“Because this pout works on everyone, and I want you to say yes.”
“You’re ridiculous.” I snort, because maybe it worked when he was five years old instead of twenty-one. “I’ll go, but I’m not wearing your jersey.”
Jack bats his lashes at me. “Please?”
“No, it’ll send the wrong message,” I retort, taking off the skate guards to dry them with a towel before covering the blades with soakers.
“You’re worried wearing my jersey to my game will send the wrong message?” Jack asks, and the amusement in his tone makes me want to stick my tongue out at him.
I’m pretty sure wearing Jack’s jersey will be the least of my worries when it comes to sending the wrong message, but it’ll make it a little easier for me to pretend I’m fine after hooking up with him if I’m not wearing a jersey drenched in the intoxicating smell of cinnamon for an entire night.
“You really want to argue with me, pretty boy?” I ask, raising an eyebrow at Jack.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say I think you’re the one who likes to argue with me. Wearing my jersey doesn’t have to mean anything,” he says, and I know I’m not imagining his eyes dropping to the lingering mark he left on my neck. We haven’t spoken about it once since leaving his room that night, but now I’m wondering if he thinks about it as much as I have.
My god, it’d be so easy to lean over and kiss him.
Jack’s gaze is slow to rise again to meet mine, and his full lips part, causing shivers down my spine as I picture how it felt to have them on me.
“I’ll think about it,” I say, hating the way my voice sounds breathy. I clear my throat, turning away from him to stand up, creating space between us to put my skates in my bag.
“Cool, um, great. I’ll bring one to class in case I don’t see you this afternoon,” Jack says, fumbling over his words for a moment, and it’s nice to know I’m not the only one affected by this. “Now as much as I enjoy spending time with you, if you don’t want to get caught by your dad, you might wanna get going,” he says, and I grab my phone, realizing the time. Shit, it’s later than I thought.
I feign a dramatic gasp, trying to make myself act normal, but maybe I’m not even sure what my normal is anymore. “You like spending time with me?”
Jack laughs, wiping his blades with the same towel I used. “Of course I do. You and your sparkling personality. Seriously, though, you should go.”
“Are you good with holding on to these still?”
Jack looks at his phone for a moment before setting it down again. “Of course. Is it okay if I ask our equipment manager to sharpen them when he sharpens the teams’ this morning?”
“He’s not going to tell my dad you threw in some figure skater’s skates in with a bunch of hockey skates?” I ask, doubtful, but my skates do need sharpening, and it’d save me the time from taking them to a shop.
“Frank’s easily bought with sweets,” Jack says.
“If he’s okay with it, then that’d be awesome. I appreciate you.” I smile at him as I slip into my slides.
“Damn right you do.” He winks at me with a goofy smile on his face, and I make my escape before I’m caught red handed by my father.
CHAPTER 20
Jack
There’sa knock on my door as I fold my spare away jersey for Alondra, setting it next to my backpack. “Yeah?” I call out, and the hinges creak, swinging open.
“You stayed at the girls’ apartment again last night?” Dylan asks, leaning against the frame.
“Yep,” I answer, but my lower back pinches when I turn to look at him. After a week of sleeping on their couch, I’m paying for it.
“So what was the point of all of us volunteering to take turns if you were just planning on using it as an excuse to sleep there every night?” he asks, crossing his arms over his chest. I’m not sure what it is that Dylan thinks he knows, but there’s nothing to tell.
I mean, fuck, I guess we hooked up on Halloween, but Al was adamant it didn’t mean anything, and I promised it wouldn’t change anything.
Hasn’t stopped me from replaying it in my mind when I fuck my hand, but I’m doing the best I can to keep things as normal as possible.
“Dude, I’m sleeping on their couch, not in Al’s bed,” I correct, giving my best friend a look.
“Who really gave you that hickey on Halloween?” Dylan asks, and I smirk, giving a half shrug.
