He purses his lips, but I catch a glimpse of his goofy grin. “Guess the people I date aren't really into that stuff.”
Now that I've started, I can't stop. “You played forward and you were born in New Jersey.”
He shrugs. “I consider myself more of an all-arounder than a forward.”
I huff, running a hand down my face. “I feel bad.”
“Why?”
“Because I got it off a webpage when I could have just talked to you.”
He steps up onto the curb, and I step aside, expecting him to walk right into the bar. Instead, he walks right up to me. I have to tilt my head so I can see his face.
He rolls his shoulders back, like he's gearing up to make some big important statement. “I've been getting into bird watching.”
I'm not proud, but I respond with a harsh, “Seriously?”
He shrugs. “Well, I'm in my 30s, I don't exactly make enough money to get into sports betting—and sports is my job so it doesn't make for a good hobby. I've never been into cars. Can't drink like I used to without getting a two-day hangover…”
“So… birdwatching?”
“It's nice.” There's a sing-song lilt in his voice that makes me instantly believe him. “I’ve always liked hiking. Birdwatching forces me to be more observant, more patient.”
“I don't have time for hobbies,” I admit. “The one thing that could have been a hobby I made my major.”
“Do you have a favorite book?”
My heart swells, which has less to do with Christos and everything to do with my answer. “To Frost the Thaw.”
Every person hastheirbook. Even people who don’t like reading have one book they could present, favorably or otherwise.Mybook happens to be a tome of Russian literature following an Arctic expedition from the perspective of the most fatalistic man in Europe. It’s about a lot more than that—but just because I could give a presentation on it, doesn’t mean he is interested in hearing it.
“Maybe I’ll check it out.” He smiles. “There, now we both know something the internet doesn't.”
We stand there, half illuminated by the nearby streetlight and the bar’s neon haze. There’s so much more I want to know. Christos stays with me instead of joining the rest of the team inside. Is he waiting for me to ask him another question? Maybe he is dying to know why, of all the books in the world, To Frost the Thaw is my favorite.
In the end, he breaks the silence. “You sure you don’t want to join us?”
I shake my head before a stray,sure,can escape. “A night in will do me good. Or, maybe I’ll see if there’s anything happening on campus. GSA does Friday Night Drag.”
“Sounds fun. You’ve earned it.”
I wonder if Maude would agree. If the dozens of other senior division skaters are letting loose before the weekend. A night in doesn’t sound all that bad—even if we’re one month into the semester, and I haven’t gone to a single proper party. There’s no alcohol at drag night, so that’s a plus. There are also several classmates I haven’t connected with yet this semester.
“I know you’ve got to be somewhere—”
“I’m not in a rush.”
“Christos.” I nod in the direction of the bar entrance. “Go coach your team. They’re as bad at pool as they are at hockey.”
“Wow.” He shakes his head, but his smile is bright even in the dark. “You going to make it to any games? Gotta prove you wrong.”
“I might slip in one game early this season.”
“Looking forward to it.” He heads for the door, opening it enough that the inside chatter pours out onto the sidewalk. He pauses, glancing back over his shoulder. “Proving you wrong, I mean.”
He ducks his head so his horns can fit through the doorway.
By the time I make it back to campus, Friday Night Drag is in full swing. A beefy drag king with a glitter mustache collects the cover charge. “Good luck next week. My mom is a big skating fan.”
