Passing Through

Part Twenty Eight

Within a few months they were holding brief conversations, often when she was with her father, but knowing that she might bump into Torrie if she was near her father's office was all the incentive she needed, and she was rewarded for her efforts by running into him on the stairs, or corridor occasionally.

Then the college got free tickets to go see the Bruins. Her father had one, and with a beaming smile informed her that he had one for her too. She was excited, but that only trebled when she heard that most of the team were going as well, including Torrie.

She didn't have many friends, her school was close to her father's college, and not near where they lived, so she had no one to borrow clothes or make up from, so on the day of the game, she sneaked home in afternoon and raided her mother's make up drawer, she had some, but nothing as nice as her mother's.

She got back to school and wasn't missed, but when she turned up at her father's office, he was pale, coughing and a bath of perspiration.

"You're not well," she was concerned, but also devastated. She'd been dreaming of this evening for so long. "You need to go home."

He sighed, "I'm sorry, baby. I know you wanted to go."

She tired to appear nonchalant, because despite the fact that she was sixteen, there was no way that her father would let her cross the city on public transport, that late at night. The game was due to finish about ten o'clock. He was very protective of her.

As she was helping him gather her things, there was a knock at the door, and when she opened it, her heart seemed to bounce up to her mouth, rendering her both beetroot red, and speechless.

"Hey, Natasha," even Torrie's voice was sexy. "You guys ready, there's a group of us all travelling together."

She groaned, "my Dad's sick, we can't make it."

He moved past her, "shit, Mark. You look dreadful."

"Feel it."

"You need a ride home?"

He'd shaken his head, he had his car, then Torrie winked at her, "so, will you trust me and the rest of the offensive team to escort you girl to the game, be a shame for her to miss it."

Natasha fought the panic, the hyperventilation that threatened to render her useless as she stared at first Torrie, then her Dad, there was no way he'd let her go. Even though she was an adult in some parts of the country.

"I don't think..."

Torrie laughed, "Mark, we're sensible. We'll bring her straight home, and she has a phone? Call her every five minutes if you need to."

Surprisingly, he agreed. Gabriel Torrent always got what he wanted. AN that night, it seemed it was her company.

They'd sat up in the stands, him beside her, and as he game progressed, he seemed to lean close to her. Then when the Bruins scored a goal to take the lead in the second period, his hand thrust onto her thigh in excitement.

And never left her leg.

She had swooned literally, her heart racing as his fingers spread over her leg and his body leaned into her. This is what it felt like to be one of the many women who appeared on Torrie's arm. She was in love, lust and every other teenage angst emotion.

He saw her home, and the next day she practised her signature, Natasha Torrent on five pages of her book.

At the next game, when he scored, he sought her in the ground and gave her a beaming smile and a mock salute.

A week later, she was sat outside the college, on a stone bench working on some homework as she waited for her dad, Torrie passed, then stopped to talk, helping her with her algebra sat together in the evening sun.