Know Your Worth

10

It was him. The guy from the upstairs hockey gym.

He had an amused smirk playing on his lips as he surveyed me.

I didn't say anything, hoping he'd just grab whatever he had planned to grab and just leave me alone.

He was making me flustered. I hated it, and I hated him for it.

Why did he have to be so damn gorgeous? It wasn't fair.

My brain short-circuited again, so I wisely kept my mouth shut and glared at him.

It was awkward, the silence.

He just stared at me, and I could feel a flush climbing up my neck. I didn't want him to know how much he'd affected me. That'd be mortifying. Lord knows he might bitch about me to his friends. Guys can be cruel that way.

Whoever said that girls were the only ones gossiping and stirring up drama were plain wrong. Boys also did that too, and it was worse when they didn't know your name, because then they would describe you.

And their descriptions were not exactly mindful of your feelings. They would never hold back.

I snapped. My brain could finally function, and as snidely as possible, I said,        "Why don't you just take whatever you wanted here, and just go already? We can pretend we didn't see each other. I'm hungry, okay?"

I winced at the last part. I shouldn't have to explain myself to him, but for some reason I always do that whenever someone asks me something, and then I would get extremely defensive.

He laughed, and I tried not to gawk. Because his dimples were showing.

"Chill out. Just an innocent question," he raised his palms in a surrender motion.

I took my time to examine him. Again, a navy blue Ralph Lauren tshirt and jeans. He looks freshly showered, again.

He walks to the fridge and pulls out a can of sprite.

His arm brushed mine and I could feel the warmth emananting from it. He smelled of expensive cologne, and I stupidly opened my mouth and blurted," Did you play?"

He pauses, turns the full force of his gaze on me and simply answered " Yes,"

"Oh. Did you win?" I pressed. Why couldn't I shut the hell up?

"My team won. It was a group effort and a group victory," he gently corrected me.

"Congrats,"

"So why are you here? Besides depleting the food supplies?" He jerks his head to the cabinets.

What an asshole.

"I'm here with my friend. It was my first time ever seeing an ice hockey tournament,"

His face turned incredulous.

"Your first time ever? Didn't your high school have ice hockey?" He asked, perplexed.

"No. No budget," I shrugged.

"Well, was it good? Lived up to your expectations?" He asked seriously, as if my perceptions were of utmost importance.

"It was boring in the first half, but the end was both frightening and exciting," I answered truthfully.

"Hey dipshit, you coming over or what? What the fuck is taking you so fucking long and-" a tall, tanned guy stops when he sees me, and turns apologetic. His brown curls and easy smile put me at ease.

"Ah, I see. You're busy. And um, hello to you too. But anyway, dude, hurry up. We need to beat Ricky and Simon in beer pong," he cocks his head the right, and exits.