“It’s not a crush,” I deadpan.
“Sure,” Thea drawls mockingly, her expression morphing into a thoughtful, tentative one. “Mom and Dad are angry about your fake girlfriend.”
“They’ll be okay.”
“I don’t think they will be.” She drags her finger along the rim of her glass. “You should’ve seen them, Sy. Mom was speaking in Portuguese, and Dad had that look on his face.”
“It’ll be fine. They’ll get over it.” I don’t know how much I believe that, but she’s my fake girlfriend; it’s not like I’m getting married to her. Soon, I’ll tell them we broke up and that’ll be the end of it. Or they’ll act like we’re not together and never bring it up. “Anyway, do you think Dad will disown me if I bail on the Christmas party?”
I don’t care for big celebrations. I don’t even care for my birthday, but if there’s one holiday I hate, it’s Christmas.
Every year, Mom and Dad throw the most over-the-top party on Christmas Eve. They invite all our family members and their friends and make a show of what a happy family we are. Thea and I have no other choice but to play into it, smiling as our parents boast about us as if they don’t spend every minute of the day behind closed doors criticizing everything we do.
“Kiss your trust fund goodbye. Matter of fact, expect all your accounts to be frozen. I bet they’ll even block your access to the penthouse,” she answers cheerfully, but behind the levity, the seriousness is loud and clear.
I sigh. “I’ll be there.”
“Look on the bright side, I’ll be there and now that they think you have a girlfriend, they’ll leave you alone and Florence will fuck off.”
“God, I hope so.” I remove my sunglasses and rub my tired eyes. The action makes me think of Anna and how she told me she couldn’t sleep with her contacts on. Then she had me look for her glasses and I laid them on the sofa so I could grab them easily when she woke up.
“You and this girl?—”
“Her name is Anna, and there is no us. Move on.”
She peers up at me from her lashes, a supercilious smirk on her face. “But have you?”
“Have I what?” I ask, skimming the menu.
“Moved on?”
“What is there to move on from? We just hung out. Friends do that all the time. The same way you and Marc do, unless there’s something I need to know about?”
Her face scrunches. “Gross, no. I’m just saying. You seem off.”
“I’m tired. It was a long night. Drop it.” The pulse in my temple throbs painfully. “What are you getting?”
She’s staring at me, but I don’t look at her. I don’t know what she expects to hear, but there’s nothing to say. While last night was one of the best nights I’ve ever had, it was nothing more than two people hanging out.
We don’t have practice today but after lunch earlier, I had to get on the ice. I needed to think of anything but Thea’s words.
I don’t have a crush. I’m not sure exactly what a crush would entail, but I definitely don’t have one.
I hear a whipping sound but I’m too late to move because I feel it smack my back. “What the hell are you thinking about? I’ve never seen you this distracted. Focus,” Marc warns, removing his glove and helmet to wipe the sweat off his forehead.
“I’m focused.”
I asked Marc to meet me at the arena. We’ve been here for almost two hours, working on drills and stickhandling. We’re not pushing too hard, seeing as I’m still hungover.
We finish off the final thirty minutes with 1v1. Him on defense, me on offense. Even though my head pounds, I manage to score on him.
As we skate over to where our waters are, I’m praying the conversation doesn’t stray to the elephant in the room. But it’s stupid of me to think he won’t ask. This is my best friend; he doesn’t give a fuck.
“Was your date so bad last night it’s making you play like shit?” I aim my bottle in his direction, squeezing it, but he manages to skate back before the water lands on him. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
“No, this has nothing to do with my date. I told you I’m hungover. And if I played like shit, why did I score on you?”
He snorts. “Hungover? You’re full of shit. I’ve seen you play hungover. This has nothing to do with that.”
