Ian smiles. “Yes and no. The figure skater never noticed him. But the girl at the concession stand did. They’re currently married with three kids.”
“Ok, that’s actually adorable.”
“It really is. And Katie’s the best. But my brothers and I still can’t skate.”
“You’re missing out,” I tell him.
A comfortable silence descends between us, and I feel utterly relaxed until I hear Ian’s next words.
“Hey, look, I’m honestly not judging, but I noticed you missed class today. Just wanted to check in and make sure everything’s ok?”
And just that quickly, my good mood is gone, and I can barely breathe. Does he know? Of course, he knows. He has to know. Frantically, I look at him and his face is the same as always: kind, sweet, handsome.
Handsome.
I stand up quickly, nearly knocking over my water bottle in the process. “I need to go,” I tell him in a rush. “I have a game. Tonight. And I need to be there. Early. I forgot. I need to go now. Feel free to stay as long as you want to.” And with that awkward monologue, I dart out of the room, stopping only to grab my keys, my phone, and my suit that’s hanging by the door.
“Booker,” he calls after me, but like the coward I am, I just leave.
Chapter 11
Booker
Coach rana grueling practice and even though I’m exhausted, I know it’s exactly what we needed. We won both our games this past weekend, which is something of a miracle, considering all the bickering that’s gone on this season. But I can’t blame our subpar play solely on the drama. After leaving my own house in a panic, my mind was not on the game.
It was on Ian.
Granted, he’s never too far from my thoughts, but I’ve never been that distracted during a game before. I kept wondering if he was alright, if he made it home okay, or if maybe he’d still be at my place after the game. And fine, that was wishful thinking. When I got home Friday night, he was gone. Who could blame him? But in true Ian fashion, he left me a text saying that Mel picked him up and that he was sorry for whatever he said that freaked me out.
I feellike a jerk. I am a jerk. There’s no reason to be skittish around Ian. It’s not like he can read my mind. And he’s the most accepting, understanding person I know. But when he mentioned the class, I panicked.
We texted a little over the weekend, and though he probably thinks I’m a nutjob, things are pretty much back to normal. Normal being me crushing hard on Ian, Ian being clueless, and me being anxious every five minutes that he’ll figure out I dropped his class and be hurt by my betrayal. Yep, that’s my normal.
I’m halfway across campus when my phone buzzes with a text from my sister.
Fallon: He told me I look like a whore.
Booker: Wait, what? Who said that to you?
Fallon: Dad
Fallon: I got a citation at school today. My shirt wasn’t up to dress code standards, which is such bullshit. I was wearing literally the same top as Sophie, but because my boobs are giant, I have cleavage. Fucking sue me.
Fallon: Anyway, that creepy gym teacher wrote me up for it and I was sent to the dean’s office. I made Sophie come along because nobody in that freaking office can be bothered to learn to sign. Anyway, once I got there, I wrote a statement telling him that his employee should stop looking down students’ shirts. That did not go over well. He called dad and the whole thing went to shit from there.
As I read her messages, anger courses through my body. It’s bad enough when he treats me like garbage; I can handle it. On some level, I kind of feel like I deserve it. I don’t stand up to him, don’t tell him where he can shove his judgment, so maybe it’s only fitting that he micromanages my life. But Fallon doesn’t deserve his hateful words, not at all.
Booker: Do you need me to come get you?
Fallon: I’m at Sophie’s. Her mom said I could stay a couple days, so I’ll just lay low here and try to suppress the urge to run him over with my car.
Booker: That's probably a good idea, if only because it would land you in jail.
Booker: Where’s Em?
Booker: Not that your mention of prison made me think of our baby sister or anything…
Fallon: She’d be the head of a prison gang within 24 hrs.
