Let It Be … Please
© 2005 - Linda Crist
This Story was originally written for the charity anthology, Taletell Kisses, which is currently out of print.
I toss yet another shirt on the bed and rummage through the closet again. It has to be here. The perfect one to wear to the basketball game. It’s the inaugural game for our city’s WNBA team. We finally got a franchise, and by god, I am going to be there to cheer them on. This is important. This is history. This gives women one more foothold in this town.
Who am I kidding? I hate basketball. The only reason I’m going is because she will be there. I swear there are times she is all I can think about and the thinking and the wondering will be the death of me. It’s like being in a perpetual dream state, and it gets damned hard to concentrate on reality after a while.
She haunts my dreams and just the thought of her during the day can make me smile, no matter where I am or what I’m doing. God, I am so attracted to her, at times I can hardly stand it. You know that little thrill you feel inside sometimes, just thinking about someone? Yep. That is an almost daily experience. It’s a little maddening to be walking around at work, or at the gym, or the grocery store, looking so perfectly normal on the outside and being so hopelessly besotted on the inside.
See, there I go again. I have a shirt to find and a game to get to, and if I keep standing here in this closet like a starry-eyed fool, I’m going to be late, and that would be no good. What if someone else sits next to her? What if she decides she likes them? What if …?
Hell, I need to get moving.
I find a suitable navy blue button down and tuck it neatly into my jeans. My pressed jeans. The shirt doesn’t need pressing – it went to the cleaners and is freshly washed and lightly starched. I dab Hilfiger perfume behind my ears and on each wrist and stand back and look in the mirror. The hair is in place, and just a touch of blush is on my cheeks, just the slightest wisp of eye shadow on my eyelids. I peer skeptically at myself, wondering if she'll like what she sees. I sure like what I see when I look at her.
I finish with vanilla-flavored lip balm. Just in case. And then place a touch of the Hilfiger in my cleavage. Okay, so probably no one will be going anywhere near there tonight, but it never hurts to be prepared, huh? Scout’s motto and all. Except I was never a scout. YMCA Indian Princess, as a matter of fact. We were even more prepared. Heh.
I check to make sure everything is in my pockets and the cell phone is clipped to my belt. Is it fully charged up? Is it on? Oh shit! It’s not. I turn it on, and there are no messages and no unanswered calls. Whew. She didn’t call and I didn’t miss her.
She’s never called me before, but I’d hate to miss the first time.
I drive to the game, cursing the traffic as I go. Who knew we had so many women’s basketball fans in this city? They’re all over the road, with banners and flags and decals on their cars. And lots of rainbow stickers. I chuckle at this. I hope the team owner knows who his fan base is.
The parking lot is a nightmare, but at least I know where we are all meeting up. I may not care for basketball, but I’ve been to this arena a dozen times for concerts. I drive up and around and up and around until I am on the topmost level of the parking deck. The uncovered part. Thank goodness there is no rain in the forecast tonight. It's not even humid. A good hair night. I find a spot in the corner near a light pole and park, get out, set the alarm, and pocket my keys.
I walk to the edge and look down on all the people heading inside the arena. There is a small group gathered outside the sports bar to the side of the building. That’s my group, or it is supposed to be, although they are too far away for me to tell how many of them are already there or who. Is she there? I squint, straining my eyes, but I just can’t tell.
God, I am so nervous. You’d think this was a date or something. Okay. I wipe surprisingly sweaty palms against my jeans legs and take a few deep breaths. I take a moment to be grateful I chose a dark shirt. Nervous wet pits would be so incredibly un-cool.
This is just a group of friends going to a basketball game, for crying out loud. Nothing more. Nothing less. I repeat this to myself a few times, but a tiny voice inside mocks me -- Oh, yeah? Then why do you care about it so much? You don’t even like basketball, remember?
Oh, shut up.
It is the longest walk of my life, and the closer I get, the harder it is to simply breathe. In. Out. In. Out. My heart is beating wildly. Damn, I hate this. It happens every time I’m going to see her. You know what? Feeling like this all the time is killing me. If nothing happens between us this time around, I give up. I can’t go on like this much longer. No sign from her tonight, and I’m moving on. I’ll just shove those feelings deep inside and get on with my life. It’ll be easy, right?
Yeah, right.
I keep walking, lost in a jumble of emotions that threaten to choke me. And then I spot her. Her back is turned and I take a moment to appreciate every asset from head to toe. Nice hair, nice body, and great legs, especially in those jeans. Yep, the package is just about perfect in my eyes.
She is gesturing with one hand about something. It’s one of the things I love about her – she’s always so animated when she talks. Wait a minute? Who’s she talking to? My eyes narrow, until I realize it’s one of our friends who has been in a committed relationship for a very long time.
I feel my heartbeat slow to normal for a split second, but she turns and spots me and it begins racing again. The sun is going down behind her, setting her hair afire with highlights. And then I get close enough that the building blocks the sun and I can see her eyes, lighting up as she recognizes me. Then she smiles. Dear god, she’s so gorgeous.
I somehow close the distance, and she holds out an arm, welcoming me in a side-hug. Did she linger a little longer than necessary, or did time simply stand still? I cannot tell for certain, and the voices around us are a dull roar. All I know is she can hug me for the rest of the night, if she wants to. We separate.
“Hey,” she continues to smile, and I swear she is checking me out. Please let her be checking me out. And please let her like what she sees. “Glad you made it. They said you would be here.” She glances down a bit. “Nice shirt.”
God bless Ralph Lauren. “Hey yourself. Thanks.” I smile back at her and shove my hands in my pockets. Otherwise, I’m afraid I might reach out and do something really stupid with them. Like push that one little lock of hair out of her eyes or smooth down her shirt lapel. She looks so hot, in a good way. I am definitely checking her out. “Yeah, traffic was a bitch.”
Small talk. It’s always safe, isn’t it? We continue chatting about the traffic, the upcoming game, and a dozen other topics while a few of our friends join us. But I manage to stay by her side. This night I’m sticking to her like white on rice. I’ll be damned if I am going to lose my place next to her, not if I can help it.
I am happy simply to be basking in her presence, but I force myself to focus on the conversation. Everyone’s conversation, not just hers. Even though her voice is music to my ears. My own personal symphony. I could listen to her talk forever, about anything. Or nothing at all. It’s tough, but I manage to stay focused on everyone until it is finally time to go inside for the game.
The girl who purchased the block of tickets for us passes them out, and I cross my fingers and toes that, since we are standing next to each other, our tickets will be for seats next to each other. I study mine, noting the seat number, and then casually glance at hers as she takes it. Yes! Our seats are together. There is a god. Or perhaps a goddess. Goddess of love? Whoever they are, they’ve given me a fine opportunity tonight, and I pray I don’t squander it.
We head toward the arena and fall in side by side as we walk. “You want a Coke or anything?” She holds the door open for me to go through, and I can feel the heat from her body as I pass in front of her. It's going to be a very long game.
“Thanks,” I stammer. She continues to walk beside me and we head for the concession stand, along with several of our friends. Some of them decide to go on in and find our seats, and they leave drink and food requests with the others. Not me. I’m standing right here in this line if she is. “Yeah, I might want something. Let’s see what they have.” White on rice.
“Hey, how about a beer?” She smiles as we take our place in line. “It is a celebration tonight, isn’t it? First game and all?”
Celebration? You bet. I find myself smiling too. “Beer would be great, and maybe a hot dog.”
“Sounds good.” We are forced to stand single file for a moment, as a group of high school kids tramps past us. I think I feel her hand at the small of my back for just the briefest touch, but I can’t tell for sure. Then we are back, standing side by side again, lost in conversation.
Two beers and two hot dogs procured, we make our way to our seats. They’re pretty good too – lower level, to one side, but the view is good. Maybe I will learn to like basketball. I sure as heck am going to enjoy this particular game, at any rate. They’ve recently put in a shiny new floor, and it smells of cut wood and fresh paint and something that smells vaguely like plastic, or varnish perhaps.
Someone passes us a program, and we place our drinks and hotdogs in nifty holders on the backs of the seats in front of us. I open the program, and her hand slides beneath it, helping me hold it up, the sides of our hands barely brushing. It is electric, and my breath catches, though luckily it is a silent catch.
We flip through the pages, discussing the players, coaches, and cheerleaders. We pick out the cutest cheerleaders, and I notice my choice kind of resembles her, and hers, me. Hmmmm. Each time we turn the page, our skin brushes together, and it is all I can do to discuss basketball. She’s fairly knowledgeable about the game, and I can hold my own, even though I don’t really follow it closely.
“You know, I’m not really that big a fan of basketball. I mostly keep up with it just enough to not sound like an idiot when everyone else is discussing it.” She admits this after we close the program, and I am relieved beyond words. I was prepared to become a fan, if necessary.
I laugh. “Me neither. The group was going and all.”
“Yeah, I just figured it might be fun, you know?” Her leg barely bumps mine. On purpose or not? I can’t tell.
Our eyes meet for a moment, and I hope I see what I think I see there.
“Yep. Sometimes it’s not what you’re doing, it’s who you’re with that counts.” I can’t believe I said this, but it’s safe enough. We are with a group of friends, after all. She doesn't have to read anything into it, but I sure as hell hope she does.
She nods in agreement, and I get that wonderful smile again. She leans over and retrieves our drinks, handing me mine, and then touches the rim of her cup to mine. “To who we’re with, eh?”
“To who we’re with,” I repeat dumbly. I hope I remember how to swallow, as I take a sip of the cold beer. Nice cold imported beer. It tastes good and slides down, and I admit to myself a little alcohol might take the edge off enough for me to relax and simply enjoy this moment for whatever it may be. Such a hard thing to do, when I know what I hope it will become.
We engage in more small talk, and I notice she touches me every now and then. Just a little pat to the arm or the leg. No big deal. I think I’ve seen her do that with our other friends as well. Haven’t I? It’s just the way she talks – that whole animated thing. Not that I’m complaining, mind you. Although each touch sends my brain careening off track, and I have to force myself to stay focused what we're discussing.
A massive cheer interrupts us, and we look up to see the players taking the floor. The game is about to begin, and a man walks out to center court to make some speech about the new team, sportsmanship, and women’s sports history. We quit talking and both settle back in our seats.
Our arms are touching, that can’t be helped, and I am so aware of this that I cannot pay attention to what is being said on the court. Then she shifts, just the slightest bit, and her leg comes to rest against mine. Oh, god, I think I am going to pass out.
Game? What game?
We reach tip-off, and the game is set in motion, and I can’t help but wonder if we are starting our own game right here in the stands. Lord, if we are, I sure do hope I win. I hope we win. We'd make a good team, I just know we would.
Thankfully, it is an exciting game. I may not like basketball, but I understand it, for the most part. This particular game is fast and furious, with lots of baskets, many fouls, and several free throws. Our new team isn’t bad. They’re pretty good, as a matter of fact.
Honestly, though, I could care less what’s going on down there on the court. Up here, all I am aware of is the sensation of our arms and legs touching, the sound of her voice every time she turns to speak to me, and a scent I think is her perfume. Does she feel us touching? Maybe not, with the jeans and shirts separating us. But that’s pretty silly, since I can feel her perfectly fine, jeans and shirts be damned.
Neither of us seems inclined to move our legs, and if anything, they seem to be pressing together more as the game goes on. It goes by much faster than I'd hoped, and then, in the last few minutes, our team makes a run all the way down court, shooting and scoring a three-pointer that puts us ahead. Everyone rises to their feet, cheering wildly, and I take a chance.
As we sit back down, I drape my arm casually across the back of her seat. She sits down and I know she feels my arm there. She shifts a bit, leaning closer to me, and looks at me, and smiles — one of those full-faced, eye-twinkling, devastating smiles that makes my heart skip a beat. Her arm comes down on the armrest between us, and her fingertips just barely graze my leg for a moment. I think I've forgotten how to breathe.
The game ends, and we make some small talk with the rest of our group, as we stand and make our way out of the arena. She stays by my side the entire way out and bumps me a little bit from time to time as we walk. It could be the crowd, but I don't care. I barely restrain myself from grabbing her hand as we walk outside into the darkness. Our group stops and we discuss going somewhere for coffee. After a few suggestions are tossed out, we settle on a place and disburse toward the parking garage.
We keep walking side by side, the silence between us comfortable and uncomfortable all at the same time. Something is happening between us. I can just feel it. "Great game, huh?" My voice sounds too loud, but some of the discomfort dissipates.
"Yeah. Awesome!" She chimes in. "Good to win our first game. It'll give them some momentum going into the season." I hear just the slightest waver in her voice, and I realize she is nervous, too. It's endearing, and I feel some of my equilibrium return.
"You going for coffee?" I am glad for a safe topic. For now. I know, inside, the tide is probably about to turn and hope it washes us somewhere together.
"I dunno. Are you?" She bumps into me again, and we reach the entrance to the parking garage. "Where are you parked? Maybe we could ride together or something."
Oh. Dear. God. "That would be great. I'm parked on the very top. You wanna take my car or yours?"
"We can take yours," she answers. "Might be a good idea for me to walk up there with you, regardless. It could be kind of creepy up there after dark, if there aren't many cars left."
"True," I answer casually. Although I have a feeling it will be anything but creepy.
We take the elevator up, and sure enough, there aren't many cars left parked up there. Our feet make a light pattering sound on the asphalt, and a nice breeze cools my skin, just a little. It ruffles her hair, and I want so badly to reach out and touch it. As I ponder this, I feel her take hold of my hand, and I automatically twine my fingers with hers.
Finally, I glance over at her and see just a hint of a smile playing at her lips. "So it's not just me after all, huh?" She took the leap of holding my hand. Least I can do is toss her a line and catch her.
She stops and turns to face me and takes my other hand. "God, no." Before I know it, we are locked in a fierce hug. She feels so good in my arms, I want to cry. A little tremor runs through me, as I feel the beginning of hopes realized. "I've been dreaming of being with you for months," her breath warms my ear, right before her lips brush against my cheek in a feather-light kiss.
I lead her the rest of the way to my car, and we pass it, going to the edge of the parking deck, where we lean against the railing, looking down at the show of red and white lights, as people drive away from the arena. Her arm slides around my waist, and I return the gesture, and it is the most comforting sensation I've ever felt. She fits there, next to me, better than anyone ever has. We don't speak for a while, and I finally turn a bit, giving in to the urge to touch her hair, smoothing it back. It's silkier and softer than I had imagined, and I revel in it as it slips through my fingers. "This is like a dream," I hear myself say.
"If it is, then don't wake me up," she responds. Lord, she is a charmer. Then she leans closer, and I pull her into me, and our lips meet for the first time. They're so soft, and her breath is sweet with mint. It's perfect, and I hear her sigh, as we explore each other gently, with lips and tongues. I don't want it to ever end, but we finally have to come up for air.
Only for a moment, and then we come together again, in a kiss that sends those chills and thrills racing through my body, and my hands begin to wander, running through her hair, touching her face, and holding the solidness of her against me. I slide my hand behind her neck, deepening our kiss and feel her knee press between my legs. I moan against her lips, and one of my hands drops down to her backside, urging her against me. She slides one hand up and cups my breast, and my legs almost turn to Jell-O. She tastes so good and smells so nice, and I could hold her like this forever. It is like drowning in a sea of utter happiness.
Finally, she pulls back and presses her forehead against mine, as we catch our breath. "God, you smell great." She nuzzles my chest, just a little, and I chuckle, “be prepared” running through my head.
"You still wanna meet the others for coffee?" I pluck at her buttons, placing a few more quick pecks to her lips.
"What others?" She laughs, and we kiss again, a slower, less frantic exchange, full of promise. "Why don't we just get in your car and drive and see where the night takes us?"
I nod in agreement and kiss her one more time, before I unlock the car and we get in and take off. Her hand comes to rest on my leg and I laugh giddily, and lean over to kiss her, the first stoplight we come to.
The night is young and the road is wide open ahead of us. This, I am certain, is going to be the ride of a lifetime.
THE END
© 2005 - Linda Crist
This Story was originally written for the charity anthology, Taletell Kisses, which is currently out of print.
I toss yet another shirt on the bed and rummage through the closet again. It has to be here. The perfect one to wear to the basketball game. It’s the inaugural game for our city’s WNBA team. We finally got a franchise, and by god, I am going to be there to cheer them on. This is important. This is history. This gives women one more foothold in this town.
Who am I kidding? I hate basketball. The only reason I’m going is because she will be there. I swear there are times she is all I can think about and the thinking and the wondering will be the death of me. It’s like being in a perpetual dream state, and it gets damned hard to concentrate on reality after a while.
She haunts my dreams and just the thought of her during the day can make me smile, no matter where I am or what I’m doing. God, I am so attracted to her, at times I can hardly stand it. You know that little thrill you feel inside sometimes, just thinking about someone? Yep. That is an almost daily experience. It’s a little maddening to be walking around at work, or at the gym, or the grocery store, looking so perfectly normal on the outside and being so hopelessly besotted on the inside.
See, there I go again. I have a shirt to find and a game to get to, and if I keep standing here in this closet like a starry-eyed fool, I’m going to be late, and that would be no good. What if someone else sits next to her? What if she decides she likes them? What if …?
Hell, I need to get moving.
I find a suitable navy blue button down and tuck it neatly into my jeans. My pressed jeans. The shirt doesn’t need pressing – it went to the cleaners and is freshly washed and lightly starched. I dab Hilfiger perfume behind my ears and on each wrist and stand back and look in the mirror. The hair is in place, and just a touch of blush is on my cheeks, just the slightest wisp of eye shadow on my eyelids. I peer skeptically at myself, wondering if she'll like what she sees. I sure like what I see when I look at her.
I finish with vanilla-flavored lip balm. Just in case. And then place a touch of the Hilfiger in my cleavage. Okay, so probably no one will be going anywhere near there tonight, but it never hurts to be prepared, huh? Scout’s motto and all. Except I was never a scout. YMCA Indian Princess, as a matter of fact. We were even more prepared. Heh.
I check to make sure everything is in my pockets and the cell phone is clipped to my belt. Is it fully charged up? Is it on? Oh shit! It’s not. I turn it on, and there are no messages and no unanswered calls. Whew. She didn’t call and I didn’t miss her.
She’s never called me before, but I’d hate to miss the first time.
I drive to the game, cursing the traffic as I go. Who knew we had so many women’s basketball fans in this city? They’re all over the road, with banners and flags and decals on their cars. And lots of rainbow stickers. I chuckle at this. I hope the team owner knows who his fan base is.
The parking lot is a nightmare, but at least I know where we are all meeting up. I may not care for basketball, but I’ve been to this arena a dozen times for concerts. I drive up and around and up and around until I am on the topmost level of the parking deck. The uncovered part. Thank goodness there is no rain in the forecast tonight. It's not even humid. A good hair night. I find a spot in the corner near a light pole and park, get out, set the alarm, and pocket my keys.
I walk to the edge and look down on all the people heading inside the arena. There is a small group gathered outside the sports bar to the side of the building. That’s my group, or it is supposed to be, although they are too far away for me to tell how many of them are already there or who. Is she there? I squint, straining my eyes, but I just can’t tell.
God, I am so nervous. You’d think this was a date or something. Okay. I wipe surprisingly sweaty palms against my jeans legs and take a few deep breaths. I take a moment to be grateful I chose a dark shirt. Nervous wet pits would be so incredibly un-cool.
This is just a group of friends going to a basketball game, for crying out loud. Nothing more. Nothing less. I repeat this to myself a few times, but a tiny voice inside mocks me -- Oh, yeah? Then why do you care about it so much? You don’t even like basketball, remember?
Oh, shut up.
It is the longest walk of my life, and the closer I get, the harder it is to simply breathe. In. Out. In. Out. My heart is beating wildly. Damn, I hate this. It happens every time I’m going to see her. You know what? Feeling like this all the time is killing me. If nothing happens between us this time around, I give up. I can’t go on like this much longer. No sign from her tonight, and I’m moving on. I’ll just shove those feelings deep inside and get on with my life. It’ll be easy, right?
Yeah, right.
I keep walking, lost in a jumble of emotions that threaten to choke me. And then I spot her. Her back is turned and I take a moment to appreciate every asset from head to toe. Nice hair, nice body, and great legs, especially in those jeans. Yep, the package is just about perfect in my eyes.
She is gesturing with one hand about something. It’s one of the things I love about her – she’s always so animated when she talks. Wait a minute? Who’s she talking to? My eyes narrow, until I realize it’s one of our friends who has been in a committed relationship for a very long time.
I feel my heartbeat slow to normal for a split second, but she turns and spots me and it begins racing again. The sun is going down behind her, setting her hair afire with highlights. And then I get close enough that the building blocks the sun and I can see her eyes, lighting up as she recognizes me. Then she smiles. Dear god, she’s so gorgeous.
I somehow close the distance, and she holds out an arm, welcoming me in a side-hug. Did she linger a little longer than necessary, or did time simply stand still? I cannot tell for certain, and the voices around us are a dull roar. All I know is she can hug me for the rest of the night, if she wants to. We separate.
“Hey,” she continues to smile, and I swear she is checking me out. Please let her be checking me out. And please let her like what she sees. “Glad you made it. They said you would be here.” She glances down a bit. “Nice shirt.”
God bless Ralph Lauren. “Hey yourself. Thanks.” I smile back at her and shove my hands in my pockets. Otherwise, I’m afraid I might reach out and do something really stupid with them. Like push that one little lock of hair out of her eyes or smooth down her shirt lapel. She looks so hot, in a good way. I am definitely checking her out. “Yeah, traffic was a bitch.”
Small talk. It’s always safe, isn’t it? We continue chatting about the traffic, the upcoming game, and a dozen other topics while a few of our friends join us. But I manage to stay by her side. This night I’m sticking to her like white on rice. I’ll be damned if I am going to lose my place next to her, not if I can help it.
I am happy simply to be basking in her presence, but I force myself to focus on the conversation. Everyone’s conversation, not just hers. Even though her voice is music to my ears. My own personal symphony. I could listen to her talk forever, about anything. Or nothing at all. It’s tough, but I manage to stay focused on everyone until it is finally time to go inside for the game.
The girl who purchased the block of tickets for us passes them out, and I cross my fingers and toes that, since we are standing next to each other, our tickets will be for seats next to each other. I study mine, noting the seat number, and then casually glance at hers as she takes it. Yes! Our seats are together. There is a god. Or perhaps a goddess. Goddess of love? Whoever they are, they’ve given me a fine opportunity tonight, and I pray I don’t squander it.
We head toward the arena and fall in side by side as we walk. “You want a Coke or anything?” She holds the door open for me to go through, and I can feel the heat from her body as I pass in front of her. It's going to be a very long game.
“Thanks,” I stammer. She continues to walk beside me and we head for the concession stand, along with several of our friends. Some of them decide to go on in and find our seats, and they leave drink and food requests with the others. Not me. I’m standing right here in this line if she is. “Yeah, I might want something. Let’s see what they have.” White on rice.
“Hey, how about a beer?” She smiles as we take our place in line. “It is a celebration tonight, isn’t it? First game and all?”
Celebration? You bet. I find myself smiling too. “Beer would be great, and maybe a hot dog.”
“Sounds good.” We are forced to stand single file for a moment, as a group of high school kids tramps past us. I think I feel her hand at the small of my back for just the briefest touch, but I can’t tell for sure. Then we are back, standing side by side again, lost in conversation.
Two beers and two hot dogs procured, we make our way to our seats. They’re pretty good too – lower level, to one side, but the view is good. Maybe I will learn to like basketball. I sure as heck am going to enjoy this particular game, at any rate. They’ve recently put in a shiny new floor, and it smells of cut wood and fresh paint and something that smells vaguely like plastic, or varnish perhaps.
Someone passes us a program, and we place our drinks and hotdogs in nifty holders on the backs of the seats in front of us. I open the program, and her hand slides beneath it, helping me hold it up, the sides of our hands barely brushing. It is electric, and my breath catches, though luckily it is a silent catch.
We flip through the pages, discussing the players, coaches, and cheerleaders. We pick out the cutest cheerleaders, and I notice my choice kind of resembles her, and hers, me. Hmmmm. Each time we turn the page, our skin brushes together, and it is all I can do to discuss basketball. She’s fairly knowledgeable about the game, and I can hold my own, even though I don’t really follow it closely.
“You know, I’m not really that big a fan of basketball. I mostly keep up with it just enough to not sound like an idiot when everyone else is discussing it.” She admits this after we close the program, and I am relieved beyond words. I was prepared to become a fan, if necessary.
I laugh. “Me neither. The group was going and all.”
“Yeah, I just figured it might be fun, you know?” Her leg barely bumps mine. On purpose or not? I can’t tell.
Our eyes meet for a moment, and I hope I see what I think I see there.
“Yep. Sometimes it’s not what you’re doing, it’s who you’re with that counts.” I can’t believe I said this, but it’s safe enough. We are with a group of friends, after all. She doesn't have to read anything into it, but I sure as hell hope she does.
She nods in agreement, and I get that wonderful smile again. She leans over and retrieves our drinks, handing me mine, and then touches the rim of her cup to mine. “To who we’re with, eh?”
“To who we’re with,” I repeat dumbly. I hope I remember how to swallow, as I take a sip of the cold beer. Nice cold imported beer. It tastes good and slides down, and I admit to myself a little alcohol might take the edge off enough for me to relax and simply enjoy this moment for whatever it may be. Such a hard thing to do, when I know what I hope it will become.
We engage in more small talk, and I notice she touches me every now and then. Just a little pat to the arm or the leg. No big deal. I think I’ve seen her do that with our other friends as well. Haven’t I? It’s just the way she talks – that whole animated thing. Not that I’m complaining, mind you. Although each touch sends my brain careening off track, and I have to force myself to stay focused what we're discussing.
A massive cheer interrupts us, and we look up to see the players taking the floor. The game is about to begin, and a man walks out to center court to make some speech about the new team, sportsmanship, and women’s sports history. We quit talking and both settle back in our seats.
Our arms are touching, that can’t be helped, and I am so aware of this that I cannot pay attention to what is being said on the court. Then she shifts, just the slightest bit, and her leg comes to rest against mine. Oh, god, I think I am going to pass out.
Game? What game?
We reach tip-off, and the game is set in motion, and I can’t help but wonder if we are starting our own game right here in the stands. Lord, if we are, I sure do hope I win. I hope we win. We'd make a good team, I just know we would.
Thankfully, it is an exciting game. I may not like basketball, but I understand it, for the most part. This particular game is fast and furious, with lots of baskets, many fouls, and several free throws. Our new team isn’t bad. They’re pretty good, as a matter of fact.
Honestly, though, I could care less what’s going on down there on the court. Up here, all I am aware of is the sensation of our arms and legs touching, the sound of her voice every time she turns to speak to me, and a scent I think is her perfume. Does she feel us touching? Maybe not, with the jeans and shirts separating us. But that’s pretty silly, since I can feel her perfectly fine, jeans and shirts be damned.
Neither of us seems inclined to move our legs, and if anything, they seem to be pressing together more as the game goes on. It goes by much faster than I'd hoped, and then, in the last few minutes, our team makes a run all the way down court, shooting and scoring a three-pointer that puts us ahead. Everyone rises to their feet, cheering wildly, and I take a chance.
As we sit back down, I drape my arm casually across the back of her seat. She sits down and I know she feels my arm there. She shifts a bit, leaning closer to me, and looks at me, and smiles — one of those full-faced, eye-twinkling, devastating smiles that makes my heart skip a beat. Her arm comes down on the armrest between us, and her fingertips just barely graze my leg for a moment. I think I've forgotten how to breathe.
The game ends, and we make some small talk with the rest of our group, as we stand and make our way out of the arena. She stays by my side the entire way out and bumps me a little bit from time to time as we walk. It could be the crowd, but I don't care. I barely restrain myself from grabbing her hand as we walk outside into the darkness. Our group stops and we discuss going somewhere for coffee. After a few suggestions are tossed out, we settle on a place and disburse toward the parking garage.
We keep walking side by side, the silence between us comfortable and uncomfortable all at the same time. Something is happening between us. I can just feel it. "Great game, huh?" My voice sounds too loud, but some of the discomfort dissipates.
"Yeah. Awesome!" She chimes in. "Good to win our first game. It'll give them some momentum going into the season." I hear just the slightest waver in her voice, and I realize she is nervous, too. It's endearing, and I feel some of my equilibrium return.
"You going for coffee?" I am glad for a safe topic. For now. I know, inside, the tide is probably about to turn and hope it washes us somewhere together.
"I dunno. Are you?" She bumps into me again, and we reach the entrance to the parking garage. "Where are you parked? Maybe we could ride together or something."
Oh. Dear. God. "That would be great. I'm parked on the very top. You wanna take my car or yours?"
"We can take yours," she answers. "Might be a good idea for me to walk up there with you, regardless. It could be kind of creepy up there after dark, if there aren't many cars left."
"True," I answer casually. Although I have a feeling it will be anything but creepy.
We take the elevator up, and sure enough, there aren't many cars left parked up there. Our feet make a light pattering sound on the asphalt, and a nice breeze cools my skin, just a little. It ruffles her hair, and I want so badly to reach out and touch it. As I ponder this, I feel her take hold of my hand, and I automatically twine my fingers with hers.
Finally, I glance over at her and see just a hint of a smile playing at her lips. "So it's not just me after all, huh?" She took the leap of holding my hand. Least I can do is toss her a line and catch her.
She stops and turns to face me and takes my other hand. "God, no." Before I know it, we are locked in a fierce hug. She feels so good in my arms, I want to cry. A little tremor runs through me, as I feel the beginning of hopes realized. "I've been dreaming of being with you for months," her breath warms my ear, right before her lips brush against my cheek in a feather-light kiss.
I lead her the rest of the way to my car, and we pass it, going to the edge of the parking deck, where we lean against the railing, looking down at the show of red and white lights, as people drive away from the arena. Her arm slides around my waist, and I return the gesture, and it is the most comforting sensation I've ever felt. She fits there, next to me, better than anyone ever has. We don't speak for a while, and I finally turn a bit, giving in to the urge to touch her hair, smoothing it back. It's silkier and softer than I had imagined, and I revel in it as it slips through my fingers. "This is like a dream," I hear myself say.
"If it is, then don't wake me up," she responds. Lord, she is a charmer. Then she leans closer, and I pull her into me, and our lips meet for the first time. They're so soft, and her breath is sweet with mint. It's perfect, and I hear her sigh, as we explore each other gently, with lips and tongues. I don't want it to ever end, but we finally have to come up for air.
Only for a moment, and then we come together again, in a kiss that sends those chills and thrills racing through my body, and my hands begin to wander, running through her hair, touching her face, and holding the solidness of her against me. I slide my hand behind her neck, deepening our kiss and feel her knee press between my legs. I moan against her lips, and one of my hands drops down to her backside, urging her against me. She slides one hand up and cups my breast, and my legs almost turn to Jell-O. She tastes so good and smells so nice, and I could hold her like this forever. It is like drowning in a sea of utter happiness.
Finally, she pulls back and presses her forehead against mine, as we catch our breath. "God, you smell great." She nuzzles my chest, just a little, and I chuckle, “be prepared” running through my head.
"You still wanna meet the others for coffee?" I pluck at her buttons, placing a few more quick pecks to her lips.
"What others?" She laughs, and we kiss again, a slower, less frantic exchange, full of promise. "Why don't we just get in your car and drive and see where the night takes us?"
I nod in agreement and kiss her one more time, before I unlock the car and we get in and take off. Her hand comes to rest on my leg and I laugh giddily, and lean over to kiss her, the first stoplight we come to.
The night is young and the road is wide open ahead of us. This, I am certain, is going to be the ride of a lifetime.
THE END
