Oh God, and he’s cute. Like, really cute. Dark wavy hair, thick brows, a kind of easy energy about him, like he doesn’t have a care in the?—
He spots me.
I have never seen such gorgeous eyes.
Which is a super weird thing to think while being caught doing something embarrassing.
He smiles. And then he arches a single brow.
And suddenly, it is very, very warm in this ice rink, and I’m pretty sure it’s because my face has just turned purple. I quickly become extremely interested in that schedule flyer.
A minute or two passes, and I steady my breathing. When I chance to look up again, I see him settling into a seat a littlefurther down and a couple sections over, a respectful distance away.
Below, Coach blows his whistle, and the skaters glide into new positions. There’s some chirping and some kind of fast-moving drill starts up, but I can’t pay attention to any of it. For the rest of practice, I am hyperaware that I am no longer alone in the stands.
CHAPTER 3
DASH
The next day,I’ve got some time to kill after class before the cafeteria opens up for dinner. My path just happens to take me near the hockey rink. Or okay fine, within ten minutes’ walk of it anyway. I figure it can’t hurt to peek in at practice again. Might give me something to chat with my roommate about, right?
And if the guy from yesterdayhappensto be there again, well, that wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, now would it?
I’m honestly not really expecting him to be there. I mean, I don’t know what his deal is, but what are the odds, he’d…
He’s here.
Aaaand now he’s seen me, so there’s not much point in pretending I’m not here to see him.
I can’t help it, okay? I love a good mystery. Hot guys don’t hurt, either.
I climb up the stairs toward the back row of seats. He’s making a show of focusing on the team, but he looks over at me enough it’s clear he’s watching me, too.
I don’t want to spook him, so I take a seat a half dozen down from his. For a few minutes, I watch the ice. Gavin and the boys are doing… skatey-puck things.
I steal a glance at the boy beside me. There’s something sweet about him. His hair is not quite blond, not quite brown, a little shaggy around the edges. He’s got ridiculously long eyelashes behind his adorkable glasses, and he’s wearing a hand-knit sweater that’s slightly too big on him. The sleeves cover most of his hands. I find it completely endearing.
He’s clearly interested in me—whether in a hey-you’re-kinda-cute way or a what-the-hell-are-you-doing-dude kind of way, I can’t tell.
He’s also clearly not going to talk to me first.
Okay, well, if I’m going to do this, I might as well do this.
I hop over a few seats. He looks up, only slightly alarmed, and I flash him what I know is my most winning smile.
He gives me a hesitant one back and the slightest of nods before turning his eyes back to the ice. Okay then.
We watch in what might be (sorta, kinda, if you squint) companionable silence for a few minutes. Just two guys watching a bunch of other guys do their jock thing. Like you do. He doesn’t pack up and flee, and I didn’t have a plan beyond this, so I’ll take it.
I do my best to study him out of the corner of my eye. He’s watching the practice intently. Although he definitely does not look like your typical sports bro.
I try to follow the action of the players, but I honestly have no idea what they’re doing.
They’ve got the guy in the little net thing—the goal, I guess—and all the other guys are lined up, whacking pucks at him, one after the other. I am really not up on my hockey, but I am pretty sure this is not how it normally works.
One guy manages to whack it extra hard and at a weird angle, and it somehow bounces off the metal part of the goal and goes flying at the coach, right at crotch-level.
The coach jumps out of the way, surprisingly fast for a guy his age. “Watch it, kid!” he booms.
