Immediately, I shake my head.
“Not like that. She’s my student coach.”
My mind flashes to what transpired at the resort last month. And the hotel last week. And my DMs last night.
Though, that was one sided.
“Okay, maybea littlelike that, but not really. Nothing’s going to happen. Anyway—” I shake my head, trying to steer the conversation back on track. But my family, as loving as they are, veer me off course.
“Hold on,” my mom interrupts, leaning forward, eyes wide. “You can’t just say‘there’s a girl’and not elaborate!”
“Wait, did you say she’s yourCoach?” Dad asks.
“StudentCoach,” I clarify. He grins.
“Nice.”
My mom continues. “Tell me about this girl.”
Jesus Christ.
“There’s nothing to—”
“You know, I had this gut feeling you were going to end up with a woman,” Avery cuts in.
My parents are all about buying things in pairs. Two remotes, two vacuums, two refrigerators—one for the house, one for the garage. So, of course, they had two kids… whobothturned out to be pansexual. Guess they like having doubles of everything.
“I’m not ending up with anybody!” I object. “Need I remind you all that I have yet to secure anactualrelationship?”
“Well, that’s by choice sweetheart,” my mom rebuts.
“Yeah. Like, you could’ve said ‘yes’ when Miles Evans asked you out instead of telling him you were already betrothed to hockey,” Avery adds.
“I wasnine!”
He shrugs, unfazed. “Still could’ve.” His eyes catch mine, and that antagonizing smirk tugs at his lips.
I love my brother, but sometimes I want to punch him in the fucking face.
“You’re blushing.”
I scoff and look away, swiping at my cheeks as if my fingertips are made of rubber and I can erase the color. “I amnot.”
“Are too.”
“No!”
“Yup.”
“No, I’m irritated because my family hasno sense of boundaries!”
That shuts everyone up. The silence is palpable, four seconds, then five, and when Pumpkin lets out a mitochondria-sized sneeze, we all burst into laughter. For the rest of the afternoon, as we bake the gingerbread and construct our houses, I tell them about Darcy. Noteverything, but the important stuff. How we met, how she retaped my stick, AIHL. And how we will never turn into anything more. And as much as it hurts, it’s nice to share it with them. I always forget how much I miss my family until they’re back in my arms.
“I got all your genes, huh?” I ask, eyeing the completed row of gingerbread houses. Ours (mine and Dad’s) look like we ran them over with a car, especially next to Avery and Mom’s art-gallery-quality creations. My dad crosses his arms defensively, regarding our pitiful attempts.
“Uh-huh.”
“Can you lend me twenty?” I whisper.
