“I’m not,” I lie.
“Well, you’re frowning so hard your face might freeze that way.” I just shrug, not in the mood to get into it. “What are you and the big guy doing tonight?”
I tap my nails against the tabletop in what some may call a slightly manic gesture. “Why do you assume we have plans?”
She blinks at me. “Um, because you twoalwayshave plans.”
Not for the last four days,I want to say, but I don’t think I could get the words out right if I tried. Instead, I shrug again, incapable of having that conversation.
Four. Days.
It might not seem like much, but it’s the longest Wes and I have gone without hanging out in weeks. We texted a little on Sunday and Monday, but when he asked me to get together Monday night, I just couldn’t. I shot him down, and though he was his normal, bubbly self in response, I could tell he was hurt. I could tellIwas hurting him.
I was planning on talking to him after class yesterday, but Markham sent out a last-minute cancellation, so I never got the chance. And now…now I’ve been sitting here pretending to work when in reality I’ve just been staring at my phone for hours and beating myself up inside.
Because what am I doing? Why am I pushing him away like this?
Because it’s too much. It’s all too fucking much. You know it is.
I don’t want to believe it, but the more I think through the last week or so, the more confused I become. I try to sort through my thoughts and emotions, but I can’t find the words to express what I need to say. I can’t figure out how to explain myself to Wes without it all coming back to the root of it. The fear that I’m not ready. The fear that my past will prevent me fromeverbeing ready, even though he’s once in a lifetime.
And that’s why I’m sitting in the library alone. That’s why my poor, pathetic heart is experiencing life-threatening withdrawals. It’s barely stuttering out beats, so used to thriving on Wes’s avid affection.
Let’s be honest, though. I have no one to blame but myself.
“Okay,” Quinn says, drawing out the word. “Well, Remy and I are going to Late Night Ice at The Pavilion tonight. You should come. You look like you need to get out for a bit, no offense.”
I wrinkle my nose at the thought of spending time in a cold, crowded ice rink. “I don’t know how to skate.”
She snorts. “You think I do? My coordination level is zero. I got kicked out of ballet as a child, that’s how awkward I am.” When I don’t respond, she juts out her bottom lip. “Come on. It’ll be fun.”
“I’ll be a third wheel,” I protest.
“I promise to hold your hand as much as I hold Remy’s. Or I can tell Remy to invite Ray. Then we’ll be an even foursome.”
I groan at the idea. “Please don’t.”
Quinn sighs. “Why don’t you just invite the big shot?”
I trace patterns in the wood. “I’m maybe…kind of…avoiding him.”
Her brows shoot up, and she leans across the table, lowering her voice even though there’s no one within hearing distance. “Why?” she asks. “Did he do something?”
I shake my head at the ridiculous thought. “Hedid nothing.Heis perfect.Heis Wes Tucker, the greatest male specimen to ever walk planet earth. It’s me who’s fucked up.”
Her frown deepens, and for a moment she says nothing, studying me with concern. “Okay, now you’re really coming out with us. This negative energy ispotent,and I won’t take no for an answer.”
Not leaving me much room to protest, we work for the next couple hours before heading back to the apartment. I haven’t been to an ice rink since middle school, but I remember enough to dress in layers. Then Remy drives us to The Pavilion, where we wait in the long line to show our student IDs.
Huddling in my coat, I scan the surrounding crowd, relieved when I don’t recognize anyone. The last thing I need is to run into Alexis and her friends when I’m already at a low point.
Quinn nudges me with her shoulder. “Hey, this will be fun, okay? Forget about him.”
“I’ll try,” I tell her, forcing a smile that doesn’t reach my eyes.
Fifteen minutes later, we make it inside and head to the counter to rent our skates. The place is already packed, music blasting through the speakers and lights pulsing around the rink. Who knew Late Night Ice was such a popular event?
“Remy grabbed us a bench,” Quinn tells me, snagging my arm and steering me toward the empty bleacher along the side of the rink. Following her lead, I sit down to slip off my sneakers, all the while watching the group of skaters circling the ice. Mostpeople seem to be struggling to stay upright, let alone move forward, and my nerves ease a little. At least I won’t make atotalfool of myself.
