She bites her lip.
Perfect.
I drop my gaze to my phone, thumb flying.Wanna ditch? Meet me in the bathroom?
Her reply is almost instant.Why?Followed by a winky emoji.
My grin widens.To discuss class,I shoot back.
I don’t wait for her answer. I push my chair back, stretch like I’m bored out of my mind, then slip down the aisle and out the door.
The hall is quiet, fluorescent lights buzzing faintly above. My sneakers squeak against the polished floor as I head toward the nearest bathroom. I lean against the wall outside, tapping my phone, waiting.
A few minutes later the door cracks open, and there she is. She steps out, hair tucked behind her ear, lips already parted in a smile meant just for me.
“Hey,” I murmur, voice dropping low.
“Hey.” She leans up, pressing her mouth to mine. Her kiss tastes faintly of mint gum, hot and eager.
I wrap a hand around her wrist, tug her gently but firmly toward the bathroom. The door creaks as it shuts behind us, the echo of our footsteps bouncing off tile. It smells like disinfectant and cheap soap, the kind of place no one really wants to linger. Perfect.
I push her gently against the wall, mouths colliding again. My hands roam—waist, hip, the curve of her thigh. She makes a small noise, low in her throat, and it sparks something sharp in me.
Her hand slides down, unhurried, practiced. My breath stutters. She smirks, eyes dark, and drops to her knees in one fluid motion.
Yeah. This. This is one of the perks. Playing hockey for this school means attention, and attention means options. And right now, I’m not in the mood to think about The Crest or Dad or lectures I don’t understand. Right now I just want to feel good.
Heat coils low in my stomach, my back pressing into the cold tile wall. My hand finds the edge of the sink, gripping hard. Theworld narrows down to sensation—her hand, her mouth, the wet slide, the tight pull. My breath grows ragged, sharp, like I’ve been sprinting on ice again.
I’m close. Too close. My body tenses, my jaw locking as I tip my head back, chasing that edge—
The door bursts open.
I freeze.
She pulls back, startled, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. My chest heaves, sweat cooling instantly as my eyes snap to the door.
A girl. Blonde. Not just blonde—sunlight blonde, the kind that looks too soft to be real. Hair tumbling loose around her shoulders. Huge green eyes, wide as if she’s seen a ghost. Her cheeks are flushed pink, lips parted like she’s about to speak but can’t find the words.
She’s in a pale blue cardigan that hangs open over a white top tucked into a pleated skirt, the hem brushing her thighs. White sneakers. A notebook clutched against her chest like a shield. She looks like she doesn’t belong here, like she wandered into the wrong world by accident.
Shock flares across her face. Embarrassment follows fast, flooding her cheeks until they glow. And then something else—something that twists in my chest. Her eyes shine. Wet.
Was she crying?
She stumbles back, almost dropping the notebook, mutters something that doesn’t make it out as words, and then she’s gone. The door swings closed behind her with a hollow thud that echoes in the silence.
I just stand there. Breathing hard. Staring at the space she’d been like maybe if I blink enough, she’ll still be there.
I’ve never seen anyone that pretty. Not at a game, not at a party, not in the beds I’ve tumbled into at night. Pretty doesn’t even cover it. She looked like she’d been carved out of something delicate, something that shouldn’t exist in a place like this.
And crying. Why the hell was she crying?
The other girl straightens, brushing her hair back, frowning at me. “What’s your problem?”
But I barely hear her. My mind is still on that flash of green eyes, wide and wet, and the way my chest twisted like someone had shoved their hand inside and squeezed.
I don’t even know her name.
