“You ready to build another snowman?”
“Because the one we destroyed wasn’t good enough for you?” I laugh, waving my hand toward the snow mound that was Mr. Drippy. The scarf we put around his neck is now half buried in the pile.
“No, he was too soft. We plowed through him like he was powder.”
“You mean you threw me into him!”
“ ‘Throw’ is harsh. I lightly tackled.”
“Sure.”
He turns his head, smiling wide. His face is all frost-nipped and so adorable I want to pull out my phone and take a picture of him.
And because I’m so totally love-sessed, I do.
“What are you doing?” he asks, still keeping his adorable smile in place as I snap a picture. “That’s not going on Facebook, is it?”
I shove my phone back in my waterproof coat pocket and zip it up. “Of course it is! Under the title ‘The Day I Kicked the Quarterback’s Ass.’ ”
Actually, the title in my head is “The Sexiest Smile I’ve Ever Seen,” but I’ll keep that to myself.
He reaches for my phone, which is snuggling in my pocket. I giggle and roll over, snorting my unbelievably embarrassing snort as he pins my arms down with one hand and tugs on my pocket zipper with the other. This is totally happening! I’m in some dream wonderland, but it’s the real deal. Because I’m so pinching myself … well, as much as I can with my hands trapped, and he’s still laughing and sort of lying on top of me. Um, hello! Heaven is where I’m at.
“Damn thing,” he chuckles, still tugging at the zipper on my pocket. I pretend to struggle underneath him like I want to be let loose, but no way in hell am I going to try that hard. “Finally!” he says, digging into my pocket and freeing my phone.
“Don’t delete it!”
He points the phone at me. “Say cheese.”
I shake my head wildly, letting my loose curls cover my face so he won’t get a good shot. But I’m laughing like crazy, and my stomach is jumping up and down so hard I wonder if he can feel it.
“Hold still!” He laughs again, and I secretly clap because I don’t think I’ve ever heard him laugh so much. Even when he’s with Reagan.
I wiggle more, refusing to give him an unblurred shot.
“Okay, fine.” He presses another button, his strong hand still keeping both mine locked above my head. “Tell everyone I owned that snowball fight.”
“You are not recording this, Talon. Stop!”
He shakes his head. “The sooner you admit defeat, the sooner you have your phone back.”
I don’t think I ever want my phone back if he’s going to be on top of me like this.
“Never!”
Oh darn it, he’s letting go of my hands. And major darn it—he’s about to shove a handful of snow in my face!
“Talon, don’t.” Yes, Kayla. He’ll take you oh so seriously with the big-ass smile you have on. “I mean it. You will pay.”
He keeps recording me. I hit his arms, if only to feel those bulging biceps, but of course my pubescent body is no match for the backup quarterback of the California Golden Bears … even if he only warms the bench right now.
The snow inches toward my cheeks and I finally give in. “Fine. You win.”
He clicks the phone off and tucks it back in my pocket. “Damn right I did.” He rolls off me and we lie in the snow, staring at the hazy sky. Ice is melting down my pants and there’s cold sweat everywhere on my hairline, but I don’t move. Staying in the cold with Talon pretty much balances out the heat I feel whenever he’s around.
“Hey, do you want to go throw that football now?” he asks, breathing hard and smiling up to his ears. Oh, I just love him!
“Um …” I know Wesley said to avoid the football thing, but I don’t want to pass up the opportunity to see that butt in action. Then again—as much as I hate to admit it—Wesley has a point. It hasn’t really benefited in terms of getting Talon to see me. I’m sure looking at him, but I need him to see me in action.
But what the hell am I good at?
“Actually, do you want to do something else?”
He turns that sexy face toward me, snow falling from his hair. I could seriously eat him up. “Like what?”
I knew he’d ask that, and I still don’t have an answer. I’m an okay bowler, but I bet he’s better. Though I could ogle his butt there too. Hmm … tempting.
Tempting, but not good enough. Grr … what did Wesley tell me Talon liked that maybe I’m good at?
Oh! I have it.
“You hungry?”
He laughs. “I’m a football player. I’m always hungry.”
“Let’s go whet your appetite, then.” Whoa, sort of came out like a pickup line. But Talon gives me that damn delicious smile and helps me out of the snow. Now let’s hope my dad isn’t using the kitchen.
Dad’s the cook in our family, but I’m not too shabby myself. When I was fourteen I baked cookies every day for Talon and put them in his spirit locker—what they call the players’ regular lockers on game days. Cheer and dance girls usually filled the players’ spirit lockers up with goodies and decorations and stuff, to give them a boost of self-esteem. (As if they needed any more than they already had.) But alas, I was smitten the moment I saw him, so my anonymous donation to his spirit locker consisted of cookies, homemade candy, and lots of bottles of water—“anonymous” being the key word there.
I kept it up all through high school, minus senior year, when I helped Reagan instead of doing it myself. Wesley would always make a big deal out of it, saying the band needed to have some loving before games too. He stole Talon’s donuts once and ate the whole box while I chased him down the hallway throwing streamers at him. I managed to peg him in the back of the head a few times, despite my nonexistent throwing skills.
But I haven’t made anything for Talon since, way too afraid he’d catch on that it was me. I was pretty much invisible to him till he started dating my best friend, so holy embarrassing if he knew I was the one providing him with cookies for four years.
Talon looks super delectable in my dad’s apron—even though it says “Kiss the Chef” right over his crotch. I swiped flour on his cheeks earlier, and he still has some under his left eye. Never in my life have I wanted so much to lick flour.
“I think I’m doing this wrong,” he says, taking me out of my drool show. His pizza dough looks lopsided and super thin in the middle. It’ll last about two seconds in the oven before a hole gets burned right through it.
“Here, let me help.” I reach over, brushing his arm with mine, and sparks shoot everywhere. I may burn the dough before it even touches the oven.
He watches me with mild amusement as I make a show of twirling the dough into a pizza circle. It took me three years to master the art. Even with Talon watching, I rock it, shaky hands and all.
I slap the dough on the flour-covered counter, spraying him with more white powder. He closes his eyes, purses his mouth, and holds his breath as he’s showered.
“Whoops. Sorry about that.” I giggle.
He shakes his hair, making white dust fly everywhere. “Sure you are.” His eyes pop open and I ready myself for a flour fight to go with our snow fight, but he gives me this wide grin instead. “Yeah, you’re much better at this than I am.”
I’m somewhere on cloud nine hundred. “Thanks. Took lots of practice.”
“I’m impressed.” He pokes the edge of the crust, and I smack his hand playfully. “Do you think you’ll be a chef like your dad?”
“Oh no. I’m not that good.”
“Then what do you want to do?”
Out of all the people in my life, I can’t believe he’s the first person to ask me this. I don’t even have a major. When Grace first asked me what it was, I blanked out and went, “Uh …” She just laughed but never pressed it.
“Um, I don’t really know,” I answer, busying myself with the sauce, swirling it around on the dough. “After my generals are done, I think I may try c
ounseling or something. Not like a school counselor, but like a therapist.” It’s pretty much the only thing that’s sounded slightly interesting.
“That’s cool.” He leans his butt against the counter, crossing his arms and watching me smooth the sauce with the back of the spoon. “I think you’d be really good at that, Kayla.”
I drop the spoon, covering the handle in sauce. “Uh … really?”
“Yeah. You’re a good listener.”
Where am I? Somewhere in heaven, I think. Talon thinks I’m a good listener? “Wow, thanks.” My smile won’t disappear as I hand him the cheese grater. “I never really thought seriously about it, but I remember when my mom went through her treatments and stuff, and my dad had us go to family counseling to cope. I really liked our therapist. She helped out a ton.”
His grin kind of flickers, like he’s not sure how to respond. I mentally smack my forehead because I know talking about Mom’s chemo makes people uncomfortable. I didn’t mean to bring it up. It just came out.
“So, are you going to play football your whole life?” I ask, lobbing the subject wildly back at him, along with the brick of cheese I pull from the fridge.
He catches the cheese like Superman, one-handed and kind of behind his back. Damn, so hot! I sigh.
“I hope to, but you know the chances of that happening are pretty small. And even if I do make it to the NFL, one injury can end my career like that.” He snaps his fingers, then goes back to grating cheese. “So I have a few backup plans.”
“Like what?”
“Teaching. Or I guess more like coaching. I wouldn’t mind barking orders from the sidelines at greenies. And also watching them achieve their dreams. Helping them do that, you know?”
Can I marry him? Well, not yet. But when Reagan has happily moved on to Wesley and they’re touring the country or something like that, all famous on account of how amazing their voices are, he’ll be some hot football coach getting Gatorade dumped all over him after winning a championship. My mind goes off to blissful fantasies of a baby on my hip as we go celebrate with Daddy and his amazing team.
“Uh, Kayla?”
“Mmm?”
Talon laughs, and I spring back into the current universe. Whoa, when did he get so close? He’s leaning over me, grin so deliciously tempting, and breath … well, he kind of smells like cheese and sauce, which isn’t too hot, but it’s Talon. So who cares if he has pizza breath? I’m lucky enough to be so close I can smell it.
“Um, excuse me …”
Oh, total space case. I’m standing in front of the fridge and he’s trying to put away the cheese.
“Sorry.”
My face may cause the smoke alarm to go off. I hurry and move, then busy myself with the cheese and toppings. Or topping, since I only got pepperoni. His favorite.
I can feel him watching as I meticulously place each slice, and he reaches over to help me sprinkle cheese on top when I’m done. His manly hands keep brushing mine and I keep sighing like it’s some sort of nervous twitch.
“You know,” he says as I pop the pizza in the oven, “you’re good at a lot of things, Kayla. Maybe not football …” He winks, and I smack him with a hand towel. “But I bet you could be a chef too if you wanted.”
I’m surprised I’m able to speak, given how big my smile is. “Just wait till you actually taste it.”
Damn, Wesley. Maybe food is the way into a man’s heart.
Progress Report: December 19
Best day evah! I’m surprised Talon didn’t get down on one knee after all the magic that happened between us. But I’m sure he didn’t want to call Reagan and break up over the phone. He’s a gentleman, after all.
People may think I’m naive … but no. I’m the opposite. I’m perceptive. I know how to read between the lines.
Evidence that Talon is totally into me:
• Wrestling in the snow (excuse to touch me)
• Complimenting me on my skills (excuse to see me blush—guys so like that)
• Taking pictures of me (excuse to document my oh-so-hotness … okay, I may be stretching that one, but I did look cute in some of those pics)
There’s more, but my brain refuses to focus. It’s filled with hormones right now. I bet my pituitary gland is the size of a hot-air balloon.
There’s only one glitch, but it’s really a bugger. Even though I was up floating in some Talon-induced beautiful universe today, there was this giant elephant standing between us. Even though I know Talon and I belong together, he’s with my best friend. Ugh … I’m a horrible person! I’m flirting and fantasizing with an off-limits hunk of glory.
The thing that is making me feel better? Actually, it’s a person … Wesley. If it wasn’t for him, I’d be calling Reagan right now and apologizing over and over for drooling over her boyfriend. But I guess things are going super well with both of them too. Get this … she calls me and it was Wes this and Wes that. She even asked if I’ve ever noticed how cute he is when he laughs. I sort of exaggerated when I said, “Oh yeah! And his chin dimple pops up and his hazel eyes get kind of squished with laugh lines in the corner, and it’s super adorable when he slaps his knee.” Weird thing is, I didn’t even have to make all that up. Guess I didn’t realize how much I watch him when he laughs. Or maybe it’s because he laughs all the time. Anyway …
Reagan was all, “Yeah! He’s super cute, Kayla. Is it totally bad for me to think my boyfriend’s best friend is kind of hot?”
Then I really went overboard on Wesley. Like it’s okay to think he’s hot because he is. I kept going on and on about his hair and his eyes and his callused fingers and the jacket he wears and how he wears it. Along with other stuff like his guitar playing (which, hello, I’ve made fun of way more than I’ve admired, but Reagan likes it), the fact he works so hard all the time, how he’s always laughing, and how when he gets hurt, he pretends to pull his heart out. I turned everything annoying about him into something irresistible! Maybe theater can be my major.
Only bad thing about having a Wesley conversation before bed? Now I’m picturing his face and not Talon’s. Boo. Maybe I’ll pull out my phone and stare at the beautiful boy, all red and snow-covered, till I fall asleep.
Step 11:
Ignore the Guilt You Feel When You Touch Him
(Or when he touches you.)
“So, you like the jacket I wear, huh?”
I’m going to kill Reagan. “You know I said all of that for your benefit.”
Wesley snorts. “Well, now she thinks you have a thing for me.”
“What?”
“Hey, if my friend talked to me for an hour about how my jacket fits—what was it she said? Oh, that it ‘fits him so well, you want to slip your hands underneath it to make sure he’s real’—I’d start thinking that too.”
“You’re such an ass. When are you guys getting here so I can kick your butt in person?”
“Can’t wait to see me in my jacket?”
“Wesley …”
He laughs into the phone, and I pull it away so he doesn’t burst my eardrum. “We’ll be there probably around five or six. We’re about to get back on the road.”
Six hours left before Reagan gets here. Time to pull out the big guns. I’ve had a very successful few days alone with Talon, but we’re still in the same spot. Talon’s a hard guy to read. He gets real close and then pulls away like nothing happened. At first I thought it was in my head, but no. It happens all the time. What does that mean? Is he just one of those people who likes to talk at close range, or does he want to be close to me?
“You should take your time,” I say through a smile, then yank on my pink cowl-neck sweater, maneuvering my phone through the sleeve hole. “Talon and I are shopping for your presents today.”
“And you want to drag that out?”
“I don’t want to rush it. And if you guys get here too soon, I’ll end up getting you a crappy gift. So it’s in your best interest to make a lot of pit stops.”
&nbs
p; “It takes you six hours to shop?”
“Today it will.”
“You know Talon hates shopping.”
“Well, I’m providing food too.”
“You’re going to need more than that.”
“Are you suggesting anything?”
“Speed-shop, then do something that’s not boring as hell.”
“Ass.”
“Just trying to help out.”
Yeah, right. If anything, he’s making me more nervous. Like he doesn’t think I’m doing anything right. They need a punch feature in the iPhone.
“What do you want, by the way?”
“Huh?”
“For Christmas. I have no idea what to get you.”
He pauses, and I think he’s eating or something, because his voice comes out kind of funny. “You’re buying me a present?”
“Didn’t you hear me before? I don’t want to get you something crappy.”
“I thought you meant Talon was getting something for me, not you.”
Why is he making this a big deal? He’s my friend too. “Will you just tell me?”
He pauses again. “I—I’ll have to think about it.”
“Well, you’re almost out of time. If you don’t text me in an hour, you’re going to have to deal with whatever I find at the mall.”
“Yeah, okay.” He lets out a sigh. “Um, Kayla?”
“Wesley?” I tease.
“Please don’t spend a lot on mine, okay?”
My wallet will appreciate that. But I did save up for gifts this year. Last year was tight since my parents were still dealing with hospital bills and I was working my ass off to get into Berkeley after Talon and Reagan both got accepted. So the only friend I got a gift for was Reagan. Anyway, it’s not like I knew the guys that well. But this year, yeah, they both need a gift. I wonder what Wesley thinks is a lot. I swing my purse over my shoulder and tuck a pack of gum in my back pocket. “I wasn’t planning on it.”
Total lie, because I have no idea what I was planning for him.