Hassie is very extroverted—maybe more than Leif, which is saying something—and she’s always down for an adventure, especially if it includes free booze. She helps get me out of mycomfort zone, which isn’t an easy feat. She’s also too sweet for her own good, lacks self-preservation instincts when it comes to male attention, and is the one person in this universe whom I can rely on come rain or shine.
I, um, haven’t told her about my feelings for Leif. I just don’t want to fuck up the dynamic, you know? Plus, this crush was always only going to bemysin to bear.
Hassie offers me a box of Sour Patch Kids, feline eyes surveying me with a suspicion that seems to split my cold body open on a mortuary table, practiced hands digging in viscera to see what makes me tick. “Two years in, and you’ve never once come to a hockey game with me. You feeling alright?”
My muted guilt is ironically louder than the clamoring anarchy around us, and my heart shudders in my chest. I decline her sugar-coated reprieve. “Huh? Oh, yeah. I just…I just thought a change of scenery would be nice.”
Oh, and no, I haven’t told her about my little arrangement with MU’s very own man whore. Friend of the year.
“Right,” she muses, her aquamarine irises akin to an ocean frilling around a rocky outcrop. Something lurks beneath the surface but refuses to break the tension. She tears a small hole in her Skittles packet and tosses them down her gullet.
Is she on to me? She seems on to me. Keep it together, woman.
I chew the tissue of my cheek. We’re not seated far away from the plexiglass, which means that Knox’s suggestive flexibility teases my subdued appetite, his legs bent behind him in a frog pose that I don’t think I could assume even given the right instructions. He bounces a few times to stretch his hips—his groin flush against the ice—and I hate the way that blistering want flares in my belly.
I tip my head upwards, staring at an empty chasm instead of an open-ended sky. Peace is a privilege ungranted, further disrupted by the bothersome ping of Hassie’s phone.
She glances down momentarily, the blue light from herscreen shining across her face and emphasizing the smile growing between her rosy cheeks.
“Leif should be here any minute,” she tells me, doing a terrible job of exorcising the unease that pulses inside of my stomach like an overlooked ulcer.
Hang on…what?
I try to digest the words that just came out of her mouth, but it’s like my auditory nerve and brain are oceans apart. “Leif is coming?” I croak, knotting my hands into fists under the concealment of my oversized sleeves.
Even with Hassie’s aptitude for calling me out on my bullshit, she still seems thankfully oblivious. “Duh. The three of us haven’t hung out in weeks. I miss you guys. I’m thinking we hit up a 7-Eleven after the game and then marathon the new season ofLove Island.”
Leif is coming. To the game. In a matter of minutes. Jesus fuck. I’m not prepared to confront him. In fact, I was more than happy with pretending like my problems never existed and hoping that they just went away on their own. Clearly, I’m about as delusional as Knox is.
I can’t believe Hassie would betray me like this. What am I supposed to say to him? Do I go along with Knox’s far-fetched plan in hopes that it’ll make Leif want me more? Do I come clean? The cons for each decision are endless, and my nerves rub together like exposed wires, erupting into a firework of sparks that impairs my sensibility.
I don’t even have the chance to rehearse some default chat options before Leif Kennedy himself is commanding the attention of some nearby basketball fans with his unignorable presence. However, he couldn’t be less interested in entertaining his diehard devotees.
He deadpans, “Staten.”
I match his apathy with tailored indignation. “Leif.”
He stands before me with no interest in taking a seat,blocking the rink for the rest of the unfortunate spectators perched behind us. It doesn’t take long for Hassie to acknowledge the arc of tension between us—about as destructive as the fluttering embers of a livid fire that hitchhike on gusts of wind, sprinkling their burnt coals over untouched terrain.
“What are you doing here?” I ask stiffly.
“I could ask you the same thing,” he parries, crossing his arms over his chest.
“I thought you were going to be at the mathematics competition.”
“I thought you were going to be on a date at yourfavoriterestaurant.”
Leif and I have never fought before. I didn’t think it was possible. Clearly, I’ve been on a streak about being wrong. The amicability I’ve grown to love about him is nowhere to be found, instead replaced with an aloofness that strikes a chord within me.
My lips unsuction to respond, but my illusion of autonomy is quickly fractured in multiple places at the unforgiving hands of the last person I ever thought would be responsible for my impending heartbreak.
“Let me guess: you’re here to support your new boyfriend, right? The one you didn’t tell me about?”
Hassie flips her lid. “What?!”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” I snap, the hairs on my neck standing up as a primitive rage rampages through my veins.
There’s an imperceptible tick to Leif’s jaw, a jilted look buried deep in his russet eyes like an uncut gem amidst heaps of charred rubble. “Sure looked like it.”
