Puck The Halls | Jack Hughes

ONE

"Hey! Jack!" I whined, trying to get it back. He held it higher, out of my reach. I stood up, trying to get it from him, but all he had to do was stand up too, and he was towering over me. I stomped my foot, angry. "Jack! Give it back!"

"Nope," he smirked, taking a seat back on the swing and still holding the book away from me. He opened the first page, reading out loud.

I yanked it out of his hands, scowling at him. "Go away, Jack!"

I tried to walk away from him, since I knew he'd never leave me alone, but Jack had other ideas. He wrapped his hands around my tiny wrists, yanking me towards him. I gasped, holding my breath, as I stood between his legs, eyes wide and heart beating out of control.

He must have noticed how awkward I was, because he let me sit back down beside him two seconds later, sighing in defeat as he decided to leave me be.

"Wait, Jack," I said, noticing his shoulders were slumped and his lips were set in a sad pout. He turned to me, hopeful. "You can stay, just, don't be annoying."

He beaned, his smile reaching his eyes as he sat beside me silently, letting me read. It was quiet for a while, peaceful, until he got bored, and started peering over my shoulder, trying to read too.

I snapped the book closed, turning my head to face him.

"Jack—" snapping my lips closed, I realised how close we were, and so did he, because suddenly he was blushing.

This had happened before, a few weeks ago, and we both jumped apart, then didn't look at each other for three days, but today, he wasn't jumping away. Actually, he was staring at my lips. I blinked up at him rapidly, trying to remember how to breathe.

"Jack?" I whispered. He reached a hand out, subconsciously tucking a strand of hair behind my ear as I gazed at him in wonder. Was this what it felt like to be grown up and fall in love? If so, I wanted to grow up and fall in love with Jack right now. "What are you doing?"

Jack didn't know what he was doing, all he knew was that he was a teenager now, and he had teenage impulses, like wanting to kiss his best friend's pretty younger sister.

He took a deep breath, not putting too much thought into it, before he squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his lips to mine  for the space of three heart beats. My eyes flew wide open as I held my breath, not sure what to do. I closed my eyes instinctively, clutching onto Jack's t-shirt. His hand was still resting on my face, by my ear, and his fingertips were leaving tingles on my skin.

He pulled away quickly, suddenly shy and flustered with rosy cheeks and dark pink lips and I found my own face flushing as I replayed my first kiss over and over in my head.

He stood abruptly, not saying a word as he stormed back into the house, his head down to hide his furious blush. My mom walked out to bring me lunch at the same time Jack had walked in, brushing by her. She noticed his disposition, and how quickly he was basically running away, then took a good look at me.

If there's anything I've learned in my life, it's that mothers know everything. A tiny smile fluttered across her lips. Her daughter had just been kissed for the first time in her life, and she knew that Jack and I would one day love each other completely and hopelessly.

But, that was nine years ago, and today, I sat on my porch, cuddled up and waiting for my brother to come home. He hasn't been home for Christmas in a lot of years, since he got drafted, actually, or more accurately, since he and Jack got selected to be part of the NHL development program.

And so, I hadn't really celebrated the holidays in a while, which, was okay with me, since I always hated being the centre of attention, especially at this time of year.

I did, however, have an inkling of dread that was sitting dormant in the back of my mind. Jack was coming home this year, and I hadn't seen Jack since I was fifteen. That first kiss was my last kiss with Jack, and our relationship from there on had been rocky, to say the least.

He and Trevor were mean to me during my teenage years, especially as I went through the worst part of puberty. And of course, my crush on Jack only worsened. I don't know what was wrong with me, but as a pre-teen, I loved him, I loved him and how he teased me and made fun of me. I loved him because I knew deep down, he didn't hate me the way he pretended to.

Because, when we were alone, the Jack I got was a different one to the Jack who was best friends with my brother.

But as time went on and he got more and more distant, then eventually moved away, I moved on. I turned sixteen, grew boobs, suddenly discovered what male attention was, and found that Jack wasn't the only boy in the world.

I had my first real kiss, my first time, dated my second love, and found out that I was sort of a badass when it came to boys. I revelled in the way they wanted my attention in senior year of high school, forgetting all about Jack.

And now, about to go off to college, I was a completely different person. I wasn't shy anymore, and I wasn't about to let Jack come home and treat me like I was his little toy that he could play with whenever he got bored, the way he had when we were growing up.

Except, I was only trying to convince myself of this. Deep down, I was a little worried that maybe, just maybe, I was still that little girl inside. Still hopelessly in love with Jack Hughes, and him coming home would only ignite the spark that was maybe still there, only hidden.

I went back to my book, trying to distract myself, but the next chapter was a spicy one, and suddenly I found myself reading the main characters name as Jack, and imagining him doing spicy things to me.

Oh boy, not again. I didn't need feelings for him again. And I definitely didn't need—or want—to have a Christmas break filled with rough sex with the boy I'd grown up loving. Nope. No thanks. Please, fuck off.

I slammed my book closed, huffing as I took the last sip of my coffee, and going inside to find my mother who would no doubt be able to take my mind off Jack with one simple Christmas conversation.

Fabulous.