Page 26 of Neo

“Yes.”

“Well, the thing that happened between me and him was not a normal occurrence. This is not a frat house. This is the ice house.”

“And?”

“And there’s a difference.”

Uh, okay, I think to myself. Remembering that Kennedy told me the exact opposite thing about them. They’re not called the ice mafia because they’re nice boys who help old ladies across the street.

Neo dumps his gear on the floor and pulls his hoodie over his head to reveal a plain black tank top underneath. I notice the edges of a significantly large tattoo, which appears to be the mane of a male lion in the middle of his well-defined chest and I only snap out of staring at it once he asks me a question.

“So what do you think of Valencia City?”

Before I can answer, we walk out onto the most beautiful patio area I think I’ve ever seen. There’s lots of expensive-looking dark brown rattan seating with plush cream-colored cushions, a complete outdoor kitchen with stovetop, sink, dark granite countertops and huge potted cacti plants to anchor the space. But the best part of being out here is the view of the Nevada mountains.

Something about it is so peaceful and serene that suddenly I think about my mom. She’d love this view. Traveling to new places with beautiful scenery was always something she pasted on her annual vision board, yet she was never able to find the time or, more likely, the money to make her goals happen.

“I haven’t seen much of the city yet, and it’s hotter than I’m used to, but so far I like Nevada.”

“Do you miss the snow? You’re from Philadelphia, right?”

“I haven’t lived here long enough to miss anything, but no, I don’t think I’ll miss the snow.”

He takes a seat at the end of the couch and I follow his lead, sitting at the other end.

“You live with your dad, right?”

“Not exactly, but how do you know about my father?”

“I don’t remember,” he says, which I find improbable. Neo seems like the type who remembers everything and everyone. “Maybe Prez mentioned that he lives here.”

“Are you and Kennedy close?”

“I’d call us friends, and that’s saying something because I don’t have many of those and neither does she.”

“I find you not having many friends hard to believe on this campus. People talk to you all the time and there are posters of you everywhere. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Real friends and fans of the game are not the same thing.”

I watch as his hand flexes, the one resting on his thigh, and remember him doing the same thing when I asked him about Shane.

“Are you going home to Philly or to your Dad’s for Christmas?” he asks, moving the subject back to me.

“I doubt it.”

He adjusts his rather colossal frame on the couch before he asks another question. “Do you have someone special back home? Someone you’re seeing?”

I consider the question. The truth of the matter is, my fading relationship with Elijah doesn’t seem that special at all, especially because of the distance between us, both geographically and emotionally. It hurts to even think it, but I’m not sure Elijah would even care that I was here alone with Neo toady. He’d probably just ask me was the food good.

But I don’t say any of that.

“Yes.”

“Is it serious?”

“As serious as it can be with someone who lives across the country.”

“Can I ask you something else?”

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