“Sweet moves.” He looks down at my boots. “I don’t think I've ever seen anyone play soccer in cowboy boots.”
He laughs. He has an easy, sexy laugh.
It makes me miss Brooklyn.
He’s so easy to make laugh. Okay, so, granted, he’s high a lot, and that makes him think things are funny. But still, it’s cute.
I pretend like I don’t recognize him. “Were you out there today? Like on the soccer field?”
“Uh, yeah.” He looks offended. “I was the goalie.”
“Oh, wow, so that was you, huh?” This guy is almost too perfect-looking to be real. I doubt he has any trouble getting girls, probably has a huge ego, and probably is heading to the popular table as we speak.
Don’t want any part of that.
“Yeah,” he says, just a bit awkwardly.
“So, wait. You’re Peyton’s brother?”
“Guilty,” he says, holding up his hands.
“She’s gorgeous.”
“You’re pretty gorgeous yourself. And you have a mean kick. I’m curious. What possessed you to run out on the field like that?”
Did he just call me gorgeous?!
OMG!
Calmness, zenness, chillness, be with me now.
Please!
“Oh,” I awkwardly giggle. “I don’t know. Just saw the ball and felt like it. Sorry. It was probably stupid of me. I guess I just got caught up in the moment.”
“I liked it, even though you made me miss.” He stands just a little closer to me and lowers his voice. “Well, really, you kinda embarrassed me. I don’t usually miss. But you—I couldn’t stop looking at you. I kinda forgot about the ball until it was whooshing by my head.”
“I think you were just shocked to see a girl running down the field in cowboy boots and a dress.”
“That’s for sure. Not something you see every day around here. But I hope I get to see you more.”
“Really?”
His gorgeous green eyes are practically drilling their way into my soul as we speak.
I’m not going to swoon. I’m not going to act like probably every other girl acts in the presence of a hottie god. I’m going to walk away before I make a fool of myself.
But I can’t seem to make my feet move; instead, I stare at him. At the short blonde hair that is perfectly—almost artfully—messed up on the top. At those gorgeous green eyes. At his perfect smile.
I manage to say, “Hey, it was nice to meet you.”
I attempt to squeeze around his tall, perfect chest, but my body brushes against his, and I almost jump from the surge of electricity.
I get around him and quickly walk over to sit in the relative safety of the boys’ table.
“See you were talking to Aiden,” Riley says.
“Who’s Aiden?” I’m still in a bit of a daze. I mean, who could blame me? I was just touched by a god.
“The guy you were just talking to. The goalie from today?”
“Oh, yeah. I guess,” I shrug.
“You should know he’s a total player.” Riley tells me this like it’s something I really need to know. Which kinda pisses me off.
“Really? And you’re not? You’ve been trying to do nothing since we met but convince me of your playing skills, and now you’re condemning him for it?”
Dallas is like, “Dude, she’s got a point.”
Riley quips back, “I’m not a player, Kiki. I just want to settle down with a hot, stripper-named girl on my arm.”
“Shut up. Seriously. Skip the Kiki crap.”
I shove some lasagna into my mouth and wish my mouth was doing something else.
Something with this Aiden boy.
Seriously, what is wrong with me? Why am I drooling over the some random hottie?
No hotties. No popular table. No falling in love.
I eat my food, then go with the boys to the new student mixer. It’s pretty boring, honestly, but I meet some more freshman boys. I’ve decided freshman boys can be really sweet.
Dallas and Riley get bored, so we leave and walk around outside for a bit.
I drop them off at their dorm and am walking to my dorm when I hear, “Hey, Boots!”
Boots?
I turn around, and there is gorgeous goalie boy.
God of all Hotties.
“Are you talking to me?”
“Yeah, you didn't tell me your name, and since you’re wearing those cute cowboy boots, I thought I'd call you Boots.”
“Boots is the name of the monkey on Dora the Explorer.” What? Is he an idiot?
“Who's Dora the Explorer?”
“It’s a kid’s show. Seriously, you've never heard of it? Swiper, no swiping? Backpack? Map? Tico, the squirrel?”
He looks at me with a blank face. “Uh, I don't think so. So . . . ?”
“So, what?”
“Are you gonna tell me your name, or what?”
“Oh, sure.” Then I get a little swagger back. “If you tell me yours first.”
You show me yours; I’ll show you mine is what I wish I could say.
He stares at me for a second, the same way Grandpa looks at a fish he's trying to size up. Seeing if he should throw me back in or not.
He puts his hand out for me to shake and says, “Hi, I'm Aiden."
I smile at him and let out a little nervous laugh.
I'm trying really hard to be cool with this guy.
Because the player comments are totally in my mind.
I don't want to fall for a player and get my heart broken. I just got my heart broken. Twice.
But I told myself I was going to make friends with everyone here, and it wouldn’t be fair of me to discriminate against him just because he’s hot. I should at least be polite, so I say, “I'm Keatyn."
It takes everything I have to let go of his hand when I shake it.
My hand belongs in his.
Forever.
Don’t laugh. I’m serious.
It belongs in his forever.
“Really? I've never known a girl with that name. Only guys.”
I stand there and stare at him, not sure if I'm supposed to be offended or not.
“So, Boots,” he grins. “You have a date for the dance Saturday night?”
“Uh, no. I've only been here for, like, five hours. I don't know very many people yet.”
“Well you've certainly made an impression on the male population.”
I roll my eyes. “I highly doubt that. Unless, of course, their impression is that I'm freaking nuts, because apparently that's what a lot of the girls thought. Or so my roommate tells me.”
He laughs. This laugh is deep and sexy. It’s kind of a growl.
Grrr, baby, grrr.
Yeah, I didn’t say that.
He says, “Freaking hot, yes. Freaking nuts, probably. Freaking adorable, absolutely. Plus, I have a lotta respect for a girl who can score on me.”
Before I can edit myself, I blurt out, “Funny, I've heard just the opposite.”
“What's that supposed to mean?”
“I don't know. I just heard you’re a major player. Usually players don't have much respect for the girls they, uh, score with.”
He narrows his eyes at me. I think I just pissed him off.
It’s cute.
He leans in toward me and sorta breathlessly says, “How do you know it’s not just cuz I haven't met the right girl yet? Maybe I'm really a hopeless romantic, a sensitive soul. I know that doesn't sound very cool, but it’s true. I'm looking for that special girl, so I guess you're right. I figure out pretty quickly if things are good or not. And if they aren't, well then, why waste my time? And I haven’t scored with all the girls I’ve dated. I'm really not all that experienced.”
I laugh out loud in his face.
I didn’t mean to, but I did.
Because, I mean, look at him!
He's freaking gorgeous. Tonight he's got just a bit of blonde stubble on that movie star jaw. And his hair is not messed up from soccer anymore.
“I'm serious. And what about you, stripper Kiki?”
“Hmmm. One, I’m not a stripper. Two, they asked me if I have a nickname, and I stupidly told them that at home my little sisters call me Kiki. Like key key. When they say it, it sounds adorable. When freshman boys say it, it sounds slutty.”