Maybe Michael would chew with his mouth open and be a dick to the waiter. One could certainly hope.
“Do you need help processing any of the stats to have that report ready tomorrow? That’s a quick turnaround,” he asked as we headed onto Green Street where the diner sat a block away.
“Offering to help to get insider information for our bet?”
“The bet we still don’t know the stakes for,” he said, a hint of flirtation in his voice. He whistled a fight song and gave no indication that he’d solved what he wanted for the end of the bet.
We got to the diner, and the smell of grease and fries hit me before we even opened the door. Michael rushed forward to hold it and gestured for me to go inside.
Shit. Good manners so far.
“Table or booth?” the hostess said, her eyes widening once she saw Michael. I couldn’t blame her. He grinned at her, making her blush, and answered for us.
“Booth, please. Thank you so much.”
She led us to a seat for two in the back corner, and Michael’s eyes were saucers as he eyed the posters of ice cream sundaes on the wall. He leaned back into the booth, stretching his long arms over the red vinyl, and sighed. “I’m getting it all.”
“I’m not splitting the bill with you then.”
“Wouldn’t expect you to, Fletcher,” he said, his intense gaze staying on my face. I’d dated before and even had a serious boyfriend my sophomore year before he moved abroad, but none of my past guys possessed the level of fierceness that Michael had. Like everyone else in the place disappeared and it was just us.
I pulled on the collar of my shirt to get some airflow going. I was sweating. “How are you doing?”
“Me?” He frowned. “I’m excited AF. Look at the photos.” He pointed to the wall behind me which had massive framed photos of desserts. Brownies, ice cream, sundaes.
“Damn.”
“Is it weird the desserts seem sexy to me?” he asked, making me cackle.
“Actually, no.” My face burned, but I carried on. “What I meant was about the game. It sounds like this was your first one that close to the rink without playing.”
He closed his eyes, and every muscle in my unathletic body tensed, ready to fight his demons for him. A heavy sadness radiated from him, but it was brief. Just a moment. He wiped his hand over his face, and any trace of sadness disappeared. It baffled me how he could just do that. I’d cut off an arm to have the ability.
“Nah, it was alright.”
“How do you do that?” I fired back at him, leaning closer across the table.
“Do what, exactly?” An adorable line appeared between his brows.
“Just brush off what you really wanted to say. I saw your face.” I pointed at him, much like a toddler jabbing at a plane in the sky. “You seemed sad.”
He narrowed his eyes and tilted his head to the side as he eyed me. I was entranced by him and what he was going to say, but our waiter showed up.
“Hey y’all I’m Billy. What can I get started for y’all?”
“Pancake breakfast, bacon, and one of those ice cream things on the photo, please,” Michael said, collecting my menu along with his and handing it back to the waiter. “Fletcher?”
“Oh, uh, a small chocolate shake. Thanks.”
The waiter left, and the air felt heavier, enclosing us in our lone booth surrounded by sounds of middle-of-the-night laughter. Michael sighed before letting out a stiff laugh. “I have low moments. They can last hours or seconds. It’s not depression—I’ve seen a therapist, and if I feel like I’m having more down days than normal I’ll call her, but moving here from back east? To get away from my life? Sometimes I don’t know if it was worth it.”
“You miss home.”
“Hockey wouldn’t be waiting for me there, and I don’t have a house to go back to.” He sat straighter and picked up a straw wrapper. He ripped it into a million pieces, creating a pile of confetti. He was someone I would call an emotional powerhouse. I could almost feel the anger and regret coming off him in waves, and I was about to reach across the table to squeeze his hand. Because I too knew how that felt. To not have a legit house to go back to. My childhood home belonged to someone else now, and empty apartments and take-out were how I thought about my teenaged years.
My hand stretched in the hair, inches away from touching his when he said, “Hey, isn’t that your sister?”
He might as well have thrown an entire bucket of ice on me. My spine snapped into a steel rod, and my stomach dropped. OfcourseCami would be here. I turned to the right, and she laughed loudly, looking perfect in her cut-off sweatshirt and ripped jeans that hugged her toned body.
