by the possible embarrassment—I’ll regret not listening to my heart, my head, my gut.
“I have a question for you,” I say, my voice muffled in my ears by the pounding of my heart. I stand and take a step toward him. Grey stops and Nick skates around him, his hand around his sister’s wrist, pulling her away. Kelly’s head spins toward us anyway, along with everyone else’s.
“Shoot.” His grin stretches, the silence around us, too.
I take a step toward him, close enough that there’s no way he can misread my expression. No crossed signals here. I want what I want and I’d prefer not to ask for it twice. “Homecoming dance. You and me.”
There’s a collective inhale from the crowd as surprise softens the angles of his face. “That wasn’t a question, that was an order.”
“Okay, it’s an order. I am a quarterback, after all.”
The grin widens. “You sure are.”
I tilt my chin to him. “Are you going to answer me or not?”
Grey erases the final distance between us, close enoughthat his knees tap mine, our Nikes bumping together. Even with the eyes of our teammates on us, he dares to touch my face, his strong hands cupping my cheeks, rough thumbs dusting my mouth in the breath before his lips crash into mine. Immediately, I wrap my arms around his waist. The hard planes of his chest conform to my curves, the past days of frustration, awkwardness, sadness, and embarrassment spiraling up and away.
The wolf whistles start, some actual cheers, too, whooping coupled with a few musings I probablyreallydon’t want to hear.
But. I. Don’t. Care.
It’s only by sheer, indoctrinated willpower that I’m able to pull myself out of that kiss.
