Page 101 of Puck Block

“What the hell are you wearing?” Theo asks.

Emory is laughing from beside Theo, and I can’t help but crack a smile.

I look down to my hockey uniform. “Oh, this old thing?”

Theo looks at me disapprovingly. “Are you ever serious?”

I can be…in certain situations. But this? It’s not one of them. Taytum needs a laugh. I know it because I know her. She’s nervous and cagey, just like she always is before a show, and the fact that her parents aren’t here because they’re trying to save money isn’t helping.

“Listen, I’m here for comedic relief. Take it or leave it.”

Theo sighs and turns to walk into the auditorium. Emory is still chuckling from beside me, and the moment we sit in our seats, I feel a buzz from my phone.

Taytum: Are you kidding me?

Emory is engaged in a conversation with Theo, so I quickly type a text back.

Me: No. And stop texting me while I’m sitting a seat away from your brother, if you’re still holding out on telling him.

I wait impatiently for her to text back while the other seats begin to fill up. My leg bounces up and down as each minute passes without a message, and when the stage lights blink twice, signaling that the show is going to start soon, I stand up.

“What are you doing?” Emory asks.

“Takin’ a piss,” I announce. “Wanna hold my dick?”

An older woman gives me a dirty look, but I ignore her as I shimmy past. Theo shakes his head, so I ignore his silent disapproval and walk up the aisle, garnering looks from random people in the audience at my choice of attire.

I pass by the bathroom and eye the door that leads backstage. Since the show is about to start, no one notices me as I slip inside and head down the dark hallway where dancers are running about.

I spot her at the very end of the hall in her black leotard and wispy skirt that barely covers one of my favorite parts of her body. Her neck lengthens when she raises to her tiptoes to look at something on the stage, and all I want to do is reach up and undo her ballerina bun so her golden locks bounce along her back.

“You don’t like my outfit?” I ask, startling her.

She falls to her flat feet and spins with wide eyes. “Ford! What are you doing back here?”

I shrug. “You stopped texting me.”

Her sweet gasp makes my mouth water. “I’m a little busy!”

I can’t help but grin at her stressed state. Taytum never shows when she’s frazzled or nervous, except with me. “I just wanted to tell you good luck.”

A rustle of tulle and quiet feet catch my attention, and I step back to put space between us. A cluster of ballerinas rush past, all looking at me briefly before Taytum squeezes every one of their hands and tells them good luck.

Once they’re past the threshold of the door and on stage waiting for the lights to shine upon them, she peeks at me and checks me out from head to toe.

“I can’t believe you wore your hockey jersey.” Her arms cross over her tight leo, and I can’t help but watch her lungs expand beneath the material.

“You said to wear something nice. This is the nicest thing I own.”

Her mouth twitches, and I poke her in the side. She laughs and swats my hand away. “You’re stupid.”

“I made you smile, though,” I point out.

Her cheeks are rosy, and I have never felt the way I do when I see her smile. Something comforting settles in my stomach, and my hands beg to pull her in close because it feels wrong not to.

“Go sit down. You’re distracting me.” She brushes me away, but I grab onto her hand quickly, and she flies into my chest.

I catch the yelp on her mouth with a quick kiss before backing off so no one sees—though I want the entire world to see.

---