Bittersweet // Complete

29.

As we drove over the highway again, Noah asked me if I had seen my phone since morning. I shook my head, intrigued why he would ask that. I took my phone out of my pocket, disappointed to find no battery in it.

"What is it? Am I missing on something?"

He rolled his eyes, hand leaving my thigh to open a small slot on the dashboard. Out popped a white charging cord, easily extending all the way to my side. Fuck rich people.

As I waited for my device to open up, I stared at Noah, how casually in control he seemed to be at all times, even though I knew his mind was at least in five different directions at this moment.

"Are you excited for your match?"

Noah smiled widely, with boyish wonder, making my heart scream, "I can't wait. It's going to be interesting though, I heard they've got some new additions to the team. He's a good center forward, and Alex is getting a little worried."

"You're somewhere in the middle of the field, right?" I didn't remember much of what Daniel talked about his sport, because it was all gibberish to me anyway.

"Somewhere in the middle sounds about right," he laughed, "I'm midfield defence, if that's what you meant."

"Same thing," I muttered, committing it to memory so I could look it up and learn something before Thursday. Seeing my phone still wheezing to turn on, I told Noah about my conversation with Finn. We were back in the city now, and after the free reign of the highways, driving at controlled speeds felt too slow.

"Why not wear my jersey? The girls do it all the time." Noah was merely curious, no hint of anger in his voice.

"I would do it, if you hadn't whored it around." I did like the idea of supporting Noah, and if wearing his jersey was the way to do it, I would have. Only this didn't feel right. As far as I remembered in high school, boys took their jerseys very seriously, and they would never let any random girl wear it. Did that mean Noah didn't care about the jersey, if he literally let anyone wear it? How did he have that many jerseys to pass around? Did he get an Eleanor- like confrontation every day so he could pass the same one to any girl he slept with?

"How was I supposed to know you'd call me out for being a slut?" Noah squeezed my thigh, laughter bubbling in his voice.

"I didn't care if you were being a slut then," I rolled my eyes, "You just didn't have to be a jerk about it."

"I tried niceness, and it got everyone in a clusterfuck," he pointed out. I quietened at that. Finally lit, my phone was loading the new notifications that had arrived since we reached the warehouse, a lot of them coming from Instagram.

"That's so strange," I muttered, opening the app. My screen froze as I tried to load my notifications, ultimately forcing the app to shut itself. I started it up again, to find my account bubbling and spilling with new followers and comments. The notifications area was refreshing too fast, so I switched to my profile, gasping at the sharp increase in followers.

"How many followers did you gain?" Noah's eyes were half on me as we crossed into the not so busy parts of town.

"Eyes on the road," I admonished him, doing the math, "Like five hundred something."

"Damn, that's a lot." he kept his eyes straight ahead, but I knew his full attention was on me.

"Road," I reiterated.

Noah let out a frustrated sound, pulling over in the first spot he found, "Okay now I don't need to focus on the road." I couldn't argue with that.