I step inside and almost stumble when I discover how much skin she’s got on display. Damn. There may be pieces of fabric covering some parts of her body, but I don’t know that I’d categorize them as clothes.
Her tank top is tiny, her shorts tinier, though she’s wearing absurd socks that come up to her knees that have Aiden Langfield’s face all over them.
“Nice socks.” I stride past her, ignoring her sweet scent. She goes back to braiding her wet hair, something I’ve seen her do a hundred times, as she follows me toward the—fuck, there’s no table. “Where’s your table?”
She snorts. “Damn, hot shot, way to point out that your room is nicer than mine.”
I eye her. “They really gave you a standard room?”
“They gave us all standard rooms. You’re just bougie. Your parents probably upgraded you without you knowing.”
I drop my head forward and sigh. I could totally see my dad doing that. He’s still trying to make up for how many games he and Mom have missed the last few years.
Like I’d ever hold my mother’s cancer diagnosis and treatment against them.
She’s in remission, thankfully, and her hair is finally long enough for a short bob, which she seems very excited about.
Sometimes I catch my dad watching her with fear in his eyes, like he’s scared she’ll disappear. It’s a reminder that we’re not in the clear just yet.
I force a smile to my face. “I like nice things. I deserve them, Angles.”
She laughs. “And he’s modest too. Also, Twizzlers taste like plastic. I wouldn’t consider them a nice thing.”
“Yeah, but they’re my mom’s favorite, so I’ve been addicted since I was a kid.”
Her brow creases a little. “You never told me that.”
I shrug. “Well, now you know.”
“Give me one,” she says, holding out a hand.
I drop the goods onto the bed closest to the door. This room has two beds, even though she doesn’t have a roommate, and she always sleeps in the one farthest from the door because she claims it’s safest.
Like somehow the extra ten seconds she’d have if someone broke in would do her much good.
That weird pinch in my chest hits when I imagine something bad happening to Adeline. Before I can think too much about it, she’s standing beside me, that sweet scent surrounding me. With her this close, it takes all my brain power to focus on how to open the Twizzler package.
I fail epically, because of course I do, and rip the bag completely down one side. The contents spill onto the bed, and because they’re basically plastic like she said, they fall in one big clump.
With a light laugh, she picks it up, pulls one off, and throws it at me. Then she does the same for herself and takes a big bite.
“Yup, still tastes like plastic,” she says, chomping on it. She takesanother bite, ripping at the candy with her teeth. “I kinda like them, though.”
Chuckling, I pick up the soda I brought for her and shuffle to the bathroom.
“Where are you going with that?” she yells.
I open it over the sink, taking the brunt of the spray I knew was coming, then clean it—and myself—off before bringing it back to her, top off. “Opening your drink.”
Her teeth glide over her bottom lip and those pretty brown eyes of hers rise to mine. “Oh, thanks.”
I settle on the bed with a sigh. “You upset about missing prom?”
We signed up for this goalie camp last year, before we knew it was the same weekend as the dance. Even if I’d known, I would have been here. Though maybe that’s because I knew Adeline would be here too. After sneaking into her room and sleeping beside her every night for almost a year, talking with her and confiding in her, I miss her. Sure, we still play and practice and travel together and we go to school together, but it’s not the same. We don’t get many moments like this.
Adeline settles on the bed beside me and grabs another Twizzler. “Eh, it’s not like anyone asked me to go.”
I frown, studying her. “Was there someone you wanted to ask you?”
