Friday, December 20
“Cig me.”Marc cups his palms, holding them up.
“Yeah, here.” I pat my pocket until I find what I’m looking for, fish it out, and throw it to him as we walk out of the rink.
“What the hell is this?” He holds up the stick of gum, waving it in the air. “I need?—”
“I don’t do that anymore.” I blow out a breath, a white puffy cloud billowing in front of me before it disappears.
He freezes mid-step, staring at me, dumbfounded. I keep walking, knowing he’ll follow behind me, and he does a moment later.
“Since when?” I don’t look at him, but I know his eyes are trained on me. “Stop fucking with me.”
“I’m not.” I shove my cold hands in my pockets. “Anna doesn’t like it and?—”
He bursts out laughing. “Holy shit.”
“Let’s not do this. We’re dating and?—”
“It’s fake, Sylas. Remember? You guys are faking this because of your dad and mom and…and…oh…oh.” Realization deepens his voice.
I stop walking, pivot, and wait for him to get it out. Huffing out a breath, I pull my phone out and check the time, making sure I have enough time for this conversation. Anna and I made plans to meet after practice, and although we didn’t settle on a time, I don’t want to keep her waiting.
“Well?” I stare at him expectantly because he has yet to say a word. Instead, he’s staring at me like I’m a damn fish out of water. “Marc? Stop looking at me like that. Just say what you need to say.”
He wipes his palms down his face, chuckling in disbelief. “I’m just…shocked. Like…really…just…shocked.”
I impatiently stare at him. “Yes, you already said that. You have anything else to say? If not, I need to go.”
Marc grins widely. “I don’t know whether to congratulate you or offer my condolences.”
That confuses me. “Why?”
“Because this isn’t just a crush. You’re absolutely down bad for this girl. This is either going to be the best or the worst thing to ever happen to you.” He muses. “You and cigarettes are like the devil, and hell, you can’t picture one without the other. Did you just up and quit?”
I nod, indifferent. “It’s not a big deal.”
“Did she tell you to stop, or did you do it by choice?”
“It was my choice.”
“Christ.” He snuffs a chuckle, running his palms over his beanie. “Wait, did you sleep with her? Is that why?—”
“No.” I shift my weight from one foot to the other. “I mean, we have, but it’s not like that.” I drag my fingers through my hair, grazing the tips of my cold ears. “Don’t be a dick.”
My heart picks up, my chest rises a little faster, and my palms sweat.
“I’m not,” he scoffs, raising his hands in surrender. “I’m never a dick unless necessary. You know that.”
“I’m serious. I’m going to tell you something and I don’t want you messing with me because it’s freaking me out,” I warn him.
He smiles like the asshole that he is, but then he softens. “I promise I won’t.”
“I like seeing her every day, and I’m not saying that because I expect or want sex. We wouldn’t need to do anything because I look forward to justseeingher.”
If he looks shocked now, I can’t imagine how he’d react if he knew how heavy my heart is beating, how my palms are profusely sweating, how my body feels ready to bolt to be with her, how my brain keeps replaying her smile and the sound of her raspy laugh.
“Damn.” He draws out the word. “You’re in deep.” He stands there, unblinking. Despite what he said, he doesn’t sound like he’s processing it. “So…deep.”
