Page 23 of The Best Kind of Forever
Unbridled fury rises in her like bubbles in champagne. “Were you ghosting me or something? Did you think you could get away with lying to me because you never intended to talk to me again?”
I gently tip her chin up so I can meet her eyes, and my heart goes all slippery, wanting to jump out of my body and land in her arms. “No, Aeris. That wasn’t my intention at all. I was so busy with practice I haven’t had a moment to text you, but you haven’t left my mind.”
“How can I trust you?”
“I don’t know, but I promise, no more secrets.”
Another fucking lie.
“No more secrets,” she parrots.
I honestly wasn’t expecting her to give me a second chance, but I needed that fucking kick, because it’s shown me just how high the stakes are now.
A sigh billows from her chapped lips, and either her anger’s been snuffed out or the cold has finally gotten to her, because she nuzzles into the bulk of my arms. That fragrant lavender and strawberry mix of hers engulfs me, pulling me back to the night I met her.
I can barely hear my own breath over the blood pistoling through my ears. I need to go through with the plan. Ask her out, dumbass. The sooner we play it up for the cameras, the sooner I can get back to my former life before everything went downhill.
Even though I know this is all fake, this feeling is foreign to me…thisnervousness. I only get nervous before a game. I don’t get nervous around women.
I continue to hold her in my arms, and I will my words to shoot out of me and construct themselves into a sentence. “I wanted to ask you out. Properly. On a date,” I mumble against the crown of her head.
Aeris pulls back slightly, moistening her bottom lip. God, what I wouldn’t give to have her tongue in my mouth again right now, tracing the inside of my cheek, running along the blunt edges of my teeth. I remember how life-changing that kiss was. Hell, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since.
“A date?”
“A date,” I repeat confidently. “You. Me. Maybe some handholding.”
I can tell she’s intrigued, but there’s also a part of her that’s wary, and I don’t blame her. I lied to her, then ghosted her. I was an asshole. And I’m still technically lying to her.
I don’t know how long I’m waiting for her to answer, but it feels like I have to swallow each everlasting second.
She steals a few glimpses at me, then eventually gives me a nod that diffuses the tension in my shoulders.
“I’d love to go on a date with you,” she finishes.
I hold her face in my hands, brushing my nose with hers, my parted lips mere inches away from slanting over her pretty mouth. Our breaths mingle, and I can smell the mintiness on her tongue, like she’d popped a piece of gum halfway through the game.
I want to kiss her. And judging by the heavy pants racking her chest, I know she wants this just as badly as I do.
But my self-restraint must be at an all-time high because I don’t kiss her. I pull away the minute she leans in, and it’s not because I want to be a tease. It’s because I’m afraid what will happen if I lose myself in her.
“I’ll pick you up at seven tomorrow.”
11
THE FUTURE’S NEVER LOOKED SO GOOD
AERIS
My pulse is off the charts, and I’m sweating so much that I can feel it seep into every pore. If I wasn’t wearing a dress, I would have major pit stains. My stomach’s been a mess all day, so I haven’t been able to eat anything. I’ve only been in heels for five minutes, but my feet are already starting to ache. Maybe this was a bad idea.
After Hayes dropped that nuclear-sized truth bomb on me, I did some digging on him. He got drafted to the Reapers when he was a senior in college, and according to some fan sites, he’s been playing hockey since he was eight, he’s allergic to shellfish, and his birthday is on November twelfth.
There were also some…interesting headlines that I came across. Headlines about Hayes’ love life. Look, I know we’re not together, and whateverthisis may not even evolve into anything. But I can’t help but think about all the beautiful women who are constantly around him.
I glance down at my phone to check the time, and as soon as the digital six turns into a seven, there’s a knock at my door. Punctual. He’s punctual. That’s an attractive quality.
Modulating my breathing like pregnant women do when they’re in labor, I smooth the nonexistent wrinkles in my dress. I’m wearing a tight, red dress that zips up the middle and hugs every little lump and curve. The neckline is sinfully low, allowing my breasts to strain against the fabric. My hair is knotted into an elegant updo, little wisps curling down the length of my face, and I’ve woven some gemmy bobby pins throughout the strands. It took me three YouTube tutorials and a whole can of hairspray to get my hair to stay in place.
