"Oh, wow, so that was you, huh?"
"Yeah," he says, just a bit awkwardly.
"So wait. You're Peyton's brother?"
"Guilty," he says, holding up his hands.
"She's gorgeous."
"You're pretty gorgeous yourself. And you have a mean kick. I'm curious. What possessed you to run out on the field like that anyways?"
Did he just call me gorgeous??
OMG!!.
Calmness, zenness, chillness, be with me now. (One of my favorite lines from the book and part of the quote I inscribe in every paperback of Stalk Me.) PLEASE!!!!.
"Oh, haha," I awkwardly giggle. "I don't know. Just saw the ball and felt like it. Sorry. It was probably stupid of me. I guess I just got caught up in the moment."
"I liked it, even though you made me miss." Then he moves in to stand just a little closer to me and lowers his voice.
"Well, really, you kinda embarrassed me. I don't usually miss. But you, I couldn't stop looking at you. I kinda forgot about the ball until it was coming at me."
"I think you were just shocked to see a girl running down the field in cowboy boots and a dress."
"That's for sure. Not something you see every day around here. But I hope I get to see you more."
"Really?"
His gorgeous green eyes are practically drilling their way into my soul as we speak. (They are, they really, really are!) I'm not going to swoon. I'm not going to act like probably every other girl acts in the presence of a hottie god. I'm going to walk away before I make a fool of myself. Hopefully leaving will make him want me more. Mom says you always leave them wanting more. (Even though I'm totally swooning.) But instead, I am just standing there, staring back at him. At his short blonde hair, that is perfectly, almost artfully, messed up on the top. At those gorgeous green eyes. At his perfect smile.
I manage to say, "Hey, it was nice to meet you." And then I squeeze around his tall, muscular body. When I accidentally brush up against him, I almost jump from the electrical feel of him. I quick walk over to sit in the relative safety of the freshman boy table.
"See you were talking to Aiden," Riley says.
"Who's Aiden?" I ask. I'm still in a bit of a daze. I mean, who could blame me? I was just touched by a god.
"Uh, the guy you were just talking to, the goalie from today?"
"Oh, yeah. I guess," I shrug.
"You should know he is a total player." Riley tells me this, like it's something I really need to know.
Which kinda pisses me off. "Really? And you're not? You have been trying to do nothing since we met, but convince me of your playing skills, and now you are condemning him for it?"
Dallas is like, "Dude, she's got a point."
Riley quips back, "I'm not a player, Kiki. I just want to settle down with a hot stripper named girl on my arm." (I love Riley!) "Shut up. Seriously. Skip the Kiki crap."
I shove some lasagna in my mouth, and wish my mouth was doing something else.
Something else with this Aiden boy.
But then my mind flashes back to last night, with Brooklyn. I can see his face right next to mine. I can feel the way his weight felt when he was laying on top of me, the closeness I felt to him.
Seriously, what is wrong with me? I lost my virginity to the love of my life less than 24 hours ago, and I'm drooling over the some random hottie.
Not cool.
Okay, so he's not a random hottie. He is more like the god of random hotties.
We eat, and then go to the freshman mixer. It's pretty boring, honestly. But I met a few more people.
The boys were bored, so we all left and walked around outside for a bit.
I just dropped them all off at their dorm, and I'm walking back to my dorm when I hear, "Hey, Boots!"
Boots?
I turn around, and there is gorgeous goalie boy.
God of all Hotties.
"Uh, are you talking to me?"
"Yeah, you didn't tell me your name, and since you were wearing those cute cowboy boots, I thought I'd call you Boots."
"Boots is the name of the monkey on Dora the Explorer." What? Is he an idiot?
"What's Dora the Explorer?"
"It's a kid's show. Seriously, you've never heard of it? Swiper, no swiping? Backpack? Map? Tico the squirrel?"
He looks at me with a blank face. "Uh, I don't think so. So....??"
"So what?"
"Are you gonna tell me your name, or what?"
"Oh, um sure." Then I get a little swag back. "If you tell me yours first."
You show me yours, I'll show you mine, is what I wish I could say.
He stares at me for a second, like I'm a fish he's trying to size up. See if he should throw me back in or not. He puts his hand out, for me to shake it, and says, "Hi, I'm Aiden."
I smile at him and let out a little nervous laugh.
I'm trying really hard to be all cool with this guy.
Cuz the player comments are totally in my mind.
I don't want to fall for a player, get my heart broken. And really, I'm not sure if Brooklyn gave me my heart back or not. But I'm single. We decided no strings, just friendship, when I left, so I say, "I'm Keatyn."
"Really? I've never known a girl with that name. Only guys."
I stand there and stare at him, not sure if I'm supposed to be offended or not.
"So, Boots," he grins. "You have a date for the dance Saturday night?"
"Uh no, I've been here for like five hours, I don't really know very many people yet."
"Well you've certainly made an impression on the male population so far."
I roll my eyes. "I highly doubt that. Unless, of course, their impression is that I'm freaking nuts, cuz apparently that's what a lot of the girls thought. Or so my roommate tells me."
He laughs. He's got a cute laugh that's kinda deep and sexy. Kinda a growl.
Grrr, baby, grrrr. (My thoughts exactly, Keatyn.) Yeah, I don't say that.
He says, "Freaking hot, yes. Freaking nuts, probably. Freaking adorable, absolutely. Plus, I have a lotta respect for a girl that can score on me."
And before I can edit myself, I blurt out, "Funny, I've heard just the opposite."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"I don't know. I just heard you're a major player. Usually players don't have much respect for the girls they, uh, score with."
He narrows his eyes at me. I think I just pissed him off. (I just love their banter.) It's cute. (It is.) He leans in to me and sorta breathlessly says, "How do you know it's not just cuz I haven't met the right girl yet? I'm really a hopeless romantic, a sensitive soul. I know that doesn't sound very cool, but I am. And I'm looking for that special girl, so I guess you're right. I figure out pretty quickly if things are right or not. And if they aren't, well then, why waste my time? And I haven't, um, scored with all the girls I've dated. I'm really not all that experienced."
I laugh out loud in his face.
I didn't mean to, but I did.
Cuz I mean look at him!
He's freaking gorgeous. Tonight he's got just a bit of stubble on that movie star jaw. And his hair is not messed up from soccer anymore.
"I'm serious," he says. "And uh, what about you, stripper Kiki?"
"Hmmm. One, I am not a stripper. Two, they asked me if I have a nickname, and I stupidly told them at home my little sisters call me Kiki. Like key key. When they say it, it sounds adorable. When freshman boys say it, it sounds slutty."
"So maybe we're both hearing things that aren't exactly true?"
"How many girls did you go out with freshman year?"
"Uh," he hems and haws. Purses his lips. "I went out with eight."
"That's like one a month. Let me guess, you loved them all?"
He winces. "Well, I heard you have a boyfriend. Some older surfer dude."
"Well, yeah, I like did, but when I came here, we decided we should go back to being friends. He's my best friend."
"Good to hear. Cuz you look like my next girlfriend." (Torn between thinking he's a jerk and swooning.) "Oh my gosh, did you really just use a pickup line on me? I thought you said you are a sensitive soul. More like your soul is full of bullshit."
"Uh, sorry. I don't know why I just said that. So hey, I gotta go, but save me a dance tomorrow night, k?"
I gave him a flippant, "Sure," along with an eye roll.
He turns, grabs both of my hands and says, "I'm serious." He looks me in the eye, and I swear, I almost fainted when he touched me.
What the hell is wrong with me?
Repeat after me.
Do not fall for a player.
Only date nice boys.
Do not fall for a player.
I shake my head a bit, get the cobwebs that seem to have formed in my brain out and walk back to my dorm.
How not to impress a girl.
9:00pm Back at the dorm, in the safety of my room. My roommate is already in bed and asleep.
Seriously? Curfew isn't even until 10:30. And I'm still on pacific time, which means it's only 6:00 at home. I change into a pair of shorts and a sweatshirt, then text my mom real quick.
Me: So, I'm doing good. Today went good.
Mom: Any cute boys?
Me: Mom, I'm here to get an education, remember? Figure out me?
Mom: But, still.
Me: Yes, I have met some cute boys. One that is so good looking, he should be in your next movie. He's like the God of all Hotties.
Mom: Did you talk to this hottie?
Me: Yeah, he asked me to go the dance with him tomorrow, but I said no.
Mom: WHY!!!????
Me: Cuz he's apparently a player.
Mom: Players can be fun. Tommy was a player before he met me, just saying. (Um, Abby, this may not be the best motherly advice in the world. Just saying. But she's right. Players can be fun. *Until you get played.) Me: I'll keep that in mind. Love you!