He Was Different

I felt a jolt shot through me as our eyes met, but he looked quickly. 

A question suddenly popped into my head: did he get laid last night? Who was she? But I shook it out of my head. It wasn't my business. 

The players took their positions around the center ice, crouched low, eyes fixed on the puck. 

As soon as the puck dropped, Jackson lunged for it, and the real game began. I watched, with my eyes wide with interest, as he moved, skating with a speed that shouldn't be possible on ice. 

He was untouchable, a force to be reckoned with, and the opposite team stood no chance. In under seven minutes, he scored the first goal. The arena shook with the crowd's cheers, and my earplugs stood no chance. Beside me, Lilian jumped, cheering. And even my earplugs couldn't drown out her cheers.

“That’s my boy right there! My son! Go, Jackson!” 

She sounded so… proud. My father joined her in cheering, and I just sat still. I kept staring at him. I couldn't look away from him. I was… fascinated. I didn't want to be here because of the crowd, but now that he was playing, I didn't want to miss a single second.

My heart was racing as I watched him move, my eyes following him round the rink. Even from where I was seated, I could feel the tension oozing out from him. He seemed different: cold, aggressive, focused. And God help me, but I could feel heat pooling where it shouldn't. 

One of his teammates scored another goal, and once again, the arena shook. 

For the second round, his team rotated. 

“First line!” I heard Jackson yell out before he went to the center of the first line. 

His voice was strong, heavy, and I fought not to rub my thighs together as that heat grew. My breathing grew ragged as I kept watching him play. 

By the end of the second round, both teams were tied, and that was when I saw the shift in Jackson. He grew sharper, faster, and a bit more aggressive.

The third round was coming to an end, the clock ticking. They had barely a minute left to score one more goal, or the teams would be tied.

They fought over the puck, with Jackson knocking players off it.

Forty seconds. 

He had the puck and skated to the net while his team defended him.

Thirty seconds.

Someone from the opposite team took the puck from him. 

Twenty seconds.

Jackson got it back with aggression, once again skating towards the net. My heart was pounding in my chest as I watched. My pulse thundered in my ears as the timer raced. 

Five seconds left. Oh God, he’s not going to make it. 

And then. He hit the puck with his stick, shooting it, and it hit the net with such force that the goalie didn't see it coming, just as the timer went off.

“YES!” I screamed as I jumped to my feet, shocked, cheering, and laughing. I didn't realize when I turned to Lilian and hugged her, and we both jumped together, cheering and giggling. 

“He did it!” Lilian screamed.

“He did!” I screamed back. 

I looked back at the rink to see Jackson’s helmet was off, and his team cheered, hitting him in the back. He smiled widely, his chest heaving as he caught his breath, and my eyes stayed fixed on that smile.

This bastard shouldn't be this good-looking. It wasn't fair. 

~.~

After his celebratory dinner with his team, Jackson came over to the house to join us in celebrating. 

I cleared my throat. “Uhm… you played well today,” I said without meeting his eyes. 

We were all seated in the living room, drinking, and he was seated opposite me. Since he came in, I've noticed he hasn't looked my way, and I… I don't know why that hurts.

Since when did I start seeking his attention?

“Thank you, Siri,” he said, his voice softer than I've ever heard it. 

I felt his eyes on me, but it didn't linger. My grip tightened on the bottle.

Get your shit together, Siri. Get. It. Together.

“I should get going,” Jackson said after a while, standing up, and I finally let myself look at him. He still had that victory glow and that easy smile, but the smile dropped when my father stood up and tapped his shoulder.

“It’s late,” my father said. Either he didn't notice the sudden shift in Jackson, or he was ignoring it. “Why don’t you stay over?”

“Marshall is right,” Lillian said, as she stood up, chuckling nervously. “Just stay over for the night, hmm? I’ll get the guest room prepared."

She left before he had the chance to answer.

“Good job today,” my father said, tapping his shoulder before he dropped his hand, and Jackson’s jaw tightened. 

I remembered what he said that night about my father being a piece of shit. Did he know something? If he did, why did he let his mother marry him? 

My father left, and I stood up, picking up two bottles of beer.

“I hate him, too,” I muttered without looking at him as I made my way to my room. 

~.~

“Why does it matter if he was acting weird?” I muttered to myself as I sipped my beer, sitting on the floor, my back resting against the bed. “Huh? That’s to be expected, isn't it? And why do you care? Girl, you need to get your act right.”

A soft knock came on my door, and I snapped, pissed that someone was interrupting my time of self-pity and my idea of a prep talk.

“What?”

The door opened, and a mop of black hair snuck in. My eyes widened slightly as he stepped in fully and closed the door.

“Well, that was rude,” he said, standing over me with his hands in his pockets.

I narrowed my eyes on him. “The only one rude here is you.” 

“And do tell what I might have done to be branded as rude.”

“What have you not done, English boy?” 

He scoffed. “Someone has their panties up in a bunch.”

“My panties are always up in a bunch.”

“How delightful that must be.” 

“What do you want, Jackson?”

“You.” My eyes went wide. “To sit with you.”

My face dropped, and I refused to pay any mind to that ache in my chest. I pointed to the door with the bottle still in my hand. “Get out.”

The bastard sat on the floor with me, instead. “No, thank you.”

I watched him with my eyes narrowed. Arrogant prick. And why was he sitting so far away? No, a better question: why do I care? 

He sat in silence and just watched me. The more I kept staring back at his lovely face, the more pissed off I felt. And the more pissed off I felt, the more my mouth just moved.

“Oh, now, you wanna stare at me?”