I stare at her for a second. “What is it with you people? Why does everyone have to constantly remind me that my sister is ‘doing it’ with that guy? You just killed my buzz.”
Cecelia arches her eyebrow and digs in her bag, pulling out a tube of clear lip gloss. She turns it towards me and I read the label: Coconut. “I know how I can make it better…”
“Um, okay. Yeah. That might help me feel a little better.” I watch, somewhat spellbound, as she slowly unscrews the cap and begins swiping it back and forth across her full lips before rubbing them together. Then, I utter a phrase I’ve heard my dad say to my mom a million times. “Come here and give me some of that sugar…”
It’s cheesy but it works, because she leans into me with a big grin on her face and presses her body against mine on the cold bench. Her large, expressive brown eyes are lined with dark liner – her lashes look a mile long. For the first time, I notice she has a few rogue freckles next to her nose and I reach up to touch one, connecting each dot with the tip of my finger. She smiles and kisses my palm, nuzzling her cheek into my hand. I immediately bring my other hand up to cup her face, marveling at the soft, blemish free skin under my calloused finger.
We both lean closer still, until there’s no room between our bodies and I pucker my lips dramatically, causing Cecelia to giggle, before our eyes slide shut for our impending kiss.
Our lips are a breath away before I hear a loud “Hey Coach!” somewhere off in the peripheral distance. I can’t tell where it’s coming from, but it’s an oddly familiar voice and makes me pause long enough to crack my eyes open.
“Coach! Coach, down here!”
Cecelia
Groaning (not from pleasure) Matthew lifts his head - but not before stealing another quick kiss – and stares out into the crowd in search of the small voice that had certainly been shouting at him.
He doesn’t have to search long, for down at the bottom of the bleachers, wearing jeans and a red hooded “Madison Lightening” sweatshirt is none other than a waving, enthusiastic Andy Boskowitz – standing next to a grinning Mitchell Decker, and that kid Stew. Stewart. A proverbial Three Musketeers, they’re all holding popcorn and soda, and are headed up the stairs in our direction.
“Ah shit,” Matthew mumbles. “Brace yourself.”
The boys continue climbing towards us, Mitchell tripping on one of the steps and almost spilling his popcorn. He pauses to re-position his glasses, not once losing his cheeky grin.
“Oh my god, they are so freaking cute,” I gush as the trio awkwardly lumbers forward. “I can’t even stand it.”
Matthew casts a glance over and looks at me like I’ve turned blue and sprouted two heads. “Are you nuts? Our whole night is about to be ruined.”
I laugh, despite the serious expression on his face – or perhaps because of it. “Seriously? How could they possibly ruin this romantic atmosphere you’ve planned for us? Look around you; If anything, they’re about to enhance it with their shenanigans…”
“Shenanigans is one of my favorite words,” Andy Boskowitz proclaims as he plunks himself down next to Matthew. “My brother watches Super Troopers all the time so that’s how I know that word.”
As if that explains everything.
“Hey Coach. I thought you said she wasn’t your girlfriend,” Mitchell says, sandwiching himself between Matthew and myself without ceremony – or permission. He fits a handful of popcorn into his mouth, staring up at Matthew through his thick eyeglasses. “Well?”
Yeah. Well?
Inquiring minds wanted to know.
“Do you remember what I told you in the parking lot after practice last week Mitchell? About some things being private?” Matthew looks down at him, stern look on his face.
“Nope, you didn’t say that,” Mitchell says obliviously, as Matthew gives him a hard stare. “I would remember.” He taps his skull for emphasis.
Before Matthew can rebuttal, Stewart cuts in from the bench behind us. He has his elbow resting on Matthew’s shoulders, casually hovering over him. “Hey Coach, do you think next year we can enter this tournament? The three-on-three scrimmage looks cool.”
“I don’t know, Stew, it’s pretty expensive. We’d probably have to do some fundraising to raise the money, and that takes up a lot of time.”
Stewart takes a drag off his soda straw, the ice cubes sloshing in the sweating cup. Some of the drops fall on Matthew’s shoulder, creating a damp spot. He sighs. “If it’s something you guys really want to do, I’ll talk to Coach McGrath and maybe we can figure something out, but no promises. How does that sound?”
“Cool. Hey, Coach. Do you think your girlfriend here would want to be our Team Manager?”