“That feels dangerous.”
“Good.”
I consider him.
“You first,” I suggest.
“That’s not how this works.”
“It is now.”
He sighs dramatically.
“Fine. I once broke my arm trying to impress a girl by jumping off a dock.”
“How old were you?”
“Sixteen.”
“Did it work?”
“No.”
“Tragic,” I laugh.
“She dated my friend.”
“That’s worse.”
He smiles.
“Your turn.”
I swirl my glass.
“I have always wanted a tattoo,” I admit while I look at his arms.
“A tattoo?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“I’m not sure yet.”
“You’ll figure it out,” he says confidently.
“Do you want any new ones?” I ask as I observe his tattooed arms.
“I live in the moment. I’m sure I’ll get another one when the time is right,” Blake smiles. “What are you thinking of getting?”
“Maybe something to symbolize my past,” I tell him, and he nods.
“Something about figure skating?” he asks, and I shake my head.“You were amazing,” he says.
“I was alright.”
“Silver at nationals isn’t just alright.”
