“You did?”
Even though things went…well…I guess, I still don’t know how to tell Staten that I had a love-related epiphany. Now seems like an underwhelming time. I should take her to her favorite restaurant and shower her in Swarovski diamonds and pay a private jet to skywrite my affection for her in the clouds.
I thumbtack my discomfort for later. “Yeah. He apologized for how he treated you. Said he was out of line.”
“That’s a good thing, isn’t it?” she asks, sounding as confused as I feel.
“I’m just protective of you,” I tell her, nuzzling my nose into her shoulder, unable to ignore the adoration that flash-boils inside me. “I don’t trust him.”
“I mean, I don’t like the guy, but maybe he genuinely wants to fix things between the two of you. Maybe?—”
Suddenly, Leif and some mystery girl interrupt our conversation, looking far too unconcerned about their lack of manners. An outpouring of deceit is the first thing I pick up on. Leif Kennedy is no Avengers-level threat, but it’s strange that he’s taken the time out of his day to flaunt this stranger in front of Staten’s face. I didn’t even know he was seeing anyone.
“Staten. Fancy running into you,” he says with a smarmy smile.
“Leif? What are you doing here?” Staten questions.
“We’re just here for the free beer,” Leif’s catty, Cartier-dressed companion sneers, crossing her arms over her chest as she eyes Staten up and down.
Leif redirects his attention to me. “Knox, you played…well…tonight.”
Is this some kind of trap? It feels like I’m performing some gravity-defying trapeze act without a safety net beneath me.
“Uh, thank you?”
“I mean, it’s not seven three-pointers like I had last season, but it’s impressive enough.”
Jesus, he’s condescending. I should’ve known that a compliment from him would come with parameters. Leif Kennedy’s factory setting is permanently stuck on conniving rat bastard.
“Hockey is a far more difficult sport. I wouldn’t expect you to know what real competition feels like,” I retort, indignation marring my expression—an aptly named feeling, I’ve come to find.
Leif changes the subject to limit pushback. “You’re seriouslyeating mayonnaise around her?” he asks, gesturing to my loaded fries.
“What are you talking about?”
“Leif, stop,” Staten chimes in, adept at sensing the tension between us—like we’re two territorial mutts fighting in a scrapyard for dominance, all reckless impulse and arrogance nursed by a lifetime of yes men.
“She hates mayonnaise. The smell, the texture. Can barely be within five feet of it. Thought you knew.”
Hurt tickles the back of my throat, but I know better than to exacerbate the enemy fleet of tension waiting to submerge us all in a pre-warzone. “You never told me that,” I say to Staten.
Staten—who’s now our designated peacekeeper—bears a warning in her voice that I’ve only ever heard a few times before. “It’s fine. He’s exaggerating.”
“Guess you two aren’t that close. Then again, you did only start dating, what, a month ago?”
As much as I appreciate my girlfriend’s efforts to clear the air, she doesn’t know how reactive I can be—thank you, Father—and it’s like we’re all waiting for the axed tree to finally fall, cored and splintered by a whetted blade.
I police the situation with attentive eyes, bracing myself for active cleanup duty. “What’s your deal, Kennedy?”
“I don’t have adeal, Mulligan. I’m just stating the facts.”
“You came here to start something. Why are you so obsessed with our relationship?”
I pretend not to notice Staten blinking in Morse code to call off the hounds.
She interrupts me, her tone strained with exasperation. “Knox!”
Why does she expect me to play nice with her ex-crush?
