Page 46 of Taking It To Overtime
This is Robbie Oakes. Her best friend. They’ve been glued at the hip for almost half her life. If she says something…
Well, her mom was kind of right—even if she’ll die before she ever admits it—it is pretty obvious when a boy likes someone. Unfortunately, her mom never went over the differences between liking someone just as friends and liking themmore. Jenni said boys are mean when they like someone, but she just can’t see Robbie being mean to anyone. Not unless they deserve it.
She rolls her eyes. “I was being serious, Robbie.”
He shakes the water off like a dog and she shrieks as the cold droplets hit her skin. “So was I. My shorts are all wet now, Vera.”
The grumble is half-hearted, said through the curve of his smile, and she’s teasing him back, not thinking about her words until they hang in the air between them.
“Don’t whine. You could just take them off.”
Her blush is fast and hot, staining her cheeks crimson as she darts her eyes away from his. She doesn’t know what would be worse, if he laughs about it—aka at her—or if he’s grossed out about it. She’s known about sex, at least the bare mechanics of it, since fifth grade health class. Some of the finer details were filled in over the last few years, thanks to an assortment of discreetly covered books.
But as much as she might talk a big game with other girls and might laugh at the dirty jokes she isn’t sure she fully understands, she really didn’t mean any sort of innuendo. She’s spent many summers stripping down to her tank top and undies to splash in this creek with Robbie, Vic, and Erik. It never bothered her, or them. Why would it when underwear arguably covered more than the bathing suit she’d talked her mom into buying? The teal two-piece with the sequins?
She squeezes her eyes shut, willing the blush to fade. She’s pretty sure she’s stuck, her burning cheeks getting hotter and hotter the more she thinks about how easy she is to fluster. Robbie says nothing, and she’s afraid to look at him, afraid she gave herself away, afraid she’s overreacting.Thisis the reason crushes are stupid, and why her mom told her dating could wait. Her brain has completely left the building, checked out and boarded a one-way, red-eye flight the hell out of here. The CIA should recruit her for the way she reads into and decodes every word, every look, every move Robbie makes.
It would be embarrassing if it wasn’t Robbie. God, someday she’ll either get over him and will laugh at the idiot she made of herself once upon a time,orshe’ll marry him. Maybe in the little grove down beyond the cow pond. With the mushroom rings her mom used to always point out.
“Stay on the path, Vera. If you step in a circle, the fairy folk will come to take you away.”
Vera would never admit that she’d stepped both feet right inside the biggest one last fall. She even gave the fairies a good thirty seconds, but no one showed up to take her away. She still had to go home and do her science homework.
It’s the plop that gets her attention. It’s the same sound the wet towels make when she drops them on her bathroom floor. She peeks out of the corner of her eye and there is Robbie, stripping his soggy shirt over his head and dropping it on top of his wet shorts.
There’s hair.
On his chest.
And a small line dipping into the waist of his palm-tree printed boxers.
Her throat is so dry it takes three tries to swallow, and even then it’s almost painful as the muscles contract. Painful and hot. The heat is simmering in the base of her belly too, right at the dip below her navel. She presses her hand there, against the waistband of her shorts, feeling the sweat break out along her arms and down the back of her neck.
It’s only the end of September. When did she last see him shirtless? Didn’t they go to the water park just last month? Had he looked like that? With the hair? Then? Or had she spent most of the day sneaking looks from under her lashes because she’d rather throw herself off the top of the slingshot water slide than get caught ogling her best friend?
“So if you get the role, will you have to skip more games?” He ducks his chin, his smile sheepish. “Because I’ll help you. You’re going to get it—no question—but I like when you come watch me play.”
She doesn’t have the heart to tell him his new coach had been pretty adamant about hernotattending practices this season. Not if she wants Robbie’s focus on the ice and on his game. And she wants that, she does. His dream is the NHL, and the onlyway to get there is to by being one of the best. To bethebest. Her presence at the rink has neverseemedto throw Robbie off his play, but what would she know? The three hellions taught her every hockey fact she knows against her will.
She rolls her eyes. “I’ll still come watch you play. Honest.” But maybe just games. With her parents.
“They’re finalizing the starting line this week. Cross your fingers for me?”
He won’t need luck. She might have missed practice this morning, but he and the twins are unstoppable. Only an idiot would separate them, especially in the travel leagues. Those kids and coaches do not mess around.
“Always.” She crosses her middle fingers over her pointers, then works her ring fingers over her pinkies before crossing her arms like a giant letter X. “See? Everything’s crossed for all the luck.”
“This is why you’re my favorite.” He grins.
Her heart feels like it might explode like fireworks on the Fourth of July. Combusting into tiny particles that blow away on the wind.
“Should I cross all my fingers for you, too?” His brows pinch together as he frowns down at his hands. “I’m not sure mine move like yours, though.”
Probably not. He’s broken and sprained a few of them during games and practice. She doubts they’re as flexible as they used to be. That’s a thing, right?
“Don’t worry,” she tells him, “I don’t need your fingers. I have these.”
She stoops down to scoop up a handful of her flat stones. They’re heavy in her hand, smooth against her palm, and warm from the sun. Robbie frowns, his head tilting to the side.
