Man of My Dreams(2)

When the guests start to arrive, I make it a point to be part of the welcoming committee. I usher girls in tiny cut off jean shorts and spaghetti strap tank tops to the living room where The Fugees croon the hit of the year. Everyone sings along, the lyrics so engrained in our heads it’s nearly impossible not to join in. It represents something kind of ritualistic and no party this year has been complete without it being played at least three times.

When a couple of the guys from the baseball team show up I hold my breath as the hope warms my cheeks, thinking he has to be right behind them. Two of them walk past me, bumping my fist in greeting and as I’m about to close the door behind the last of them, feeling disappointed, I see him walking up the stairs. My heart stops and leaps up into my throat. It’s the same reaction every time I see him, whether he’s in his dirty baseball uniform, a pair of jeans, or this time, khaki shorts, a white t-shirt, and canvas flip flops. Damn it, even his feet are sexy.

I try to hide the excitement in my eyes, the smile that’s itching to stretch across my entire face. Our eyes meet and he, too, flashes a smile—the smile that makes my knees feel like jelly. When he gets closer, he rests his hand on my hip. I stop myself from doing a double take, but I want to look down to make sure I’m not imagining that Noah is actually touching me. Thankfully, I can’t pull my eyes away from his gorgeousness.

“Hey, beautiful,” he whispers in my ear.

My first reaction is to scan my surroundings to see if anyone’s witnessed this so that I can be sure I wasn’t hearing things. My heart takes over the second reaction, thumping wildly, fueled with the newfound knowledge that Noah Matheson thinks I’m beautiful.

I muster up the ability to speak. “Hi,” I say with a voice smaller than the one I’m familiar with. I want to say more. I want to walk into this party with him and take advantage of his attentive mood. But I’m momentarily frozen.

I break free of my motionless trance, turning to accompany him inside but then I’m nearly knocked over by one of his teammates, shoving his way through the crowd into the kitchen yelling, “Where’s the keg?”

I regain my footing, but Noah is no longer by my side. I look around frantically, afraid that I’ve imagined those amazing seconds. He said two words to me and I feel like they were a marriage proposal. It’s a start, no? He hasn’t said anything like that to me—ever. Maybe tonight he’s feeling the same sense of urgency to get things off his chest as I am.

In a whoosh of hopefulness my crush-sick mind envisions a first kiss, a long distance relationship, and a happily ever after.

“You are one pathetic chick, Mia Page.”

“I know,” I answer my inner thoughts.

But the voice is so vivid. Come to think of it, it sounds a lot like Grace’s. “Seriously, Mia. Snap out of it! You’re practically drooling over him. Way to play it cool.” Grace biffs me off the back of the head, bringing me out of my Noah-induced stupor.

“Where were you ten seconds ago, Grace? He called me beautiful! You missed the whole thing.” I can’t even hide my excitement, not even if I tried, which I’m not.

“Okay, so you’re not invisible, but calm down. That doesn’t exactly mean he’s yours forever,” she says with a condescending truth.

“I know, Grace. I know, but it’s something. I just have this feeling. I don’t know, but I think tonight is the night.” I grab Grace’s hands and half-successfully resist the urge to jump up and down. He said I was beautiful and that tiny phrase resembles a flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, if given the opportunity, Noah will act on his earlier affirmation.

But my ridiculous feeling turns out to be nothing, after all.

For the rest of the night I watch Noah—from a distance. He’s surrounded by his buddies and chatting it up with the more outspoken, flirty girls. I’m so damn close, this is my last shot and I’m blowing it. Maybe I should make my way over to him and twirl my hair and lean all over him the way Lila does. But I can’t even scrounge up the nerve to get into the same room as him, let alone beg him to whisper those sweet words into my ear again. Why can’t I just tell him? Come clean, make the first, well in this case the last, move. It doesn’t matter. The night is nearly over. And I’m on the unavoidable verge of living in regret for all of eternity.

By the time the party’s over, Noah is nowhere to be found.

Grace appears next to me with a stack of used Solo cups and crumpled napkins, leaning her head on my shoulder. “I’m sorry, Mia. I know this is not how you wanted this night to go. But maybe it’s for the best. You’ll probably never see him again, anyway.”