Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Len
Most people wouldn’t care who my dad was, but to not tell Zaiah would’ve been a chink in our armor. If there is an us.
God, I want there to be an us.
I step out of the car, and he rushes over with an umbrella so I’m not pelted by the cold rain. The arena lights reflect in the puddles as we rush past the parking attendant, laughing when the water splashes up our legs.
“Where are we going again?”
“Will call,” I shriek, and a car passes in front of us. We narrowly avoid being doused head to toe in water. “Holy shit.”
“Close one.” He places his hand on the small of my back and leads me across the now-clear road as we head toward the main entrance. A bunch of others have shown up last minute and are doing the same. We trudge along behind them and end up under a cement roof so Zaiah can finally lower the umbrella.
“Thank you,” I tell him.
His eyes spark when he looks at me, and I pray I’m not being a hopeless romantic, finally looking into the gaze of the guy who should’ve been hers all along. I’m obsessed enough to imagine things when they aren’t there.
This past week has been nothing short of amazing. Zaiah sees me. He wasn’t mad that I didn’t tell him face-to-face about her cheating. In fact, he understood. Turns out, we have similar stories about Trish. And it was like looking in a mirror when I told him about my dad and why hockey is such a sore subject.
He got that, too.
The feelings for him that had been growing inside me solidified, anchoring to my bones. I’m so far gone for Zaiah James.
If I’m all wrong about this, it’s going to be devastating. I’m willing to take the leap off the cliff, though. Dive so hard and so fast that I subject my own body to possible injury I may never recover from.
I hand over my ID to the person at will call, and they hand back tickets. A quick peek inside the envelope says Dad was very good to me.
Zaiah’s eyes round as I angle them toward him.
“Am I wrong or is that on the boards?”
“On the boards,” I confirm. His eyes light up, and I laugh. “You know you usually watch games from much closer, right? Like, actually on the ice.”
He bumps his shoulder into mine. “But I don’t get to enjoy them. This is going to be awesome.”
I hand him one of the tickets, and we get them scanned and head inside. The announcer is still introducing the players, the sound reverberating around the stadium like the big man himself is a hockey fan, his booming voice ricocheting off my ribs.
“We didn’t miss puck drop. Come on.”
He takes my hand, sliding his fingers through mine. I already knew watching a hockey game with Zaiah was going to be one of the better experiences I’ve had in a place like this. As of right now, it might be tied with watching him play.
When we get to the lower level, Zaiah leads me down the steps, and I peer up into the suites, wondering which one my father is in. Afterward, we’ll go to dinner. I told him I brought a plus one. Didn’t tell him it was a male, though, so that will be interesting. The first ever time this has happened.
Zaiah holds my seat down, offering up the aisle. This front row allows him to spread out his legs, which is the first thing he does. Immediately, he brings out his phone as I place my bag on the floor and then I’m being dragged up and turned around. “Selfie,” he says, and I have just enough time to take in the fact that he has his arm around my shoulders and our faces are close together before the camera flashes.
“You two look adorable,” a woman with an opposing team’s jersey on coos from the row behind us. “I’ll take a picture if you want?”
“Please,” Zaiah says, handing her his phone.
Butterflies erupt in my stomach. I couldn’t be any more awkward. I’m more nervous about this than when I straddled his hips on the couch and touched myself in front of him.
Zaiah leans down to whisper in my ear, “Put your arm around me, sweetie.”
I do as he says, smiling. The lady takes a few pictures, oohing and aahing. I’m sure it’s all Zaiah. Everyone probably thinks I’m his sister. Or his cousin. Or some sort of platonic friend he’s taken pity on.
She offers up the phone, but before Zaiah grabs it, he kisses my temple. I swallow at the contact, my throat dry like brittle leaves on the ground in winter.
We sit, and Zaiah fiddles on his phone while the players skate onto the ice.
I nudge him. “Tell your sister I say hi.”
He grins back at me. “Tell her yourself.”
At the same time the crowd starts to cheer, I feel a vibration in my bag that rests against my ankle. I lean over, taking my phone out, and my jaw slacks when I read the screen. Zaiah added me to a group chat…with his family.
“You—”
He jumps to his feet, and I quickly peek up as the puck lands on the ice. The game has started, which is entertaining in itself, but my phone keeps vibrating in my hand, and what’s more fascinating to me is each time Zaiah’s family responds.
Mom James: You two!
Dad James: Pair of fine-looking young people.
Iz: I’m dying!!!!
Zaiah’s hot breath hits my ear. “The game’s up here, sweetheart.”
My whole body tingles. “You put me in a group text with your parents.”
“They love you.”
I search his gaze. It’s as grounding as ever, but at the same time, it makes me soar right out of the building. I’m on a cloud, watching this from afar, or on a couch salivating over this scene in a movie.
This is not my life.
His lips peel into another grin. “Are you okay?”
I nod. “Having a little trouble breathing.”
“Here. I’ll resuscitate you.”
Zaiah leans over, his lips moving closer and closer. I watch them until my lids flutter closed. His lips take possession of mine, working over me. Sure, I’m kissing back, but I’m enthralled and dazed, caught in a spell of Zaiah’s own doing.
He could rule kingdoms with these lips.
He pulls away, and I’m sure I look like a goober, but my eyes stay closed, savoring the moment. His fingers drag over mine, sinking between them until we’re holding hands, his large palm sitting on top of mine against my thigh.
Without looking at him, I scoot closer and only open my eyes when I’m facing the ice again, in time for someone to get checked into the boards right in front of us. To our left, the people stand, slamming their palms on the glass, but Zaiah and I stay right where we are. Together.
The first period passes like a fairy tale. The longer the game stretches, the more comfortable I am. I’m able to enjoy the game with Zaiah, not just be a girl riding high on dopamine hits.
I should do an article about love being a drug. I can’t be the only person who thinks of it this way. Not that I’m in love with him. I don’t think. There must be some scientific explanation for feeling high around someone you care about.
“I’m going to head to concessions. Want anything?”
“Popcorn?”
He nods, kissing my forehead. After he’s disappeared, I take out my phone. It would be rude of me to not respond to his family, so I send the score of the game. No less than five texts appear one after the other.
Iz: See any hot players?
Zaiah: Shut your mouth.
Mom James: He didn’t like that. LOL.
Iz: He’s worried Len will run off with a bigger, better player.
My stomach squeezes, but I respond, sending a laughing emoji. It’s a safe response. I could be laughing that they’re even thinking that, or I could be laughing along with them. I could also be laughing that I would even do that, which is my true response. There isn’t a bigger, better player than Zaiah.
Zaiah returns soon after I put my phone away. He dangles the popcorn in front of me, but when I go to take it, he sits, moving it out of my grasp. “Explain something to me, pretty girl.”
“What?”
“What does your emoji mean?”
“It’s clearly a laughing emoji. I’m laughing.”
“At what?” His eyes dance.
“Your family.”
He sits back, digging around in my popcorn and throwing a couple pieces into his mouth. “Be more specific.”
I can’t help but smile. “They’re asking weird questions.”
He eats a couple more pieces before looking back at me. “I’ll let you in on a little secret. My family and I have another text thread going, and they’re all dying to know whether we’re a couple. They’re trying to goad you into saying it.”
“Well, what did you tell them?”
“I told them I was taking things slow because you seem to want to go slow.”
He inches nearer, and my gaze drops to his lips. My own buzz with excitement.
“So I hope that emoji meant you find it hilarious that you would ever look at another guy when you’re around me.”
“You think so?” I tease.
“I do because you look like you want to kiss me right now.”
“Ahh!” The lady behind us screams. “You two are on the kiss cam! Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”
I peer up, seeing Zaiah and I on the larger-than-life screen. I analyze it for a few seconds, but then a strong hand grips my chin, moving me to face him again. Then, he lays one on me. His tongue sweeps over mine. It’s not a sweet kiss like other people give when they’re on a Jumbotron bigger than some houses. This is a kiss .
A kiss people write about in literature. The kind of kiss little girls dream of when they fantasize about their Prince Charming.
The crowd erupts. Zaiah lingers, pressing his lips against mine before breaking apart. Everyone around us is in a frenzy. The guy behind Zaiah slaps his shoulder. I don’t dare look back at the screen for fear they’re broadcasting my red face to the entire arena. I’m sure they are.
“I got it on video!” the woman informs us excitedly. “Let me AirDrop it to you.”
Zaiah spins, gladly arranging the video, and I slink down in my chair. “Thank you,” he tells her. “This is great.”
Turning, he thrusts his screen into my face, and I watch the shaky video the lady behind us got of the Jumbotron. Red lips kiss the screen over top of us with the heading Kiss Cam, but you clearly see Zaiah taking control. To my surprise, I’m no slouch. If I were an outsider looking in, we look like a couple in love.
My phone buzzes, and my gaze flicks to Zaiah. “You didn’t.”
“Didn’t what?” His lip twitches.
I scramble to get my phone out and peer at the screen. He did. He sent it to the group text.
“Oh my God.”
“What? They wanted proof that a beautiful, smart girl would ever fall for me. I had to show them.”
“You’re—”
“Handsome. Adorable. Perf—”
“—lying.” I swallow, trying to push down the panic rearing up and failing miserably.
He cups his hand around the back of my head. “It’s time to get out of Len Land and move into reality. Check your phone.”
I tilt my phone as it vibrates with incoming texts.
Iz: I KNEW IT!!!
Mom James: I’m so excited! Lenore, what’s your favorite meal? I’m cooking for you.
Dad James: Really happy for you two.
My stomach squeezes. A smile has somehow forced its way onto my face, and I can’t make it stop. I don’t want to run away with assumptions, though. “Zaiah, your family thinks we’re…”
He waits for me, his gaze locking onto mine, as if pleading for me to say it.
“…together?”
“I hope that’s not a question because you’ll hurt my feelings.”
“It’s just, I’m so different from you.”
His gaze turns hard. “Lenore, you are fucking perfect, so start realizing it. You’re sexy, beautiful, smart as hell. I’m in awe of you. Is all that clear? Did I break into that stubborn brain of yours? Talk bad about yourself again and see what happens.”
“I—”
Leaning over, he whispers, “I plan on showing how I feel a lot more, so get on board. I know you’ll win against that willful brain of yours eventually.”
He hands me my popcorn and places his arm around me. His grip on my arm tightens, and it’s comforting and possessive and sexy as hell. I bite my lip, sinking into his touch.
This might be the most perfect day.