𝓜𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽𝔂 𝓓𝓾𝓬𝓴𝓼 𝓘𝓶𝓪𝓰𝓲𝓷𝓮𝓼

Adam Banks

"Hey, Sally."

She pursed her lips with a low sniffle, inaudible to the boy standing at the end of his driveway, hands gripping his hockey stick. Gloved hands gripped tightly as he pulled both arms back and swung forward, the tip of the stick shooting the puck into the net. He'd aimed for the crossbar and managed to hit it, no celebration needed as he proceeded to prepare shooting the next puck. The clang of rubber hitting metal wasn't as loud as it'd be on a cold winter day, but it was still loud she heard it and jumped lightly with a spook.

Adam continued shooting pucks on the warm spring afternoon as she walked to the edge of the lawn, sitting down to watch him. She pulled her knees up to her chest and leaned forward, setting her chin to the top of them as she watched quietly. The same routine as every other time he practiced in the driveway. 

He was always shooting pucks and trying to better himself, but she always thought he was good enough that he didn't need to. He was trying to perfect his wrist shots and as often as she watched hockey, she didn't really understand the purpose.

However, he was incredibly hot.

The girl sat in awe every single time, just watching the way he moved. The way his biceps flexed through his fitted long sleeved shirt every time he gripped the stick to shoot. Or the way he slyly ran his fingers through his middle parted hair to push it out of his eyes. Or possibly the way his upper body crunched and turned when he shot the puck, feet planted as it was a hip movement. Sweat usually disgusted people and as gross as it could be, she had the hots for him even more whenever he sported droplets of sweats on his sideburns or forehead. 

Eyes glued to his form, she couldn't help but stare the entire time as he turned away, jogging to the end of the driveway to catch the runaway puck. He looked up with a huff, catching his breath from the excessive force he used shooting pucks and checked for cars before running into the street. With one hand to the stick, her mouth gaped as he reached out, taking the puck and then using the inside of his shoe to kick it back onto the driveway.

The boy caught a look of her as he was coming back, giving her a kind, warm smile and she embarrassingly sent him a tiny wave. Cheeks reddened heavily to the point they were growing hot and she gulped, finally exhaling and looked away.

Adam chuckled with a light headshake, tossing the pucks out of the net to the center of the driveway so he could start over. Again, he caught her looking, but this time she tried peeling her eyes away and turned her head. Glancing down to the grass she sat at, he tipped a puck in her direction.

As the puck circled in front of her, falling to it's face next to her, he walked over with his hockey stick and met her. "Bored?" He questioned her, she had been inside the house watching TV because he had gotten bored of the TV and came to practice.

She lifted a hand to her face, an attempt to hide herself, and rubbed her brow. "No."

"So, you're out here for fun?" He inquired, egging her on.

She nodded confidently. "Yes. Yes, I am."

He laughed quietly to himself. "Yeah, right."

"Am too!" She leaned forward, taking his puck and threw it across the driveway into the neighbor's yard on accident, not meaning to throw that far. 

Adam turned his head back, seeing the puck bounce on the grass across the yard before slowly turning his head back. His eyes darted to the girl's. "Are you gonna go get that?"

Slyly, she bit her lip and went to nod, but then didn't. "No." She spoke nonchalantly and eyed him, kind of boiling up inside with excitement. "Why? Are you gonna make me?"