I look away before he can see how much that lands.
“Well,” I say, folding my arms again even though I’m smiling,“hockey players slam into each other and call it strategy.”
“That is strategy,” Blake replies immediately. “Highly advanced strategy.”
“Sure it is.”
He nudges my foot with his sock. “You’ve been to games, right? But have you ever actually watched me play?”
“Obviously,” I say. “I’ve seen the Grizzlies,” I say, which is not the same thing.
“That doesn’t count. I mean me.”
I hesitate. “No.”
“You should come.”
“That sounds suspiciously like a date,” I say.
Blake smiles without looking away. “Maybe it is.”
“I already told you I’m not going on a date with you. Especially not a date where my brother is present.”
“Didn’t sound very convincing,” he shrugs.
I roll my eyes and reach for my drink so that I have something to do with my hands. The song shifts into the next one on my playlist, softer this time, slower. The apartment suddenly feels smaller than it did ten minutes ago.
“You don’t give up easily, do you?” I ask.
“No,” he says simply.
“Why?”
He doesn’t answer right away. There’s no joke waiting, no teasing remark waiting to deflect the moment. He looks at me like he’s deciding whether to say something he won’t be able to take back.
“Because I just remembered how much I liked you when I was younger,” he says finally.
My stomach flips in a way that feels unfair, inconvenient, and impossible to ignore.
“Blake…”
“I know you always looked at me like I was the annoying guy hanging around your brother,” he smiles a little. “Still do, apparently.”
“That’s not…” I stop myself. It is what I was thinking.
He leans forward slightly, elbows on his knees.
“I’m not trying to make things weird,” he says more gently. “I don’t want to keep pretending I don’t see you.”
The room goes quiet except for the music.
“You already make things complicated,” I mutter.
“Maybe,” he admits. “But you didn’t tell me to leave.”
I glance at the door. Then back at him.
“I could still do that.”
