Page 59 of What We Knew Then
oh i’ve imagined plenty…
you’re trouble.
only the fun kind.
debatable.
you didn’t seem to be debating it last time.
bold of you to assume i wasn’t just being polite.
polite doesn’t usually leave marks.
…
plus I'm the one who called you trouble
the first night wemet
I remember
I still think you’re more likely to be trouble
tell you what…next time, we can test the theory.
maybe i’ll be the one to surprise you.
now that’s a promise i hope you keep.
We text on and off for the next hour and I feel like I’m a kid with his first crush. Cora has this way of making me want to tell her things, see if she’ll play along. I’m actually afraid of how much I want to let her in.
This is new. Not typical.
I’m used to being a vault. Reinforced locks and hidden keys. But she makes me feel like she’d keep my secrets.
I smile like someone I'd make fun of as I fall asleep.
Fuck.Maybethisiswhat the turning point feels like? Like all the weird vibes and doubt from pre-season and my first game? They’re barely there, almost like I belong here. The brief moment of stability has my stomach flipping because this isn’t something that typically sticks around for me.
I’m at the rink early, ready to work with Cora for the first time since we got stuck in the rink. Since I made her come in the penalty box. Since I crossed the line with no intention of pulling back. How could I? After having her like that? It’s not an option.
“You’re early,” she remarks, checking her watch.
“Barely.” I skate over, trying to hide the smirk I want to give her. It’s a lie—I’ve been hanging out at the rink in case she showed up to work on something else.
“What are you doing after practice?” I ask. I’ve been wanting to know the answer to all fucking day.
She beams, pulling out her notebook and stopwatch. “I have a paper to start.”
“You don’t teach tomorrow morning,” I say quietly, even though it’s just the two of us at the rink.
Cora puts her hands on her hips, trying to act like she caught me red handed. “Someone is awfully concerned about my schedule.”
“Come to my apartment tonight. You can start your paper there.”
The smirk that slowly pulls at one side of her mouth is enough to make my pulse skip.
“You’re awfully confident, Lane Maxwell” she muses, tilting her head like she’s studying me. Fuck, I love when she uses my full name. “What makes you think I’d get any work done there?”
