Page 36 of Shots on Net

“Me, too,” Jefferson says. “You go find your hockey player; I’ll tell everyone we’re heading out. No more parties for you and I—we cannot be trusted.”

I laugh, weakly. He brushes a hand on my shoulder as I turn around and set off to find Carter. It becomes very clear, however, after fifteen minutes of fruitless searching, that he’s no longer in the house. Stepping outside with the intent to check the car in case he’s sitting in there, I find him on the porch. I hadn’t quite been expecting him to be there, and the sight of him hits my system like a burst of cold water.

He’s sitting on the porch swing, one leg kicked out and the other bent at an angle so he can rock the swing. He’s mostly in shadow, as half of the porch lights don’t work; I can see enough of his face to know he’s neither smiling nor scowling. He’s just…sitting. The blank expression is somehow worse than the frown.

“Oh, hi.” Nerves erupt along my spine, and I wrap my arms around my middle. “Sorry. I was looking for you.”

“Just getting some air,” he says, mildly. “Figured I’d let you catch up with your friends. Are you cold? There’s a jacket in my car.”

Before he can get up and go get it, I step closer and stop him. “No, that’s okay. Do you want to leave? We can leave. I only wanted to stop by, anyway. We could go get some ice cream, or take a walk? Or, if you want, we could put on a movie when we get home. Something just the two of us.”

I add this last part in a desperate attempt to bring this night back on track, but Carter has no reaction to the offer. He only stares at me, blank-faced and contemplative. A loud noise from inside draws his eyes away for a moment, before he turns back to me. He hooks a finger behind him, in the direction of the party.

“We don’t have to go if you wanted to hang out for a bit longer. I’m okay waiting until you’re ready.”

A sharp prickle forms behind my eyes, and I swallow past a lump in my throat. “I’m ready. I’m ready to go.”

He stands, gesturing for me to lead the way to the car. Before I can do it myself, he reaches around me and opens the passenger door the same way he’s done all evening. The same way someone would do for their date. When the door is closed and Carter is walking around the front of the vehicle to the other side, I look out the window and will myself not to cry. I think I’ve probably fucked this up, and that feels terrible. But what feels worse is the knowledge that I’ve obviously hurt Carter’s feelings.

I sit there quietly, stewing in my misery and too afraid to talk to Carter about it. We’re nearly halfway home before he speaks, looking over at me across the dark expanse of the car. I’m glad he can’t see my face in the dark and that I’ve still got time to get myself under control before we get home.

“Did something happen at the party? While I was outside?”

I turn my head and he catches my eye, frowning at me. I shake my head, no. He frowns with renewed vigor. I clear my throat to make sure there are no tears lodged there. “Nothing happened.”

“You’re never this quiet,” he points out.

“Are you mad at me?” I ask, quietly, and watch as his eyes pop wide in surprise. He’s forgotten to maintain the frown.

“No, of course not. Why the hell would I be mad at you?” He sounds incredulous, like he can’t think of anything more ridiculous than him being upset with me.

“Because I ruined our date.” I’m watching carefully when I say this, so even in the dark car I’m able to see the way his shoulders sag. He waits to speak until the car is parked in his garage and the engine is turned off. The sudden silence feels encompassing and damning.

“You didn’t ruin anything.”

He doesn’t look at me when he says it, and I can’t pick out a lie from his face anyway. Opening my door, I get out of the car. I hate confrontation, and this is the worst sort. My hands are shaking as I trail Carter slowly through the door.

“Carter,” I call to him, softly, before he can disappear up the stairs. He halts, back rigid and shoulders set in discomfort. “Do you want to stay up for a little bit? I’d like to talk to you.”

“Let’s talk tomorrow. I’m going to crash, alright?”

He doesn’t wait for me to respond before he goes upstairs. I watch him until he’s out of sight, suddenly feeling too weary to follow. Taking a seat on the couch, I rest my head back and close my eyes. I need to think of what to say to him tomorrow to help him understand that I made a mistake. I need him to know that had I known we were going on a date, I never would have agreed to meet Jefferson at the party. But I also need to make sure he understands what dating me might look like; I’m not the kind of person who will just jump into bed with someone, and I’m unsure whether that will be okay with Carter.

Sitting up, I make my gloomy way upstairs. Reaching the top of the stairs, I stop dead. Carter’s door—which has remained wide open since the first day I set foot in this house—is closed. I stand there, staring, for what feels like an eternity. Forcing my feet to move, I continue down the hallway to my own room. Closing the door silently behind me, I put my back to the wall and slide to a seated position on the floor.

Carter

I slept like garbage last night, which is no big surprise. I’ve woken up with a headache and my stomach feels as though it’s been tied in a dozen knots. Lying in bed and trying to muster up the desire to move, I think about last night. This, I think, is why I don’t do dating. I’d gotten excited—far more excited than the situation warranted—when Zeke agreed to dinner. It was all I could do to make it through the week and get to Friday night; Coach Mackenzie had been on my case all week for being distracted.

I should never have let Vas talk me into asking him out. Now, all I’ve done is make a fool of myself and possibly ruin our friendship. I knew—I fucking knew—he’d never go out with me. But of course, Zeke is too nice of a person to flat-out tell me no; instead, he’d engineered it so that we’d be surrounded by his friends. He’s just my roommate, he’d said, and all of them had nodded because naturally he would never be with someone like me. Sitting up, I hunch over and scrub my palms over my face.

Flinging the covers away, I get up and get dressed as quietly as I can. I’d like to avoid Zeke for as long as humanly possible; I have a feeling he’s going to want to talk and I’m not sure I have it in me today. I’m just so fucking disappointed. I should have been happy with what I had—a roommate and a friend—instead of looking for more. It’s my own damn fault if I’ve ruined everything.

Eyeing his closed bedroom door, I tiptoe down the stairs and nearly shit myself when I run straight into Zeke. I catch his shoulders to keep him from falling back against the island, but let him go and step away the moment he’s steady.

“Sorry.” I clear my throat, feeling my face warm. I pick a spot on the wall over Zeke’s head to stare at so I don’t have to look at his eyes.

“Morning, Carter,” he says, and his voice sounds so strained I can’t help but look down at him. He’s got eyes made for anguish: blue and so big they seem to take up half of his face. “How are you? Did you sleep okay? Are you busy or could I make you breakfast?”

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