I pop my first jump. Instead of transitioning into a step sequence I take a lap, closing my eyes to feel the music and forget about everything outside of this patch of ice. Including Christos. Especially Christos.
“I’m goingto go to the library to study,” I tell Terrence as I shove a textbook into my backpack.
He’s sitting on his bed and pulls one headphone out of his ear. “What?”
“I’m going to go study. Might be home late.”
“Why can’t you study here?” he says, genuinely confused. “I was just gonna hang and watch game highlights.”
I shrug, doing my best to keep a neutral expression.
“Now you can watch game highlights and jerk off. You’re welcome.”
I make a swift escape, kicking myself for saying anything. I pedal hard on my bike, flying past the library and zipping into town. The crisp October air is already gone, replaced with icy blusters that make my teeth chatter.
Outside cold is much worse than inside cold—that is, the artificial cold of the ice rink can’t really compare to Mother Nature’s cold. It’s always the wind that makes winter so unbearable.
The sun has set by the time I get to Christos’ place, another warning that fall days are over and winter is taking its place. I drag my bike up onto his porch, cupping my frigid fingers to my mouth before ringing the doorbell.
Christos answers with a smile, then concern. “Your cheeks are red.”
I push past him. A bit rude, but I’m sick of the chill.
“You want me to make you something to drink? I’ve got some herbal tea. It’s for colds but it’s warm.”
I shake out my hands. “Sure.”
He goes to the kitchen, and I follow, oil wafting under my nose. There’s a skillet on the stove and something in the oven. “You made me dinner?”
“I hope that’s alright.” He opens the oven, revealing cubes of orange and yellow. “I made squash and chicken breasts.”
“Daring. Groundbreaking,” I tease but my mouth is watering in anticipation for a home made meal.
The dining hall got old three months into Freshman year. It’s nice seeing full chicken breasts instead of strips with flat, textureless grill lines.
“It’ll take a few minutes for everything to be done. Sit wherever,” he gestures to a nearby table and chairs before nodding back to the living room. “I’ll get you that tea.”
While he rummages around his cupboards, I settle at the table, realizing with slight horror I’ve still got my backpack on. Sexy. The straps slide off my shoulders, and it drops to the floor with a thud. Real sexy. That damn textbook.
He stands at the stove, stirring the pan while a kettle warms nearby.
“Do you mind if I study?”
“Go ahead.” He knits his brows, kneeling in front of the oven. “I think I fucked up the timing so this might be a while...”
I ignore the textbook and instead grab one of the novels we’re reading in class. It’s an unsuspecting-looking book, the cover not much larger than my palm and the spine as thick as my thumb, but the short prose is dense and I find myself having to reread to make sure I get the whole picture. Sure, there was less to do in the 1700s, but there’s no universe where people read this for pleasure. Kind of fucked up how my field of study is making me hate my field of study.
Christos drops off the tea without a word. The medicinal smell tears right through my sinuses. I’m halfway done with the cup when he returns with two plates. I could throw the book across the room but I settle for dropping it into my open backpack.
The color of the squash reminds me of the fall leaves that have all blown away. I hate that I hesitate taking a bite, too busy calculating carbs.
“It’s got rosemary, salt, and sunflower oil. Chicken is pan seared. Nothing fancy.”
I have to laugh. “A guy has never made me dinner before.”
He stabs into his chicken. “Really?”
“We’re usually past the dinner part of the date by the time we go back to his place.” I take my first bite, going for the squash first. It’s soft but not mushy; that hint of rosemary making a world of difference.
