Falling for the Goalie and Other Dangerous Sports

Chapter 46 - Maddy

"Madeline, I am appalled! Miss Gray, I do not steal from other authors. What blasphemy."

I sat up. "I apologize Mr. Weaver, I didn't expect you to be so offended."

"Apology not accepted."

I did a double take as he sat up himself. "Wait. What?"

"Apology," He paused to push a piece of hair away from my face, finger trailing down and around my ear to under my jaw, finally flicking my chin up towards his. "Not accepted." I felt my face heat up and tried to think my way into making it cool down. He added, "I only accept forms of affection."

I wanted to have a confident, bad ass, winged eyeliner, ripped jeans kind of moment. But I was caught in between that and shy embarrassment, ending up in a boring kiss. Well, actually it wasn't boring. Actually it felt nice. More than nice. An amazing, elongated, slow kiss that wasn't the addictive burning passion the night before felt even more addictive in a different, more gentle sense.

After breaking the kiss there was that little linger, the second or two of absolute perfection like untouched snow or a still lake. I sat up straight again, shy embarrassment creeping up once more. His hand wandered over mine, lightly tracing lines. "I like your choice of affection."

We both chuckled. I let the tickling sensation of his finger moving along my hand go up my arm and down my back. Cautiously, I stole a glance at his concentrated face. Brown hair all messy and cute as usual, lips slightly chapped, perfectly shaped jawline, and, of course, green eyes. But under all those layers of protection: ego, narcissism, pessimism, a god complex he's spent years upon years constructing, he was sensitive. Oh, he was so vulnerable under it all. I tried to pinpoint how it drew me in after he's embarrassed and reprimanded and teased me for a lot of the time I've known him. What did I have that intrigued him seemed like the better question.

I pulled my hand away from his and gently pushed him on his back, then snuggling up close on the concrete rooftop. It was odd, concrete never felt so comfortable in that moment.

I suddenly remembered the question I wanted to ask him. Tapping him, he opened his eyes to look at me. "Huh?"

"Why does it always smell like you have cologne on?" I asked.

"I don't know." He turned his gaze to the sky, seemingly trying to figure it out for himself.

"Oh. Weird."

There was a pause before he said anything. "It must be the scent of my sweat. I was born with a rare condition that makes your sweat smell amazingly good."

I kicked his foot at the sarcastic response. "Shut up."

"Only to girls with iris fetishes."

"Shut up!" I shouted, trying not to laugh.

"And they have to be named Madeline. It's weird, I know."

I couldn't keep the angry charade up anymore as I chuckled, rolling onto my back. "I hate you."

"Some of the side effects cause strong dislike and or attraction, I understand."

I smiled at the comment, wanting to say something clever in response but I just couldn't think of anything for the life of me. It's like I've gone brain dead around this boy. But then there were moments I had a vast amount of confidence. I felt like maybe I was caught in between one or the other, shy or confident, and couldn't figure out which I was. Maybe it depended on he was at the moment too. He didn't quite know who to be either.

I sighed from my overwhelming thoughts and asked, "What time is it?"

"3:30."

"Should we head back?"