Drew snorts. “The what face?”
“You know what I mean. The face people make when they’re comfortable with each other’s bodies. When they’ve mapped every inch and know exactly where to touch.”
Drew goes quiet beside me, and when I glance over, he’s staring at me with an expression that makes my breath catch.
“You’ve put a lot of thought into this,” he says finally.
My face heats. “I’m just observant.”
“Uh-huh.”
Back on the rink, Oliver and Mason are building to their finale. Oliver lifts Mason—not over his head like Gerard did withNathan, but cradled against his chest, bridal style. Mason’s arms wind around Oliver’s neck, and they spin together, slower and more controlled than the earlier performances.
The song fades, and Oliver sets Mason down gently, keeping one arm around his waist. They’re both breathing hard, cheeks flushed.
The crowd erupts, but I barely hear it. I’m too busy watching Oliver press a kiss to Mason’s cheek—soft, tender, completely at odds with his usual persona.
The DJ clears his throat. “Alright, alright! Let’s keep this party rolling! Drew and Jackson—you’re on deck!”
My heart rate triples. Around us, people are getting ready to document whatever disaster Drew and I are about to create. I spot Sarah Piper near the arcade, notebook in hand, her eye twitching in anticipation. The opening of “Xanadu” fills the room, and my legs lock up.
“I need to pee,” I blurt out.
Drew blinks. “What? Now?”
“Right now. Immediately. Bladder emergency.” I’m already backing away. “I’ll be super quick, or as quick as I can, trying to get my dick out of these pants.”
I sprint toward the bathroom on skates, leaving Drew standing at the rink entrance, confused. Behind me, I hear the DJ saying something about technical difficulties, buying me time.
The bathroom is empty, and I stare at my reflection in the grimy mirror. It shows a stranger with crimson splotches climbing his neck like ivy, sweat beading along his hairline, and pupils that have swallowed the irises whole. My hands grip the porcelain sink hard enough that my knuckles have gone white.
What am I doing?We have no routine. No plan. Just “wing it” and “trust each other,” which sounds great in theory butterrible when you’re about to make an ass of yourself in front of the entire campus.
But then I think about how, for the most part, everyone was just being themselves. Kyle was showing off his flexibility. Nathan was getting mindfucked by an oblivious Gerard. And Oliver and Mason were trusting each other a little too completely.
With a final nod at my reflection, I turn away and push through the bathroom door before I can change my mind.
Back in the thick of it, Drew waits by the rink entrance. His face lights up when he sees me. “Thought you were making a run for it.”
“Considered it.” I take his offered hand. “But then who would catch you when you inevitably try something stupid and fall on your ass?”
His answering grin is blinding.
The DJ restarts our song, Olivia Newton-John’s voice filling the rink with promises of a place where nobody dared to go.
Drew leads me onto the rink, and everything else fades away. The crowd, the judges, the pressure—none of it matters. There’s only his hand in mine and the certainty that whatever happens next, we’ll skate through it together.
23
DREW
“Follow my lead,” I murmur to Jackson, pulling him close.
My plan is simple—skate in circles, hold hands, maybe throw in a spin or two. Basic stuff. Nothing that’ll get us compared to the soft-core porn that Oliver and Mason subjected us to.
I guide us into a gentle turn, and Jackson matches my movements perfectly. He’s a natural athlete, picking up the rhythm as if he’s been skating his whole life instead of breaking his wrist the last time he tried. The crowd fades to white noise as we find our groove, moving together as though we’ve done this a thousand times.
Jackson surprises me by spinning under my arm without prompting. It’s clumsy but earnest, and when he comes back around, he’s grinning. My heart does this painful tap-dance thing in my chest that I refuse to examine.
