Holland
In all ofthe years I've known Reed, I've never seen him play in an arena, until tonight.
The arena itself could probably fit our entire small town in it. To say it’s massive would be an understatement. I feel tiny sitting in the seats that Reed got us. My eyes drift to him on the ice. Fans chant his name, the air around us is electrifying. You canfeelthe buzz of excitement and it’s indescribable.
It's amazing. It's more thrilling than anything I've ever experienced.
"Weed on the ice?" Evan asks. He plops another organic gummy in his mouth and chews.
I laugh. "Yes, Evan, Reed is on the ice. See." I point toward Reed, who's in the center of the ice with the puck. His jersey hangs on his broad shoulders with his last name adorned on the back.
Jesus, the man is sex on a stick. Literally. I can't pull my eyes off of him as he races across the ice. There's no doubt that he was born to be a hockey player. From an early age, everyone around him knew that he was something special. It wasn’t just a hobby for him; Reed has a gift. As kids, he spent the majority of his time on the ice or working out. I spent enough days hanging around with Emery to know how talented he was. We watched every night as he and his friends played games against each other until the sun went down.
Thankfully, over the years, I’ve picked up enough general hockey knowledge to keep up with the game. The entire time Evan watches excitedly, still clutching Pickles, of course, and he bounces in his seat when the crowd cheers and claps when a goal is made.
Anxiously, I watch Reed in his element, gliding across the ice with ease and a finesse that comes from ability, not just practice. He handles the puck masterfully, weaving between players until he’s lined up for the shot.
I’m chewing my nails to the quick as the clock ticks down, second by second, and I switch from watching Reed to checking the time that’s dwindling.
God, no one told me this could be so nerve-wracking. I’m on the edge of my chair.
One guy from the opposite team seems to get the puck from Reed one too many times, because even from here, I can see the determination that flashes on his face. He’s done messing around.
Faking left, he swipes the puck and darts right before the big idiot can stop him, then he’s racing down the ice toward the goal.
I hold my breath as he lines up for his shot, and he lets it fly.
The crowd erupts, and I expel the breath I was holding deep in my lungs. Holy shit, Reed just scored the winning goal. His teammates surround him and slap him on the back, everyone’s screaming. Evan is jumping up and down in his seat. It’s pure chaos, but the kind that you want to be lost in.
It’s a moment that even months from now, when whatever this is, is over, when we’ve both gone back to how our lives were before, I won’t forget. Above us, the jumbotron zooms in on Reed’s face. He’s so devastatingly handsome, and even if he wasn’t, the amount of charm he possesses would make any girl melt at his feet.
My heart flips in my chest as I watch everyone cheer for him and I wish, if only for a second, that I could celebrate with him. In public, with the world watching, not tucked away as a secret. I know that my hopes are silly, but my heart seems to believe in false hope and silly dreams.
I tamper down the feeling, and look over at Evan, who’s still grinning ear to ear and clutching Pickles. I’m glad that he’s finally starting to come out of his shell some. We both watch Reed and the team on the jumbotron, a permanent giddy grin plastered on my lips, and then Reed does something I don’t expect.
He turns toward the crowd, where he knows we’re seated, and he winks. I can see it in HD, the sly grin that shows his dimples and the wink that has the butterflies in my stomach fluttering wildly. He holds his hand up in a wave, and while the crowd erupts, thinking it’s for them, I know it’s for us.
Evan and I make our way down the stands and to the back where we’re supposed to meet Reed. There is media everywhere with microphones and cameras, waiting to catch a glimpse of the guys as they leave the locker room, so we wait to the side. We play a game of hide and seek, using a row of benches, and Evan’s delighted giggle rings out through the swarm of reporters. A few minutes later, after their post-game meeting, Reed comes strolling through the door with his bag slung over his shoulder, wearing a black tee and faded jeans.
“Did you see that shot?” he says when he makes it over to us. Bending down, he gives Evan a high five and a fist bump, then stands to his full height to face me.
I grin. “Of course I saw it. You were incredible, Reed.”
“Fuck, I feel on top of the damn world right now.” He fist-pumps the air. “It hasn’t felt that good on the ice in a long time. I needed this. Let’s get out of here.”
He bends down and picks up Evan, so he can carry him through the crowd, and once we’re surrounded by the sea of people trying to leave the stadium, he holds out his hand behind him. I hesitantly slide mine into it. From an outsider’s perspective, it may look a tad suspicious, but it's easily defended as he’s simply helping me through the crowd.
It doesn’t stop the sinking, awful feeling in my stomach from replacing the butterflies he’d just given me. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since we came up with the rules for this agreement. The fact that there is even an agreement or the fact that Reed wants me as more than just his little sister’s best friend, isalotto process.
And Emery has been in the back of my mind the entire time. I can’t imagine what her reaction would be if she found out that I’m selfishly breaking the promise I made her so long ago to put our friendship first and to never think about Reed this way.
I hate to think of myself as selfish, but at the same time, there’s never been a time when I put myself or what I’ve wanted first. Until now.
Until Reed.
For the first time in my life, I’m putting me first. That’s why it’s important to me to keep this casual, to put an expiration date on things, and to make sure things remain uncomplicated. That way, Emery will never know. Things won’t change. It’s just sex. Then we walk away.
“Holl?”