“No,” he declared. “I love watching you dance.”
Hailey dropped her head, and Fin tilted her chin up in time to see a tear shimmer down her face.
“And I love you, Hailey.”
He brushed her cheek, his eyes chasing her shifting gaze until she finally looked at him.
“The whole world went dark when you stopped talking to me,” he said gently. “It felt like someone shoved a dull knife into my stomach.” He took her hands in his and brought them to his lips. “I always want you next to me, Hailey. I want you to dance with me and drink whiskey and throw things at me when you’re angry.”
Hailey stood speechless.
“Anyway,” he continued, dropping her hands, “I’m sorry I told the team I slept with you. It wasn’t me, and I told them all the truth—that I lied about you. They told me I was an idiot. And I know I am.”
He leaned closer, searching her eyes.
“I’m sorry I was an ass. God, I’m so sorry I hurt you.
“You know, if I’d heard another guy say those things about you that I said about you, I would have sent his face home in a box.” Fin raised an open palm as he shrugged and shook his head.
Hailey opened her mouth to say something—she didn’t know what, but before she could utter a syllable, Fin walked into his room and shut his door. And he took her puck with him.
As Hailey lay in bed that night, she called to her roommate. “Giselle,” she said softly. “Are you sleeping?”
“Yes,” her roommate droned, but she hadn’t yet gone to the ceiling.
Hailey sat up. “Giselle, how do you know if someone loves you?”
“Did he give you the hockey puck?” Giselle was face-down, talking into her pillow, and Hailey didn’t know how Giselle knew about the hockey puck. Her super-banshee senses never ceased to amaze her.
“Um…no. He had it in his hand, but he didn’t give it to me.”
“He loves you right now,” she said in a monotone.
“What? How do you know? What do you mean ‘right now’?”
“The hockey puck, dumbass.”
“Oh.” Hailey said nodding, and then she shook her head. “I don’t understand.”
Giselle sat straight up and glared across the room at her. “He didn’t give you the hockey puck, because he didn’t want that idiotic trinket to undermine what he’d just said to you. His words were important to him. If he just wanted to get in your pants, he would’ve given you the hockey puck and said goodnight.”
Hailey’s mouth fell open.
“Do you love him?”
“I…I don’t know.”
“If you love him, go and ask for your hockey puck tomorrow. If you don’t, then don’t ever talk to him again.”
She rolled back into her pillow and added in a muffled voice, “I wouldn’t talk to him again if I were you. His love won’t last. All men are scum.”
That was Giselle’s motto.
“I don’t really care about the hockey puck,” said Hailey.
Giselle shot up again. “Neither does he,” she barked. “It’s just a token—a metaphor incarnate…”
Hailey shrugged.
