But I need to ask you a question without you laughingat me.
Hockey Boy:
Good thing you can’t hear me laugh over a text
Me:
k bye.
Hockey Boy:
TOTS! I know where you live
Don’t make me drive over there right now…
Me:
Maybe I shouldn’t ask anymore...
Hockey Boy:
Please
I won’t laugh.
I promise.
Me:
Did I kiss you ok?
Hockey Boy:
Are you asking me to rate you?
Me:
Nevermind. Good night.
Hockey Boy:
23.
Good night, gorgeous
***
Iwon’t be looking at another woman. No one touches you except me.
Cal’s declaration continues to play in my head like the refrain of a song I’m obsessed with and listening to eighty-nine times in a row. The only difference is a song eventually loses its hold and the endorphins taper off.
I don’t think I will ever come down from the high of what Cal said.
Between that, and him rating my kiss, which I’ve finally connected to his jersey number, my heart booms like a battering ram against my innocent ribcage.
All I have done for the past ten hours, since he put his massive hand on my back and returned me to the party, is reminisce about our interaction and dice it seventeen ways to Sunday. I was lucky no one realized we’d gone missing for a good half hour because it was all I could do to not scream that I’d kissed a boy.
And what a kiss it was! I was boneless with pleasure, my mind wrapped in a delicious fog of his woodsy-vanilla scent and the addicting chafe of his stubble brushing my chin. Every single minute since then, my body has buzzed like I’m an addict experiencing the highest of highs on a never-ending loop. At this rate, I’m going to pass out from an arrhythmia and my only regret would be not kissing Cal again before dying.