Fourteen
I drive straightfrom the skating club to Christos’ place. Maude spent half of practice asking me about school. First my grades, then my friends, my dorm… Eventually she just outright asked me what was wrong. I told her nothing—which isn’t technically a lie. Bekken got me worked up the other day but he’s not a problem. I don’t even think he’s in town anymore.
When I pull up to Christos’ house I’m relieved to find only his car in the driveway. I drive up a block before parking in front of a random house.
As soon as he opens the door, I blurt out, “Your friend is an asshole.”
There’s a pause. “He wouldn’t disagree.” He crosses his arms and leans against the doorframe. “And, hello. This is a nice surprise. It’s good to see you. How have you been?”
I flush, even the tips of my ears burning up despite the gust of wind at my back. Christos wraps an arm around me and brings me inside. “You hungry? I already ate but I made extra sweet potato boats. I can pop in the oven real quick to heat it up.”
Still hot in the face from my outburst on the porch, I nod.
While he gets the food ready, he laughs to himself. “You and Jonas are funny to watch.”
“Does he hate me?”
He shakes his head and laughs. “No, he likes you.”
I lift a brow. “Does he know about us?”
He has the tray half inside the oven when he stops. “No, he doesn’t.” He shuts the oven. “I would have told him, but I, uh, figured—”
“Right.”
He continues, “You didn’t want that…”
I would argue with him that the secrecy isn’t my decision, but it would be a half-hearted argument.
“Have you and Bekken ever….” I mush my palms together.
He knits his brows. “What?” He matches my gesture, “Held hands?” With a snort he shakes his head, “Jonas is straight.”
“Okay,” I hop onto the countertop. “And if he wasn’t?”
He keeps shaking his head, laughing to himself now. “He’s not my type.”
The conversation veers into familiar territory. “So, whatisyour type? Short, young, and flexible?”
“To be fair, most people are shorter than me. So, yes?”
He grabs some plates and silverware. The kitchen smells of warm sweet potato and some other rich ingredient I can’t place. He pushes past me to set the table. I grab two glasses to feel useful.
“Okay, but actually, do you have a type?”
He hums to himself as he thinks. “Now that I think about it, everyone I’ve dated has been pretty type A.”
“Are you jealous of him?” The question is a surprise even to me.
He blinks, knitting his brows together in confusion before the realization relaxes his expression. “Bekken?” He laughs, humorlessly. “Seriously? Can I answer that while you eat?” He points at the oven. “It’s almost done.”
At the kitchen table he brings me a sweet potato with black beans and cheese.
“It’s got cottage cheese for extra protein.”
I mutter, “Of course it does…” I push around some potato and beans, letting the heat roll off. “So…”
He shrugs, “So… I used to be? Can’t say it felt great watching Jonas get picked for the NHL while I was worried about getting dropped from the minor leagues. He—” He shuts his mouth. “No, I’m not jealous of him.”
