Page 36 of Quarterback Crush
The open plan layout of our kitchen, dining and living rooms meant I could call out directions to where the glasses were kept and I could hear the opening of the fridge and the banging of cupboard doors. Meantime, feeling like an undercover agent, I took snaps of Oliver’s candy jar and sent it to my friends. Sammy would be working but Paige and Evie immediately replied with a range of emojis from shocked and wide-eyed to heart eyes. My cheeks had cooled down by the time Oliver returned with two glasses of orange juice and I’d opened the jar of candy, though it felt criminal to spoil it.
He sat down, not at the end of the couch, but closer, right next to me. I gulped as he handed me the glass, our fingers brushing together. As he leaned back, his elbow touched mine, not accidentally but like he was nestling next to me, acting like my boyfriend. And yet there was no one to witness it. Mom had gone back to her desk and Dad still wasn’t home.
“How did the party go?” I asked, taking a small sip of juice.
“It was good, but I didn’t stay late,” Oliver said, taking my glass and setting it down on the coffee table.
“Why not?”
“I was pretty beat after the game. I got hit pretty decent a few times.”
I immediately sat straighter, full of concern “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m good, I’ll survive.” And with a grin and a nudge, “I came out better than you did.”
I gaped, slowing nodding as I said, “Uh huh, you’re rubbing it in, aren’t you?” I tried to suppress my giggle and project utter exasperation. “You played a full game and you’re fine, and I had one stupid fall and I’m a mess.” I pulled the blanket off of myextended leg to reveal the ice pack on my foot. “AndI’m going to miss the final.”
Oliver’s smile was apologetic and adorable at the same time and I wanted to grab his cheeks and kiss that smirking face of his. Oh boy, I really did. I wanted to run my hands through his hair and taste his lips and tell him how amazing he was—for real.
But I didn’t because I remembered he was my fake boyfriend.
My heart thumped hard and fast in my chest, paralyzing me for a second. For a moment I was lost in my own insanity, and then Oliver’s fingers grazed my chin, a whisper of a touch that triggered every nerve ending in my body, bringing me to my senses while making me senseless.
“You’ll be there,” he said in a soft voice, his breath a feather across my cheeks. “I need you there. You’re my good luck charm, Maya.” His lips pressed against mine lightly, nothing more than a tease.
“I am?” I was reduced to a quivering, trembling wreck, my ankle pain forgotten, my role of fake girlfriend also forgotten as I leaned into Oliver, defying him to end the kiss.
Oliver needed no further encouragement. In a split second, his arm was around me and we were holding one another, Rose and Jack on the bow of the Titanic (yes, I’d rewatched that movie earlier that morning.) I was firmly seated on our beige colored couch with my leg up on the ottoman, butI was flying!
I was flying, dreaming, in heaven.
The rattle of the front door brought me back to earth, Oliver too if the speed in which his arms and his lips abandoned me was anything to go by. The heavy footsteps could only belong to Dad and when he appeared in the living room, Oliver and I were sitting ramrod straight as if we were practicing a yoga pose.
“Oh! Hello Oliver!” Dad chirped. “I wondered whose car that was out the front. Great game last night.”
“Thanks, Mr. Shelton.” Oliver rose to his feet and Dad shook his hand heartily before putting a hand on his shoulder, like he wanted to give him a bro hug.
“Super game, I tell you, they were tricky conditions.” Dad rambled on, praising Oliver for his leadership, skill and smart gameplay. Like he was his number one fan.
“Thank you, Mr. Shelton,” Oliver said numerous times.
The conversation continued and it wasn’t long till Dad said the words that struck horror in my heart. “Now, back in junior high when I was quarterback...”
To his credit, Oliver listened and commented without sounding bored and when Dad mentioned his high school discus record, Oliver winked at me.
“That’s amazing, Mr. Shelton. Totally cool.”
“Look, here it is,” Dad said, nearly tripping over the coffee table to get to the bookshelf. He proudly handed Oliver the trophy, the small plaque barely hanging on.
“Dad, it’s an ancient relic,” I cried in embarrassment. “What do you want Oliver to do, dust it for you?”
Oliver gently blew on it and a layer of dust floated into the air. We all laughed and Dad sheepishly took the trophy back.
But he was undeterred. “How about we watch a replay of the game? Sweetie, you wanted to see it, Ollie, you in?”
I cringed. Dad was now calling himOllieand suggesting we all hang out and watch the game!
Sure Oliver would make an excuse to leave, he instead plonked himself back down on the couch next to me and said, “Sounds good, Mr. S, I’m in.” And he squeezed my knee and grinned.
