Page 39 of Lovefool

I expect her to suddenly backtrack her happy attitude, but to my utter surprise, there’s no trace of hostility anywhere. She’s too good for me—for this place. A white-tailed dove sitting pretty in a barren wasteland. She’s more addictive than an aphrodisiac, and I can’t shake free from her allure.

Her smile never dips; it makes heat blossom behind my navel.

“You think I’m mad because we didn’t have sex?”

Now that I’m hearing it out loud it sounds ridiculous.

I set my helmet down. “Yes?”

Lake grabs my gloved hand, and despite the high-density foam padding that separates us, her touch still sends tingles up my now-sweaty palms. “I could never be mad at you. You were right to put a pin in things. I wouldn’t—I don’t—want to be drunk the first time I kiss you. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. You were doing something in private, and I was creeping on you like a pervert.”

So she does remember.

I muster the bare bones of a smile. “In your defense, I was hardly in private. I shouldn’t have done that when you were sleeping in the next room.”

“I don’t know, I think I’d be offended if I wasn’t hot enough to jerk off to,” she jests, giving my hand one of her patented squeezes—the kind that’s reassuring in ways words could never be. She’s the first ripple of relief in my stagnant waters of worry.

“I’m sorry things keep interrupting us. I don’t want you to think I’m purposefully avoiding you, because that’s so far from the truth. I wanted to kiss you last night. So badly. And every time I think we’re getting somewhere, the universe throws a wrench in our plans.”

“Whoa, hey. You don’t have to apologize for anything. We’ll find the right time, okay?”

Humiliation prickles up the back of my neck. “Shit. I totally went Spiral of Self-Doom on you, didn’t I?”

“Sort of, but it’s cute.”

Evading eye contact because I’m sure my cheeks are redder than the goddamn numbers on a scoreboard, I shift my focus to my teammates—all of whom are partaking in a practice game that favors the offense. I know my break is going to be over in a minute once Coach finds me dawdling by the sidelines.

I love my team to the moon and back—save for a certain cheating someone—but I’d be lying if I said that Lake’s presence doesn’t fill my aching heart in a different way. I would carve her name into my chest if I could.

“You gonna light a fire under our asses in your article?” I ask.

The public has always been in favor of the Mustangs for as long as I can remember. It’s like we can do no wrong, even if we, objectively, do wrong. I hate the mindless worship. I hate how we’re exempt from accountability just because we play on a D-1 team. We’re no better than anyone else at this school, and if people realized this sooner, maybe we wouldn’t be harboring a shit stain of a person all because he has a fast skate time.

She drops my hand—whether it’s voluntary or because someone saw us, I have no idea. “With the Frozen Four coming up, I feel like I don’t have to,” she says.

Right. The Frozen Four Championship. Arguably the thing that should be occupying my mind right now instead of a budding romance.

I don’t want to get Lake in trouble because of a conflict of interest. The Mustangs haven’t won the Frozen Four in years. Honestly, it’s been so long that I’m surprised we’re still hogging a place in the spotlight. With our current stellar winning streak, we have a great chance of dominating the regional semifinals. The game is only a month away—one of the many reasons why Coach has been so hard on us and so adamant about organizing extra practices.

I must have adhered quite the oh, fuck face, because she quickly tacks on, “You guys are looking good this season. You have nothing to worry about.”

“Not for my lack of trying,” I mutter under my breath. “I’ve been so distracted this season. I haven’t been protecting the net or blocking shots. It’s like my brain times out the minute I step onto the ice.”

Because of you.

I’ve never been particularly obsessed with perfection, but right now, my team is relying on me. They’ve worked day and night to step up their game, and I may be the thing holding them back.

Nobody was supposed to bear witness to my not-so-internal freakout. Especially not the girl who needs to think I have everything together.

Lake’s lips gnarl into a frown. “You shouldn’t be expected to carry so much press⁠—”

The unexpected soundtrack of “WAP” by Cardi B starts blasting through her phone’s speaker—disrupting the very peaceful ambience of the rink—and she scrambles to answer the call without drawing any more attention our way.

Judging by the canyon between her brows, she wasn’t expecting it.

She jams her thumb between her teeth and gnaws on the keratin. “Hello? This is she. Uh-huh. Yeah. Okay. I’m on my way.”

A quick re-pocket of the device and her face screams worried. Unease cradles low in my belly.