To: [email protected] From: [email protected]
Subject: Please?
Taylor,
Seriously, getting freaked now. Just e-mail me back. Please. Thanks.
Reed
As soon as I hit send, my cell phone rang. After a long moment, during which I finally discerned that I wasn't in the midst of an actual heart attack, I reached for it. The sight of Josh's name on the caller ID made me cringe. I let it go to voice mail.
Ten seconds after it stopped ringing, it started again. Josh. Once more, I let the voice mail handle it. Once more, it started ringing again.
Finally I heaved a sigh and picked it up.
"Hey."
"So it's true. Third time is the charm."
I smirked.
"What's up?"
"I am. For a game of soccer," he said. "The question is, are you?'
"What?"
"Look out your window," Josh said.
165
I pushed myself away from Natasha's desk and crossed the room to the window. When I moved the curtain aside, there was Josh, on the path down below, grinning up at me with a soccer ball in the palm of his hand. He was wearing a dark-blue Easton hoodie and sweatpants. I had never seen anything so inviting.
"So . . . you don't think I'm a psycho?" I asked.
"No, I don't think you're a psycho," he said. "If anything, I'm the psycho. I think I was a little hyper last night and I ... I didn't mean to be so forward."
A blush crept over my cheeks.
"Anyway, let's just forget about it. Can we do that?" he said.
Ouch. Did that mean he was ashamed of the kiss? That he never wanted it to happen again? Because I, for one, was willing to leave that door open. If we could take it a bit easier, that is.
"So . . . you want to play soccer," I said.
"I figure, what better way to get over last night than to let you kick my ass all over the field," Josh said. "Come on, Brennan. Show me what you got."
His grin, even from a few floors up, was infectious. But even more infectious was the realization that wherever we were headed, everything between us was going to be all right.
"I'll be right down."
166
ENTANGLED
Soccer was the perfect elixir. Not just the soccer, actually. The beautiful, clear, day. The view of the campus from the playing field. The cold air in my lungs. The exertion, the sweat, the burning in my legs. And, of course, the trash talking. Trash talking was always therapeutic.
"Oh! And she steals the ball again!" I shouted at Josh as I kicked the ball away from him, then chased after it. "I thought you were on the soccer team, Hollis. Your footwork is for crap!"