Right In Front of Me

Chapter 16

Kentwood blasted through the first round of states. I didn't think they could do better than regional finals, but they did. They completely shut out the other team 35-0. Mason threw every single touchdown, including one that was 65 yards. John played good as well, but I couldn't help but be proud for Mason.

Kayla suggested we all go to Clark's like we usually do after games. But for the first time, I didn't want to. I was tired. I had babysat the night before and in the morning. But really, I just didn't want to see an arrogant Mason. Kayla asked again, saying I could get some coffee and stay at her house that night as an incentive, but I still declined. I think she had a feeling of why I didn't want to go.

I texted John and told him I was tired and going straight home after the game. He asked me if he could come over. I felt bad. I really did. I hadn't spent any time with him this weekend. But I really was tired and just wanted to be left alone the rest of the night. I told him no and went home to sleep for the night.

I wake up to a surprising text the next morning.

Mason: you didn't come to clark's

I was surprised to say the least. We haven't been on talking terms, but he obviously noticed my absence. Okay, what the heck. Is he mad or not? I reply anyways, yearning for a conversation with him.

Me: I was tired

Mason: that's what kayla said.

So he asked Kayla about me? Now I'm more confused. I see him typing. I sit, anxiously waiting what he'll say next.

Mason: you going to semifinals next weekend?

I don't get how he could be asking me that. Of course I am going to semifinals. I wouldn't miss it for the world. He should know that by now.

Me: of course

Mason: to see john right?

Me: and you...

I bit my lip, anxiously. I really do want to see him play. Before I got my license, I went to every home again. Since I got my license, I've gone to every game, home or away, no matter what. It doesn't matter that we aren't really talking. I'd still go no matter what.

I sit there, twiddling my fingers, waiting for his reply. But he doesn't. He never replies. I kept looking at my phone, waiting for his text all day. Part of me wants to push it. Say how proud of him I am and how I will always go to his games no matter what. But I don't. I leave it. He obviously doesn't want to talk to me for a reason.

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I woke up on Monday and told myself that this week, I really need to make sure to hang out with John more. I really did feel bad for ditching him over the weekend. All he's been is nice and sweet to me. I know I haven't been fully feeling myself lately, but he's been trying. So, I need to make the effort as well. I made sure we'd hang out today.

We met after he got out of practice to hang out. We were in his room, actually planning to study. He was going to help me work on some practice SAT questions. Well, that quickly went out the window.

I'm completely straddling him, hands in his hair, while we're on his bed as we're making out. We're kissing with such hunger and passion. It's like we haven't seen each other in days. Well, that's kind of true. We haven't properly hung out alone and it's showing right now.

His hands are all over the place. In my hair. On my back. On my hips. They're frantic, yearning for more. I've felt his fingers slip under the hem of my shirt a couple of times, but he hasn't tried much.

We go on for minutes, completely breathless. But we don't stop. We continue to make out. Each of us continuously wanting more. I keep wondering where this will go, but I don't stop. At this point, I'm really not wanting to.

Suddenly, I feel his hand near my bra under my shirt and I pull away. "Sorry," he says as he takes his hand out. This is probably our steamiest make out session and I don't want it to end, not as all.

"Don't be," I tell him, leaning in and kissing him softly.

He kisses me back, but then pulls away, "Are you sure?" he asks cautiously. I see his eyes filled with lust, but I can see they're being cautious as well. "Yes," I nod and lean in to kiss him again, unbuttoning his jeans in the process.