Page 24 of The Equation of Us
I sigh, finally tearing my eyes away from the ice. “Fine. I might have a crush. It’s not a big deal.”
“A crush.” She draws out the word like it’s a foreign concept. “On Dean Carter. Who, until last week, was dating one of our closest friends.”
A pang of guilt hits me. “I know. Do you think Daphne would be mad?”
Sadie considers this, watching the players drill. “Probably,” she says finally. “But they’re officially over, so…” She shrugs. “You could always talk to her about it.”
The thought makes my stomach knot. “And say what? ‘Hey, remember that guy you complained about being too intense and controlling? Well, turns out that’s exactly what I’m into.’”
Sadie snorts. “Maybe not exactly like that.” She studies me for a moment. “So what is it about him? Specifically?”
I watch Dean execute a perfect pivot, all controlled strength and precision. “I don’t know. He’s just… different than I expected.”
“Different how?”
How do I explain it? That he makes me feel seen in a way no one else ever has? That I can’t stop thinking about what Daphne said, about him wanting surrender? That the thought of letting go—just once, just with him—makes my skin feel too tight?
“He’s complicated,” I say instead. “Everyone sees this intense, serious guy, but there’s more to him than that. He cares about things. Really cares. And he doesn’t apologize for it.”
Sadie’s watching me with growing interest. “You’ve got it bad, Shaw.”
“I do not,” I protest, but we both know it’s a lie.
On the ice, Dean scores during a scrimmage, a clean shot that flies past the goalie. His teammates crowd around him, and I catch another glimpse of that smile—the unguarded one, the one that transforms his whole face.
It’s like seeing two different people in the same body. The disciplined, controlled Dean who never misses a deadline (anymore), who speaks in measured tones, who watches me with those intense gray eyes. And this other Dean—the one who laughs freely, who moves with power and confidence across the ice, who lets himself be swept up in the moment.
I want to know both of them. All of him.
“Earth to Nora,” Sadie waves a hand in front of my face. “Practice is ending. Want to stay and watch them shower too, or can we please go somewhere warm?”
I roll my eyes but stand, gathering my things. “Yes, fine, let’s go.”
As we descend the bleachers, I chance one last look at the ice. The team is breaking up, heading toward the locker rooms. Dean skates toward the far end, his back to me, oblivious to my presence.
It’s better that way. I don’t know what I’d say if he saw me here.
Back in our dorm room that night, I’m trying to focus on my developmental psychology reading, but my mind keeps drifting back to the rink. To Dean’s powerful stride across the ice. To the easy laugh he shared with his teammate. To the flash of his eyes when he scored.
My phone buzzes with a text from Sadie, who’s at the library.
Sadie:So are you going to talk to Daphne about him?
I chew my lip, considering my response.
Me:No, probably not. Nothing’s going to happen anyway.
Sadie:Sure, Jan. You were practically having hockey fantasies in the stands today.
I laugh despite myself.
Me:Was not.
Sadie:Were too. I’m surprised you didn’t melt the ice with that look.
I hesitate, fingers hovering over the keyboard. Part of me wants to confide in her—about the conversation in my room, about how close Dean and I came to crossing a line. About how much I can’t stop thinking about it.
Me:Fine. Maybe I was. But have you SEEN him on the ice? The way he moves is almost illegal. And when he gave that rare smile? I wanted to climb him like a tree.
