Page 193 of Faking the Goal

Honestly, I can't blame them.

Kentaro is known for his permanent scowl and the vaguely murderous expression he wears whenever anyone interrupts him, so seeing him standing here with my lipstick smeared across his mouth and looking this ridiculously happy is probably enough to make half the arena wonder if somebody replaced him during intermission.

"KENT!"

A loud holler comes from somewhere behind him, followed immediately by several whistles and enough obnoxious cheering to tell me his teammates witnessed far more of that kiss than I would've preferred.

"ABOUT FUCKING TIME!"

I can't tell which Archer twin yelled it, and frankly, I don't want to know.

Kentaro doesn't even bother looking at them. He just shakes his head with a quiet laugh before his eyes drift back toward the four girls, who, remarkably, are still standing there looking like everything they've believed about Kentaro Azuma for the past three years has just been personally disproven in front of them.

His expression cools again.

"Still think I'm not serious about her?"

The girls exchange awkward glances before one shake her head, followed quickly by the others.

Kentaro gives them one last look before turning back to me, and the severity disappears from his face so quickly it's almost insulting.

"Ready to go?" he asks, his hand still resting securely at my waist.

I look at the lipstick still staining his mouth and the smug little curve that hasn't quite left his lips, and another wave of heat rushes straight into my face.

"Ye... yeah."

God. Get it together, Taylor.

By the time I get back to my apartment, I'm so exhausted that I barely bother changing before dropping onto my bed and sinking into the mattress with a long groan. My body feels heavy after the game, the crowd, the noise, and everything that happened afterward, but apparently my brain has no intention of joining the rest of me in shutting down because the second I close my eyes, all I can think about is that kiss.

My fingers drift to my lips without me even realizing what I'm doing, tracing slowly over the spot where I can still almost imagine the pressure of his mouth against mine. I stare blankly at the ceiling, feeling slightly dazed by the fact that my body still hasn't entirely recovered from one stupid kiss.

The ping of my phone pulls me out of it, and an embarrassingly hopeful little flutter moves through my chest before I can stop it.

Kentaro?

Oh, for fuck's sake.

I squeeze my eyes shut for a second, already annoyed with myself. Seriously, Taylor? Now I'm lying here hoping he texts me too?

Still, I'm already reaching for my purse before I've finished scolding myself, digging around for my phone with far more enthusiasm than the situation deserves. I finally pull it free and unlock the screen, that stupid spark of anticipation still there right up until I see the notification.

Unknown Number.

I go still.

The message contains a photo, and the second it loads, every trace of warmth disappears from my body.

It's me and Kentaro.

At the arena.

Kissing.

For a few seconds, I can only stare at the photo, the warmth that had been lingering in my face draining away so quickly it leaves me cold.

My phone pings again.