Page 15 of The Obvious Check
When she reaches her car, an old sedan that’s seen better days, I know it’s my only chance. “Hey, Savannah!” Her body stiffens, her fingers twitching on the handle as she slowly turns.
Her green eyes are wide and confused, and I think a little hesitant. There’s something I can’t read behind her expression that makes my heart do a weird stuttering thing. Either way, her reaction punches me right in the chest with brass knuckles I never saw coming.
“Hey, Cade,” she says cautiously, her voice cracking a little.
I walk closer, keeping my hands in my sweatshirt pocket so I don’t spook her any more than I already have. “Sorry, didn’t mean to sneak up on you.” I stop a few feet away, trying to make myself look as unthreatening as possible. “I just—”
She lifts an eyebrow. “Is there something you need? Figured you asked all the questions you could over the last couple of hours.”
I let out a quiet laugh. I might’ve asked her one too many questions in our study group, hoping that would somehow make it easier to ask her out again. It didn’t. She’s still as hard to read as those last few chapters of our economics book. “Yeah, sorry about that. I guess I was a little nervous.” Understatement of the fucking century.
How many times can I ask her out before I take the hint that she’s not interested?
“Nervous?” she repeats, tilting her head slightly, her grip on her bag relaxing just a fraction. That’s got to be a good thing, right?
I shrug, pulling out the tickets from my pocket. “I was, uh, wondering if you might want to come to my game tomorrow night?”
“Your game?” She frowns, her eyes flickering between me and the tickets as though I’ve lost my mind. Maybe I have. I’ve never chased a girl like this before. Usually, they’re the ones trying to brand their names across my chest and fighting for exclusive rights to my Friday nights. With Savannah, the need to know about her has grown like an addiction, getting worse with each hit of her presence. There’s something lurking beneath her oversized hoodies and downcast eyes, and I need to know what it is before it drives me clinically insane.
“Yeah. It’s a big one.” I shift my weight slightly, bracing myself for the rejection I know is coming. “I figured maybe you’d want to check it out. You know, if you’re not busy or anything.”
Why did I sound like a pre-pubescent teenager asking his first crush to the homecoming dance? Voice cracking, palms sweating, the whole pathetic package. It’s because she’s different. I can’t pull my usual shit with her. Savannah is fragile, like blown glass that might shatter if I breathe too hard in her direction. Every word needs to be carefully weighed and measured before it leaves my mouth, like I’m defusing a bomb instead of asking a girl to a hockey game.
“What sport do you play?”
I can't help the laugh that bursts out of me like a surprise sneeze. Seriously? I knew she didn't pay much attention to things happening around her, but this just handed me one of the biggest reality checks of my pampered existence. As arrogant as this sounds—and I know it does—I've never not been recognized around here. Invisibility has never been my problem. My face has been plastered across campus since freshman year, and it's been especially unavoidable since Scotty joined the team and doubled our fan base with his boy-band good looks and forced social media addiction. “Hockey.”
She blinks. “Oh. Okay.”
“The games are a lot of fun. There’s music, and the mascot, Crushie, comes out and does a little dance.”
She eyes the tickets again, her expression unreadable. I can’t tell if she’s actually considering it or just trying to find a way to say no.
“Two tickets? Are you sitting with me?” she asks, her voice cautious.
“No. I’ll be playing.” I meet her gaze directly, slowing my words since I don’t think I’m being clear enough. “I want you to watch me.”
She takes in a sharp breath and stares at the tickets, then looks up at me. “Why?”
Seriously, this girl has the ability to crush my soul without even trying.
I shrug, though, pretending this isn’t a big deal when it absolutely is. “I thought you might like to.” My voice rises, cracking a little at the end when her brows crinkle so much, they meet in the middle.
Fuck.Why the hell am I screwing this up so badly?
My palms are sweaty, and I let out a nervous laugh because there’s nothing I can do about it when I’m holding the tickets between us.
“I got the extra ticket because I didn’t want you sitting on your own. You could bring a friend. Maybe a boyfriend…”
Yeah, I said it. Figured it’d sting less if I tore the Band-Aid off myself.
She doesn’t laugh or roll her eyes like I half-expected. Instead, something shifts in her face, something I can’t quite place, but she doesn’t answer. Just stares down at the tickets like they might tell her what to feel.
I’m bracing for the no. Why would she say yes? I haven’t given her any reason to. I just handed her tickets like some hockey-obsessed loser rambling about a sport she clearly couldn’t care less about. To her, I’m probably just background noise. A guy with a stick and a dream she doesn’t share.
Why the hell did I listen to Erik?
That guy gives out the worst dating advice, yet I still took it. It’s my own fault for trusting my ex-roommate, who has two giant nutcrackers guarding the end of his bed.
