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Power Play 7
Oakley
It hurt to witness that whole exchange. I know I’m not pretty, or skinny, or whatever men want these days.
Is it too much to ask just to be liked for who I am?
Not that I want Cashel to like me—at all. But once upon a time we were friends. I miss that. Starting to help him, I did tell myself I didn’t want to let him in. A part of me does, though.
I miss our fights, our hockey games—the ones we used to play in the street. I miss hanging out in the park.
But it seems even after all the memories we have together, I’m nothing to him. I never will be.
Slamming the door in his face felt good. Crying myself to sleep felt good. I let it all out.
This morning I change up my run route, shower and dress for class.
I see him across the quad with his hockey buddies, but I keep walking, not even making eye contact.
I hear my name, but I keep walking, ducking into the nearest building. Keeping to the shadows, I watch as Cashel walks by. When he’s gone, I run the rest of the way to my class. He’s in a different major so I won’t have to see him—hopefully ever again.
When I’m done for the day, I walk home, loving the quiet. I don’t live far; the walk is good for me.
A car pulls up beside me, but it’s not Cashel.
“Get in,” Hunter, one of his hockey buddies commands me.
“I’m not getting in with you,” I retort. He was one of Cashel’s best friends growing up. It was always Hunter, Cashel, Ace, Lenox, and Caleb. And while they were the kings of the school, they were never mean to me.
“Let me take you home,” his reply is softer.
I take a deep breath. “Fine.”
I slide into the seat, buckling the seat belt. He drives slowly down the street, looking lost in thought.
“About Abbie—”
“I don’t care what he does. I just hope that he’s happy in his life.”
He pulls into my parking spot and puts the car in park.
“Do you want to come in?” Better than sitting in the car.
“Sure, thanks.” He lets me lead the way.
I gesture to the couch, offering a beer.
“Can’t drink, game tomorrow.”
“Oh, sorry.” I should have known that.
“It’s fine. I can drink after the game.”
“How are your stats?” I ask him, making small talk. I feel a little weird about him just hanging out.
“They’re good. I’m hoping to have a few scouts come out and watch me,” he replies.
“Well, I’ll cross my fingers for you.”
I go to open the door for him, and he grabs my arm, yanking me to him. I don’t get a chance to ask what’s wrong because he crashes his lips to mine.
What is going on?
I kiss him back, wrapping my arms around his neck, standing on my tippy toes trying to press into him harder.
“I’m not sure what’s going on right now,” I whisper when he breaks the kiss.
I’m so confused.
