Page 103 of The Equation of Us
“We didn’t make the playoffs,” I say, more abruptly than I intend.
She laughs, unoffended. “But you won the game. That counts for something.”
Before I can respond, Henry jumps in. “Don’t mind Carter. He’s going through a rough patch. Girl troubles.”
I shoot him a warning look that he cheerfully ignores.
“Girl troubles?” She raises an eyebrow, sliding into the booth beside me. Close enough that her thigh presses against mine. “Sounds like you need cheering up more than celebrating.”
Her perfume is too sweet, heavy in the close space of the booth. Her hand lands on my knee under the table, fingers light but purposeful.
“I’m fine,” I say, shifting slightly away. “But thanks.”
“I’m Amber,” she continues as if I hadn’t spoken. “And I’m very good at cheering people up.”
Gavin catches my eye across the table, a silent offer to intervene. I shake my head slightly.
“I appreciate the offer,” I say, more polite this time. “But I’m not interested.”
“You sure about that?” Her hand slides higher on my thigh, and suddenly she’s shifting her weight, her boob pressing into my bicep. “One night. No strings. Best way to forget girl troubles.”
A few months ago, I might have taken her up on it. Not because I particularly wanted her, but because it was easier than explaining why I didn’t. Because physical release was simpler than emotional connection.
But now all I can think about is Nora. How different this woman feels against me. How her perfume isn’t the subtle lavender of Nora’s shampoo.
How no matter how much I might want to forget—to escape the constant ache in my chest for just one night—I can’t.
“I’m sure,” I say, gently but firmly removing her hand from my lap. “But I said I’m not interested.”
Her confidence falters slightly, embarrassment crossing her features before she masks it with a shrug. “Your loss,” she says, sliding off the bench. “Offer stands if you change your mind.”
“I won’t,” I say, standing. “But thanks.”
I drain the last of my beer and look at Gavin. “I’m heading back to the hotel.”
Concern crosses his face. “Want company?”
“No.” I grab my jacket and phone. “See you guys tomorrow. Good game tonight.”
There are a few half-hearted protests, but no one really tries to stop me. Even Henry, for all his teasing, knows when to back off.
Outside, the April night is cool but not cold, a light breeze carrying the scent of spring even in this urban setting. I walk rather than calling a rideshare, needing the motion, the physical exertion to quiet my mind.
It doesn’t work.
Nothing has, not since Nora left.
Not hockey, not studying, not even the mindless physical release of running until my lungs burn. The pain follows me everywhere, a constant companion I can’t shake.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. For a fraction of a second, hope flares—irrational, desperate hope that it might be her. That she might have decided to reach out.
It’s Logan.
Hey, heard about the game. Tough break missing playoffs. You ok?
I type back a quick response.
Me:Fine. Home tomorrow.
