A few responses come to mind, but I remind myself that I’m trying to win him over, that I’m trying to be his friend. Still, he’s even more tightly wound than I thought.
His brows lift. “Have I missed something?”
“Not at all. I was just thinking about how awful it is to date in LA. You’re not missing out on anything, I promise.”
“You know all about that, I assume.”
The comment makes me grin. For a moment, it’s easy to pretend we really are friends; that he’s asking about my dating because he actually has an interest in my life, and not because I’ve trapped him in a coffee shop and forced him to make idle conversation with me, someone he clearly can’t stand. Jigsaw would be proud.
“Oh yeah. The ones who recognize me are only in it for my family’s money. The ones who don’t are either cheating on their wife, still hung up on their ex, or looking for an easy way to boost their podcast or production crowdfunder or some shit—and those are just the ones I can actually get dates with. Most people in LA never even swipe right because they think they can do better. Everyone is so hot here, nobody wants to risk settling down, just in case they miss their shot with some actor or model or some other ten out of ten.”
Falkenberg stares at me, which makes me realize I almost sound bothered. I sip my slushiccino and shrug. Ishrug, because that’s what one does when they’re unbothered.
“Anyway,” I say, clearing my throat. “It’s not worth my time. I’ve got a career to focus on.”
“That sounds miserable. I’ve never had to deal with that.”
Yeah, because you’re hot, rich, and more famous than me,I want to say, but I don’t. I can’t give him the upper hand.
“Too many puck bunnies just falling into your lap, huh? Must be nice to not have to shop around,” I say instead.
“Sometimes,” he says, and there’s a brutal honesty in his expression that makes my gut lurch. “I usually just avoid it all.”
“Shocker, Falkenberg. Nobody would have ever guessed you're antisocial.”
I want him to laugh. I might not be the prettiest girl in LA, but damn if I can’t be funny.
He doesn’t. But for once, he doesn’t look so stoic, either. A silence lingers between us, growing more bloated by the minute. Now that we’ve laid our miserable singledom bare, I’m not really sure where to go.
“Well, I think this hour is about finished,” he says, checking his watch again.
Couldn’t have said it better myself.
“Yeah, let’s bounce,” I agree.
Falkenberg waits for me to gulp down the last of my drink as I stand, then we make our way out of the cafe. I ignore how a few heads turn as we pass, not wanting to give any thought to whatever nasty rumors are circulating about my family’s business.
“You can just drop me back at the rink,” I say when we’re back in his car.
Falkenberg nods, and silence falls between us again. At some point, he turns on what I can only guess are Swedish oldies.
They’re interrupted a split second later by the cacophonous sound of bells ringing from my phone in the cupholder. I startle, just as Falkenberg glances down. The wordsTake your fucking birth control!scroll across the screen. He looks at me like I’m deranged, and my cheeks immediately burn.
I snatch my phone, turn the alarm off and mutter, “Sorry.”
He gives me a scrutinizing look, but doesn’t say anything else until he drops me off.
“You owe me a beer, Hearst,” he says as I’m getting out of the car.
Halfway out the door, I turn to look at him. “Wha—oh, right. The coffee.”
“It was shit. You can buy me a beer at the Puck-Drop Banquet.”
Dammit. I’d totally forgotten about the preseason banquet. I’m going to have to find something to wear to that. It’s next week.
“Why would I do that?” I reply, closing the car door and speaking through the open window. “Like you said, we’re not friends.”
I’m immensely satisfied with the scowl that appears on his face. “You made a deal.”
