“Please. That sweater was hideous anyway. I did him a favor.” Dylan leans forward, his eyes serious. “You deserve better than him, Chey.”
Something in his directness makes my defenses rise. “What do you know about love, hockey star? Your longest relationship is with your skates.”
The moment the words leave my mouth, I regret them. But instead of getting offended, Dylan just leans back, a strange smile playing at his lips.
“You know, I wasn’t always this way,” he says quietly.
“What do you mean?”
He stares into his hot chocolate for a moment before answering. “Sophomore year of high school. Jessica Matthews. We dated for almost a year, which is practically marriage at that age.”
“I don’t remember you ever mentioning her,” I say, surprised. I’ve known Dylan since I was in middle school. And while he’s three years older than me and Genna, this is the first time I’m hearing he had a serious high school girlfriend.
“I don’t think I knew you yet when Jessica and I dated.” Dylan shrugs. “And it’s not really something I ever cared to talk about...”
“Why’s that?”
“Because it ended badly.” He takes a long sip of his drink before continuing. “She cheated on me with my teammate. My supposed best friend at the time.”
“Dylan...” I breathe, genuinely shocked. “I had no idea.”
He shrugs, but I can see the lingering hurt in his eyes. “It was a long time ago. But when you’re fifteen and think you’re in love, and then find out the girl you’d do anything for has been hooking up with your buddy behind your back ... it does something to you.”
“Is that why you don’t...” I trail off, not sure how to phrase it politely.
“Why I don’t do serious relationships?” he finishes for me. “Yeah, probably. It’s just easier, you know? If I keep things casual, nobody gets hurt.”
“Except that’s not really true, is it?” I reach for my marshmallow, needing something to busy my hands with. “Someone usually ends up hurt in those situations too.”
“Not if everyone’s honest about expectations,” he argues, then reaches across the table and steals my marshmallow right from my fingers.
“Hey!” I protest, laughing despite myself.
“Too slow.” He grins before popping it into his mouth.
I dip my finger into my whipped cream and flick it at him, landing a small dollop on his chin. “Thief.”
“You’re gonna regret that,” he warns, but he’s smiling as he wipes it away.
“I’m terrified,” I deadpan.
For a moment, we’re just grinning at each other across the table, and it feels so comfortable, so familiar, yet somehow entirely new at the same time. His hand rests on the table between us, close enough that I could touch it if I wanted to.
The realization makes my fingers tingle.
“I’ve never told many people about Jessica,” he says suddenly, his voice lower. “Not even the guys on the team.”
“Why me?” I ask, genuinely curious.
He looks at me for a long moment before answering. “Because you’ve always seen through my facade. Even when we were teenagers, you never bought the hockey star persona I give off to the world.”
The honesty catches me off guard. I don’t know what to say, so I try to make a joke. “So, you’re telling me my superpower is seeing through nonsense?”
He laughs, and somehow the tension in his shoulders eases. “Pretty much.”
“My grandma was the same way. She could always tell when I was putting on an act.”
“You miss her,” he says. It’s not a question.
