Page 15 of Faking the Face Off

“Maybe Anna can help. If she’s a true friend with benefits, I bet she can ask about getting you some tickets if you want.”

“I can tell when you’re being facetious.” I take a napkin from the table and chuck it at his head. “She’s not a friend with benefits.” But he has a good point, so of course I’ll ask.

“You need to tell him no is what you need to do.” Dixon stands up and clears his plate. He leans against the sink and watches me. “Then you need to own up that you like Anna and deal with that.”

“You would not be privy to any of this if you weren’t living here,” I growl. Dixon knows about my friendship with Anna. That she and I met when she would come to the arena with Danny on the weekends, because he didn’t want to leave her home alone, and watch me play in a junior league. We already knew each other at school, but spending weekends together for the majority of our high school career laid a great foundation for the kinship we share now. “I may or may not have a crush on her, and if I do, it needs to stay unrequited at this time.”

“Why?”

Questions I also ask myself. “Because our relationship works how it is already, and it’s good enough for me right now.” Which it isn’t. I know this, and judging by the look on Dixon’s face, he knows it, too. But I also don’t want to talk about it right this second. “Anyway, things have changed.”

“They’ve changed?” Dixon asks.

“Not so muchthings, I guess,” I say, irked that I’m still talking. My mouth needs time out in the penalty box. “I’ve changed.”

Am I leaving out the part that I’ve always carried a torch for her since she first stood on the edge of the rink and watched a practice that fateful afternoon? Anna was the girl the other guys on my hockey team pursued, but she only hung out with me. She is sunshine and warmth, a ray of light that brightens even the cloudiest of days. I’ve always felt protective of her and our friendship, so when I realized my feelings were a little more than being a buddy you can bet I put a lid on them. I never want to lose her or the friendship we’ve built.

“Do you think you changed because you’re starting to get more time in the spotlight?” Dixon asks. His expression is intense, but curious nonetheless. “Cause it makes sense to me. You’re following in some big footsteps.” He points my way. “It’s your turn. Maybe someone is stepping into their greatness and they’re underprepared?”

I grab another napkin that I crumple quickly and fling at his head, Dixon laughing as he ducks out of the way.

“I’m being serious,” he says, holding his hands in front of him and swatting it out of the way easily. No wonder he’s such a great goalie. “My mom is a therapist, so I know about imposter syndrome. Sounds like you’re getting over a case of it.”

I let his words sink in, my head bobbing along in agreement whether I have control over it or not.

“When you put it like that, I see it, too.” It’s all foreign to me, and I’m still navigating my feelings around being put forward as the team spokesperson, but with each stretch I make, each giant leap I force myself to take, I’m shedding “old” Ollie so I can become a new one. Ollie 2.0. Ollie Next Level. Ollie, the guy who has the self-esteem and confidence to do almost anything, including ask out the woman he’s coveted from afar for far too long.

“So, with Anna, are you thinking you’re an imposter?” Dixon heads over to the freezer, pulls out a pint of ice cream andgrabs two spoons before parking at the table with me again and holding one out for me.

I take the spoon from him and narrow my eyes, thinking. “Maybe. Or it could be that she knows the warts and all, you know?”

“Mm-hmmm.” He sits back in his chair. “I wish you could see what I do—sometimes when she’s looking at you, I swear there are literal hearts in her eyes.”

“I’m glad you’ve seen it, because I haven’t.” I dip my spoon into the ice cream and take a giant bite.

“Ask her out, dude. Just do it.” He takes another heaping helping of Chunky Monkey before waving his spoon in the air like a scepter. “If someone else asks her out—and it could happen—and you never tried, you will regret it.”

Dixon’s unusually cheery expression suddenly clouds over; it’s as if a storm has literally rolled in out of nowhere.

“Is this the voice of experience?”

“Just…trust me,” he growls, avoiding eye contact. The loud ding of my front doorbell rings, breaking the conversation up.

“Don’t think I’ll forget about this,” I toss over my shoulder as I leave the room. “There’s a story there.”

The floorboards creak under my feet as I head for the door, Dixon’s words still hanging in the air. Whatever storm cloud he’s sitting under, it’s big enough to drown out the amazingness that is Chunky Monkey, and that’s saying something.

The doorbell rings again, this time with a little more insistence, and I pick up the pace.

“Hold your horses!” I call out, yanking the door open.

Anna’s standing there, her face blotchy, her eyes rimmed red, and the sight of her makes my stomach drop.

“Sorry to come by like this, but I tried calling and it kept going straight to voicemail,” she says, her voice trembling like a fragile thread that might snap at any moment. “Are you alone?”

“Dixon’s here. What’s up?” I step back from the door, simultaneously pulling her inside as I do, and shut out the world behind her. “Are you okay?”

“It’s my dad,” she says. “His heart—he’s at River City General.”

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