Slamming the door shut, he already reeks of booze, which is no surprise. It’s why I offered to drive him. He’s a loose cannon and a complete fucking wild card.
I couldn’t have him drunk and wanting to drive himself home, or drunk and stranded out near the Maxwell farm. Neither of those were safe, nor were they practical options. Plus, I’m not a drinker, so it makes the most sense for me to be the one to drive us whenever there’s a party.
"I ran into Bea and Cass after our training session. They asked if it would be alright if they could hitch a ride. I said yes. That cool?" He buckles himself in, and I feel myself swallow hard at the thought of Cassandra being in my car.
Luckily, mom cleaned it this morning before her shift.
"All good." I nod, gripping the steering wheel so tight, my knuckles nearly turn white.
I have even less time to hype myself up to face the girl of my dreams before I tell her I’m crushing on her.
Pulling up to the front of her house where the girls are waiting, I feel my stomach drop as I stare, unable to form a sentence.
Not even a simple hello.
Great, she probably thinks I’m a fucking loser.
"Thank you so much for picking us up," she says with her soft, husky voice, as they both barrel into the backseat of the car.
"It’s no worries," Austin answers before I get the chance to. I nod in agreement as she looks at me, smiling in the rear-view mirror. I feel it directly in my chest.
She’s wearing tight, blue, high-waisted jeans, a fitted, white crop-top that shows the slightest bit of skin on her stomach, and an open, red and black plaid shirt, paired with black combat boots.
"Nice outfit," I say to her, smirking as I notice mine is nearly identical. Only, my jeans aren’t tight, or high-waisted, and my t-shirt isn’t cropped or fitted.
"Twins!" She giggles and her smile spreads across her entire face, making my chest tighten and my stomach flutter. As terrified as I am to let her know how I feel, I can’t fucking wait to hopefully be able to call her mine.
The moment we pull up to the party, we each go our separate ways. They’ve gone to get drunk, and I find myself alone in an empty field, trying to be my own hype-man.
"Just fucking tell her. Stop being a pussy," I mutter to myself as I pace back and forth, almost certain I’m stepping in cow shit, frustrated by my lack of confidence. I’m a confident guy, usually, but the fear of being rejected by the girl I’ve been crushing on since pre-k is a lot to deal with.
"I think you’re really pretty and I want to know if you want to go out sometime? See! It’s not that hard. Fuck, why do I sound like such a fucking loser?" I sigh. After repeating that same sentence so many times, it sounds repetitive, losing its meaning somewhere along the way.
"Yeah, it’s not that hard," I hear a familiar voice say from behind me, stopping me dead in my tracks, and I feel all the blood drain from my face. "You should totally tell her how you feel." Bea smirks.
She’s wearing a short, black, leather skirt, a tight, white singlet and her blonde hair is held up by a red and black bandana.
"Tell who?" I ask, claiming ignorance.
"Oh, come on, Wingrove. It’s so obvious." She laughs, standing next to me, both of us resting our elbows on the edge of the waist-high fence.
"It is?" Oh God, of course it is, who am I kidding? I haven’t exactly tried to hide it. But I haven’t shoved it in her face, either.
"I think I’ve known about your crush on my best friend before you even knew about it," she says as we both push away from the fence. She links her arm through mine.
"Does she know?"
Do I even want to hear her response?
"No." She shakes her head. "She thinks you’re too wrapped up in football to know any female exists, let alone her." She rolls her eyes and nudges her shoulder into mine, and I involuntarily groan.
Of course, I know she exists. How could I not? She’s the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.
I think I’ve had a crush on her since the first moment I saw her, when I was like, four, getting out of her dad’s beat-up red truck.
"What should I do?" I ask as I run a hand through my hair.
Turning to face the direction of the party, I confide in the person who knows Cassandra better than anyone, hopeful that she can give me some sort of insight into how to win over her best friend.
