"I see you eyein' me down, but you'll never know much past my name
Or how I'm runnin' this room around and that I'm still half your age
Yeah, you're lookin' at me like I'm some sweet escape
Obvious that you want me"
-Tate McRae
In which NHL star Car...
I'm looking down at my phone, scrolling through Instagram after leaving dance practice and walking to my car. When I reach it, the door opens, making me jump, and out steps Carter in blue jeans, a loose white t-shirt, and a backwards hat. Damn, this man is hot.
"Oh my god, Carter," I say, wrapping my hands around his neck and pulling him close. He hugs me back, holding me delicately around my waist and tucking his face in my hair. "You scared the shit out of me."
"Sorry baby," he says into my neck. "I wanted to surprise you."
"Oh, you surprise me alright." I laugh and let go; he runs around to the other side of the car, opens the door, and motions for me to get in. I shrug and plop myself in the passenger seat while Carter buckles up in the driver's and starts driving.
"You up for some sandwiches?" he asks.
"It's 11 am, and I'm all sweaty and in my workout clothes." I counter; he looks at me and takes in my outfit fully. I'm wearing tight yoga pants and a sports bra with my hair in a messy bun.
"I can fight."
"Believe me," I say back. "I know." He just smirks and continues on our way.
The sandwich shop is a cute little building in a mass of ugly tall buildings. We walk in and are greeted by an old woman making sandwiches and people sitting at small round tables. There's quiet bustling and talking in here.
"Welcome in!" she says in a thick Southern accent as we walk up to the countertop. "What can I get for y'all today?"
"Hi," I answer. "I'll just have a BLT and a bottle of water."
She nods and looks at Carter. "Can I please get the Italian sub, pickles added too."
"Alright folks," she says, ringing us up on the cash register. "That'll be $32.19." Carter takes his credit card out and swipes it on the machine, I don't even fight him on paying because hell no am I paying. He has more than enough money.
We find a two-person table and sit down. "So, how was your workout?" he asks.
"It was good; how was hockey?"
"It was fine." He looks down. "But I got shit from coach about the fight."
"Carter," I say, reaching across the table and holding his hands. "He cares about you. Everyone does. I care about you."
I look into his eyes, and he looks right back. "Do you wanna be my girlfriend?" I'm shocked and show so on my face, he pulls away and looks down at his hands. "It's stupid, never mind."
"No, Carter, what? It's not stupid," I get up from my seat and hug him, putting my face on his neck. "Yes, of course, I'll be your girlfriend."
I can feel him smiling against my cheek. "I knew you would say that." I punch him softly and go back to my chair.
"You did not; you looked like you might cry."
"I would never, and you like me too much."
"You're right, I do," I say, and then look at him. "Hey, wanna come to the Grammys with me? I kinda need a plus one, and you're my boyfriend." I laugh.
"Hmmm," he makes a thinking face. "I guess I could make some free time for it."
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