I’m going mad. I have to be. There’s no other explanation for why I can’t get her out of my head. And suddenly the idea of her ringing in the new year by herself becomes unbearable.
Don’t do it, Luke. Don’t you fucking?—
When I pull up to the next stop light, I yank my phone out of the cupholder and fire off a text that I should never send.
But I do it anyway.
Me: I’ll pick you up at 7 tomorrow night
27
Lennon
Luke spent the first part of our practice yesterday making sure I understood that what we both clearly want can never happen, but then capped it off by making plans tonight for us. I was fully prepared to order a pizza, make some brownies, and ring in the new year from the couch.
But instead, I look anxiously outside the window at the snowy streets below, waiting for his car to pull up. I glance at my phone. It’s a little past seven, and I wonder if he’s regretting his decision to say he’d pick me up tonight. He never gave me any further details. Maybe he decided it was a stupid idea.
But then my phone buzzes.
64: Downstairs
I look back out the window and sure enough, his sleek black car sits on the street waiting for me. I grab my coat from the hanger and toss it on as I walk downstairs and push out into the chilly night air. The neighborhood is quiet with most studentsaway for the holidays. Still, I double check my surroundings before climbing into Luke’s car.
I sigh in relief at the warm interior and hold my hands in front of the vent. “Hi.”
“Cold?” He puts the car in gear and pulls away from the curb.
“Freezing. I swear between all the time spent in the rink and then surviving the winter, half of my blood has to be ice.”
He shakes his head at my complaining, and I take a good look at him. His hair is pushed back from his face and curling around his ears, the tips brushing the collar of his black jacket. He’s in dark jeans, and I can’t tell what kind of shirt, but a silver watch glints on his wrist.
“That looks expensive.”
He follows my eyeline and flexes his wrist. “That’s because it is.”
“How much was it?”
“I don’t know. Bought it a long time ago.”
“Ballpark it.”
He shrugs. “Ten-ish grand? Maybe more.”
My mouth drops open. Sometimes I forget that he’s not a career coach like Coach Maver and that he very much lives in a different tax bracket than me. “That’s like, an entire year’s worth of rent for me.”
“I only wear it for special occasions.”
“This is a special occasion?”
He pulls at the collar of his jacket, a contrite look on his face. “Shut up.”
I don’t bother hiding my grin as I sink into the seat. “Where are we going?” We can’t go out anywhere around campus where there might be someone that would recognize either of us.
“You hungry?” he asks.
“Yeah. I didn’t eat because I didn’t know what the plan was.”
“Good. There’s a diner a few towns over I thought we could grab dinner at.”
