If I didn’t know better, I’d say she’s a fan.
“You’ve been gone for five years, Ken Doll,” I manage. “Lots of things have changed.”
“You haven’t,” she says.
“Oh, I have,” I tell her, and it comes out ruder than I wanted.
I want to say,I’ve changed because of you. Because you ruined me the moment you walked into this facility, and I’ve never been the same since. Because I watched my brother date you, propose to you, plan a future with you when it should’ve been me. Because when you left for Europe, I got drunk and let a stranger carve the only truth I’d never been able to speak into my skin. RUINED.
“What does it mean?” she pushes.
“It’s up for interpretation.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one you’ll ever fucking get.” I pull my jersey down and feel the nervous energy radiating off of me. “Are we finished?”
She stares at me like she can see through every wall I’ve built.
“Patterson”—she moves past her camera and walks toward me—“I haven’t been able to focus on anything since Wednesday, and I know it’s been the same for you too.”
“Forget it happened.”
“How?” she asks me. “Teach me how to forget you.”
I step off the ice and walk toward her on my blades until we’re inches apart. “What the fuck do you want from me?”
She grabs the front of my jersey and pulls my mouth down to hers.
The kiss catches me off guard, and for half a second, I let it happen, let her tongue slide against mine while the empty arena echoes around us. But then reality crashes back because we’re standing in the open, where anyone could walk in, where cameras might be recording, where my entire career could end with one photograph.
I grab her shoulders and push her back. “I can’t do this.”
“I don’t understand you.”
“Go home, Kendall.”
Something shifts in her expression. She grabs my jersey again and pulls me toward the tunnel that leads to the locker room without another word.
Louis’s voice from that night at Dyson’s penthouse echoes in my head.
“… fuck her out of your system.”
“Make a discreet arrangement.”
I thought it was terrible advice at the time, but now it sounds like the only way I’m going to survive her.
The storage closet is at the end of the hall, and she yanks the door open, pulling me inside.
The door clicks shut, and darkness wraps around us.
The space is small, maybe six by eight feet, and smells like cleaning supplies and old equipment. A faint green glow comes from a charging station in the corner, where battery packs sitplugged in, casting enough light for me to see the shape of her face.
Her hands find my chest, and she looks up into my eyes. “I want to offer you an arrangement.” She says it with confidence.
I tilt my head at her.
“A fuck-buddy arrangement.”
