Page 18 of The Equation of Us
He waits. Doesn’t push.
I sigh. “Daphne ended it. For real this time.”
“Shit,” he says, not surprised. “Sorry, man.”
“Eh. I’ll live.”
Gavin’s quiet for a beat. Then, “Still sucks.”
“Yeah.”
We move through the rest of practice like we always do—tight passes, fast breaks, body checks that rattle teeth. But under it all, there’s that same old hollow echo.
Daphne was a good girlfriend. Smart. Kind. Cared. She said and did all the right things. She met my mom. Memorized my game schedule. Never once made me feel like I had to tone it down in public.
But in private?
That was different.
I never asked her to be submissive. Never demanded anything she didn’t offer. But when I touched her a certain way—held her wrists, told her not to move—she tensed. Smiled after. Said it was fine. But her eyes never matched her mouth.
And I knew.
I knew I was too much for her. Not because I was cruel. But because I wanted things she couldn’t give me.
Someone handing me control is the hottest thing in the world. Daphne didn’t. Not really. And I hated myself for wanting it anyway.
So I stopped asking. Pulled back. Tried to be what she needed. Fucked her as vanilla as I knew how.
And still—it wasn’t enough.
Gavin claps a hand on my back after a final drill and coasts beside me toward the bench. “Beer later?”
“I’ve got lab stuff.”
He squints at me. “With her?”
I don’t answer.
“Oh, itiswith her.”
I shake my head, jaw tight. “Don’t start.”
“I’m not starting. I’m just… noting.” He nudges me again. “The way you talk about her is different.”
“She’s smart,” I say.
“Uh-huh.”
“She’s driven.”
“Uh-huh.”
“She doesn’t flirt.”
He stops skating, lets out a laugh. “That’s your third bullet point?”
I grin despite myself. “Shut up.”
