My Soccer Boy

Names

I looked at myself in the mirror. My blonde hair was perfectly braided to the side. I wore his jersey, tucked into my jean shorts. The smell of his cologne lingered on the material, which was truly intoxicating. As upset I was to do so, I sprits my perfume on the jersey so it smelt like me. But oddly it smelt like a combination of both of us, which made me smile. Which in turn made me confused. My feelings were slightly different, but as to what they really were was still fuzzy to me.

I glanced at the clock, it was 5:40. He should be here soon. I thought and as if on cue, there was a loud honk up front. I smiled and ran outside. He was leaning against his truck with his arms across his chest. He had the passenger door opened for me. When I got closer I stopped dead in my tracks. He looked so sexy in his team uniform. It clung to his muscular figiar. When I glanced at his face I noticed he was checking me out as well. I looked away, blushing.

“You ready?” he asked.

“Yep.” I responded.

I hopped into his truck and he closed the door behind me. I glanced at him from the corner of my eye. I found it strange that now when I looked at him, I wasn’t completely repulsed. I could no longer say I hate him. I want to hate him though. It seemed easier than whatever the hell this is.

“You know, I don’t know your name. I only know your German name.” He pointed out.

“It’s Summer.” I said.

“Hmm, Summer…” he said as if testing out the feel of the words.

“How ‘bout you? What’s you’re real name Thomas?” I asked, calling him by his German name.

“Bryce.”

“So Bryce, what type of upperclassmen abuse am I walking into going to this varsity game?” I asked.

“Well, I would usually say that you should expect a lot. But since I’m trying to make this work, I’ll say close to none. If any of the guys give you trouble, they’ll have to deal with me.” He said no taking his eyes off the road.

“Why are you trying so hard to be make this work?” I asked. I wanted to hear his reasoning. Maybe I could make some since of these feelings.

“Why do you ask? Do you want me to treat you like crap?” he asked.

I quickly shook my head, “No, I didn’t mean it like that! I meant, why are you being nice to me now? Just yesterday we were at each other’s throats.” I pointed out. I so hoped that it wasn’t because he felt bad for me. I didn’t want him to feel bad for me! I didn’t mean to cry, especially not in front of him. He just hit a soft spot when we were argument…

“I-I don’t know yet…” he said truthfully, as he pulled into a parking spot.