I shift gears, slipping into my usual role. Party guy. Fun guy. The guy who doesn’t give a shit about anything other than the moment in front of him.
I flash her a grin and sling an arm around her shoulders. “Hey, babe.”
She giggles, pressing a hand to my chest. “Didn’t see you play this weekend.” She pushes her lips into a pout. “Missed you out there.”
And just like that, my stomach twists.
That’s it, isn’t it?
Hockey is the reason she’s talking to me. It’s always the reason.
Would she still be here, standing this close, looking at me like that, if I wasn’t Austin Rhodes, hockey player? If I was just some random guy on campus, would I even exist to her?
Doubt it.
I force a smirk. “Yeah, well, Coach said I should focus on my classes.” I roll my eyes, letting out a scoff. “Which is ridiculous, obviously. I’m basically the team’s backbone. They’re lost without me.”
I sell the joke like I always do—cocky smirk, playful shrug—but my stomach twists as I say it. Because the team looked fine out there this weekend. More than fine. And I wasn’t on the ice.
Do they even need me?
Does anyone?
She hums, tilting her head. “I don’t know if I buy it.” She steps closer, her sickly-sweet perfume flooding my nose. “Maybe you should prove it to me sometime… privately.”
That should snap me out of this funk. Should boost my ego. Should remind me that, hockey or not, I’ve still got it.
Instead, my phone buzzes.
And suddenly, I don’t care about the girl in front of me anymore.
I pull it out, glancing at the notification.
Cherry:
Confession: I hate parties.
A slow grin tugs at my lips.
“I’ll catch you later, yeah?” I say, already stepping back. She blinks, surprised, but I don’t wait for a response. I’m already ducking into the hallway, leaning against the wall as I open our texts.
Me:
Confession: I officially think you’re crazy.
Cherry:
So dramatic.
Me:
How can you not like parties?
Also, does this mean she’s at a party right now?
My phone stays in my hand, the beer in my other forgotten. Someone shoves past me, nearly knocking it out of my grip, but I barely notice, keeping my eyes on the screen as she starts typing.
Cherry:
