I shook my head, putting a kibosh on that train of thought. I wasn’t looking for his approval or acceptance or admiration.
Again, my best intentions at convincing myself were futile.
Despite Miss Ribbons and her pom-pom brigade’s present ra-ra-ra number, it couldn’t compete with the dark-haired man sitting quietly in the front row for my attention. I wasn’t the only one who felt the same way, either. There were five sets of eyes ogling him, and that was just within the ten foot radius around him I scanned.
The auditorium was erupting with noise, but I could still hear the squeak my sneakers made as I headed towards him. He didn’t notice me at first. He looked deep in thought, like the most practiced Buddhist in meditation.
I stopped a few feet off to the side of him, waiting for him to acknowledge me so I wouldn’t be forced to break the ice—knowing me, I’d go crashing right through and drown.
Still the thoughtful expression, as if he was lifetimes away from the cornucopia of noise.
“Hey,” I said unsurely, biting my lip.
His lids fell, revealing eyes that were back in the present time when they reopened. He sat up straighter, first looking surprised, before his smile turned into one I was getting quite familiar with—two parts smug to one part mischief. It was enraging and enthralling.
“Couldn’t stay away, huh?”
Despite being desperate to apologize for my childish behavior, I was ready to turn around and leave if this was the way things were going to be. Dominant side be darned.
He raised his eyebrows, waiting.
“I can go if you like,” I said in my don’t-push-me voice, twisting my head over my shoulder to eye the exit.
“No,” he rose to a stand, reaching for my forearm.
His fingers circled it, and whether he realized it—I’m sure he didn’t—this was the first time he’d touched me, the first time our skin had connected, and it was just that, a connection. From each ring of the five fingers wreathed around my arm, an energy that was as electric as it was intimate, streamed into me.
That connection opened a portal, one that was difficult, if not impossible, to explain, but I could almost feel our fates lacing around one another, cinching together so tight you could no longer tell which one was mine and which one was his. I could feel his emotions—peaceful, excited, warm—and I wondered if he could feel mine.
That terrified me, because before this touch, I could keep him at bay, not allowing him into the triumphs and tragedies that made me who I was, but if something inside me was unveiling to him as his was to me, I could no longer keep my secrets hidden.
My arm snapped away, and the energy zapping through every fiber of me died.
This time when he smiled, it looked right, genuine. It curled up the corners of his eyes and created a flat plane over his forehead.
“Please don’t go,” he said, motioning to a section of bench that would have barely fit a toddler. “Stay,” he added, when I didn’t respond right away.
I was still trying to figure out what the heck was happening. A few seconds had passed, and by all appearance’s sake, nothing had changed between us, but everything felt different . . . was different.
I took a seat, squeezing tight into the guy beside me, doing my best to make space for William.
“Tight quarters,” I said, clearing my throat as he slid next to me. More energy sparking like a fallen power line between us.
His thigh pressed against me pushed at mine gently. “I don’t mind if you don’t.” His tone was different now too, no hint of swagger left. It was soft and sweet, only further confirming he’d felt something earlier, but what, and how much, I didn’t know.
The referee spilling out of his uniform in front of us blew his whistle like he was announcing the second coming, shifting my attention to the game. OSU had possession and three minutes to make the comeback of a lifetime. My math oriented mind estimated they’d have to make a three pointer every ten seconds to tie it up, so they were as likely to win this game as I was to win the man watching me from the corners of his eyes to my right.
I’d stalled for long enough, and he was waiting, somehow knowing why I’d come looking for him. “I’m sorry for the way I acted back there,” I began, the words coming easier than I’d anticipated. “You didn’t deserve it, and I don’t know you well enough to be making those kind of judgments.”
He waved his hand as if he was dismissing it all away. “Forget about it. I did deserve it, but there’s one thing I have to know.”
Feeling generous, I asked, “What’s that?”
“Do you want to know me better?” I could hear the grin in his voice, and before I could roll my eyes, he elbowed me.
I crossed my arms, but there was no seriousness in it.
“Sorry,” he said, leaning into me. “I promise. No more teasing for tonight.”
That was unlikely. “We’ll see,” I said, turning my attention back to the game—for nothing more than a distraction—in time to see someone sink a shot several feet behind the three-point line.
The crowd exploded, hollering and stomping the metal bleachers. I didn’t recognize the hero of the moment until he spun around and loped down the court. Paul looked right at me, as if he knew exactly where I was, and pointed his index finger in my direction. His winked before turning his attention back to the player he was guarding on the opposing team.
I didn’t have time to explain this odd demonstration away before William spoke up, “You’re one to accuse me for playing with people’s hearts.”
I looked over at him, waiting for a clarification.
“He likes you,” he said, repeating my words.
I nearly choked. “Right,” I said, dragging the word out. “He was pointing at the girl in front of me.”
William looked pointedly in front of us. “In case you didn’t notice. There’s no one in front of us,” he finished, sweeping his eyes up and down the court in a dramatic way.
I followed his loaded gaze, no one in front of me, not even a cheerleader to explain away Paul’s grandiose gesture. So there was some other conclusion, but certainly not the one William had leapt to.
“Whatever,” I said, wincing at my cliché choice of responses. “Guys like him don’t like girls like me.”
The other team sunk two free throws before he responded, “What do you mean?”
“You know,” I said, irritated he was playing ignorant so I’d have to explain the obvious.
“I don’t,” he said, shaking his head. “Would you go out with him if he asked you?”
“He wouldn’t,” I answered immediately.
“If he did,” he replied, with an edge that was both hard and delicate. “Would you want to?”
I counted to ten silently, to make it seem I was considering my response, despite having an instant answer for him. It was unsettling knowing he was the reason for the immediate certainty.
Stronger girls hadn’t come back from these kinds of heartbreaks—I knew I needed to be careful. “I don’t think so,” I said slowly, as if my answer was unsure—open to change.
“Don’t think so,” he repeated, his eyes narrowing. “Why?”
“You’ll laugh.”
“I won’t,” he said, and for whatever reason, I believed him.
I forced my mouth to form the words, although it felt as unnatural as breathing under water. “I believe there’s got to be a spark, something big that happens when you meet the one you’re suppose to be with so there’s no way you can question it,” I was whispering, barely loud enough for my own ears to register, but from the tilt of his brow, I knew he was hearing every word the silly little girl inside of me was spilling out. “That didn’t happen with him. Why should I waste my time if he’s not the one?”
A part of me wanted to cringe, for admitting this to him, but another part wanted to jump up and run laps around the auditorium from the freedom of bearing myself to someone. Feeling nak*d in the most intimate way.
William didn’t have an immediate answer for me, as he had on just about every occasion. Paul made a smooth lay-in, closing the point gap—but it was only going to cut down on the embarrassment at this point. There was no coming back from this.
“Perhaps because he’s popular, handsome, a catch in the world of woman.”
His popularity was evident from the chortling fans behind us. Handsome? I suppose in the conventional, obvious way. A catch? I could see how he would be for some—for most—but something I was trying to suffocate within, bubbled to the surface, and I knew that he and every other man from this day on would be second rate thanks to the one sitting next to me who put a whole new spin on first rate.
“I don’t work that way,” I understated. “I want to be with one person forever. I don’t want to date my way through guys until I’ve forgotten just what I was looking for in the first place and end up settling for the next one that comes along.”
I knew how ridiculous I sounded, as if I had the beauty, wealth and status of a Hollywood starlet, and the options of men to go with it. I knew I was nothing more than Bryn, ordinary at best, odd at worst, but I was through silencing my inner voice. I’d done it long enough.
“What did you feel when you saw me?” he asked, drawing out each syllable as if waiting for the call from the executioner.
I glued my lips together so the answer on the tip of my tongue wouldn’t slip out.
A slow smile formed when I waited too long to answer.
“Not that,” I said, knowing I’d said it too fast for him to take it at face value. “Besides,” I added. “You were too busy making me angry.”
“Sparks come from anger—some of the strongest,” he said, sounding like he thought himself an expert on the matter. “Besides, anger is often mistaken for passion. Especially when someone is trying to hide their true feelings for someone.” He wasn’t kind enough to keep the accusation in his voice light.
“There. Weren’t. Sparks.” I hoped I didn’t sound as unconvincing to him as I sounded to myself. “Besides, we have nothing in common.”
“That’s not true,” he said, right before the buzzer went off, announcing the end of the game where OSU had gained enough ground back they could walk off the court with their heads only partially hung. “We both go to OSU, drive old cars, like basketball,” he listed off, as if he was trying to convince himself of our likeness. “And we both only want to be with one person,” he paused, his Adam’s apple dropping before continuing, “and sparks. We both believe in good old-fashioned sparks.”
His words expressed vulnerability, but it was his expression that screamed it, as if the mask he wore when I first met him, was just that, and the man he truly was was sitting next to me. There was something desperate about it, and incredibly appealing. As if he needed to be any more appealing.
I needed to get out of here and put some distance between us, fearing my sarcasm and self-deprecation were running out. “It’s my bedtime.” I rose to a stand, immediately missing the weight of his body pressed up to mine. “It was nice chatting with you without any explosions.”