But then, she giggles. And it’s the sweetest fucking sound I’ve heard apart from the buzzer when I score.
I break into a relieved grin. I cantotallybe around her without ruining this with sex. Hell, I’m overdue for a new friend.
Her eyes crinkle at the sides, and her face flushes. I want her to keep riding this wave of happiness.
“Are you laughing? At me?”
“Wouldn’t dare,” she says, trying valiantly to hold back her chuckles.
I gasp, bringing a hand to my chest, drawing upon my minimal acting chops from that one Shakespearean school play I participated in.
“My fragile masculinity can’t handle not being adored by you.”
Okay, so maybe I’m the kind of friend who flirts with her. No big deal. We’re both two attractive individuals with working eyes. Flirting is natural and healthy. We still have our clothes on so, technically,I’m already winning at this whole friendship-with-the-opposite-sex thing.
“Sorry to disappoint,” she gurgles, giving up all pretense.
“Easy fix: say you adore me.”
“Callum.” Her voice is light and her lips twitch. I lean in, incapable of staying away, giving her my best puppy-dog eyes.
“Say it,” I cajole. She shakes her head, like she’s lost a battle I was unaware she was fighting. Her gaze softens, her lips gentling into a shy curve which mesmerizes me.
“I adore you.”
My heart pounds fiercely against my ribcage like an absolute fucking fool.
“See? Was that so hard to admit?” I tease, nowhere near as unbothered as I sound. My body is straining to hide its reaction to those words while my mind cautions me.
She is a friend.Onlya friend. One who is beautiful and vulnerable. I have no business imagining what her laugh would feel like against my mouth.
“Not hard at all,” she concedes, her admission doing nothing to quell my interest.
And damn if that isn’t terrifying.
13
ALIA
Me:
Has anyone ever asked you to rate them on a scale of 1 to 10?
Hockey Boy:
You’re 11. Maybe 12.
Scratch that. 23.
Istare at my phone with the same amount of surprise as my grandmother did when she saw wireless earbuds the first time. The hour is late and I’m alone, overthinking my date from earlier, which has of course driven my anxiety up the wall.
I cringe when I recall making a silly joke, only to be stared at like my IQ was in the single digits. It became harder stillwhen the guy whipped out a list of questions for me to answer, making me feel like I was being interviewed for my potential as his future wife. I shudder.
Hockey Boy:
Was my answer not to your liking?
I rest against the plush cushion on my couch, fingers flying as I type a response.