Page 10 of Christmas Cheer

Keira

I’m gonna be in Germany

Evan

Right

Evan

Good night girlfriend

Keira

night boyfriend

Breakfast ends upbeing a banana, a rice cake topped with almond butter, and two child-sized tubes of yogurt. A fancy brand, though. No pill, which Evan sheepishly explained that he hadn’t considered everything would be closed on Christmas, but he knows there’s a window of a couple days that they can be used in.

He speaks like he’s talking from experience. This probably isn’t the first time he’s bought a morning-after pill.

The off-campus housing isn’t just students, there are plenty of college staff and just normal people, and it’s nice enough outside that parents are helping their kids try out their new bikes, skis, and ice skates. Unless Evan has a hat on fully covering his blue mohawk — which he doesn’t — he’s unmistakable. Now that there isn’t a huge crowd, the people who are here are bolder about approaching him.

And he eats that adoration up.

Every time I try to break away from him, he snags my hand and pulls me back. I’m not comfortable with PDAs in the best of times, but now, with Evan Allore? I’m hating every second of it.

And he keeps giving me apologetic smiles like he’s fully aware of it but doesn’t have a choice in the matter.

I run off my irritation on the treadmill once we finally get inside. I may not be able to solve all my problems with endorphins, but it helps. Evan, the consummate competitor, keeps speeding his treadmill up and looking at me like I should be going the same, but I’m not doing a hundred-yard dash in twenty pounds of protective gear while looking over my shoulder any time soon.

After cardio, Evan attempts to lead me to the weight room, but I pull away. We fly out tomorrow. This is probably my last time here. My final semester is going to be strange because I’ll be shadowing coaches for most of it, and I don’t know what kind of time or access to equipment I’ll have.

“I’m not letting you back in there by yourself,” Evan says sternly. “Did you know you’re not supposed to use any of that equipment without a spotter? It’s in the rules.”

“Evan Allore, the secret rule-follower,” I chuckle, again pulling away.

“Hey, I’m serious.” And that scowl makes me believe him. “I don’t know why you’re using that shit anyway.”

I shake my head, not wanting to argue with him now, not when it doesn’t matter and I just want to have a nice day. “I just like it. Isn’t that enough?”

“No,” he says as he looks down the hall in both directions, one way leading to the gymnastics room and the other the weight room. “Fine, I’ll spot you if you tell me what business a cheerleader has in the gymnastics room.”

Boys. I swear. “You do understand that I do gymnastics every single time I cheer, right? The tumbling, the throws, the jumps, it’s all gymnastics.”

“Yeah. That’s not on those bars or on the balance beam. I saw the chalk all over it last night. Last I checked, the side line is six yards wide. You don’t need to be using that, either.”

I chuckle. “Wait ‘til you see me vault.”

I say it half-jokingly, not planning to vault today anyway, but I’m suddenly pinned to the wall, Evan’s arm over my collarbone. He’s too close, right in my face, and although there’s no pressure from his arm, I know if I pushed into it, I’d find it steeled there against me.

“You’re not fucking vaulting off of anything,” he snarls with flared nostrils and flashing eyes. “You try to do any shit like that, I will tie your ass to the floor. Got it?”

“It’s okay.” I use the most calming voice I can manage even though he’s scaring me a little. “I’m not going to vault. But seriously, I know what I’m doing in there, okay?”

“You’re a cheerleader,” he fires back.

It takes everything I have to keep my fisted hands at my sides instead of popping him right in the cheek. I’d do it in a heartbeat if I wasn’t concerned I’d do more damage to my fist than him. “I don’t know how you usually treat your girlfriends, but you are not talking to me like that. And you are not going to shit on cheerleading anymore, you ass—!”

My rant is shut down by his lips, and though I struggle against his arm as he rains bruising kisses on my lips, I was right. His arm is the perfect trap holding me against the wall even as his other hand gropes at my yoga pants. “Stop,” he groans into my mouth when I claw at his arm. If nothing else, I have the advantage of a short but rock solid set of acrylics. “Just fucking stop, okay?”

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