Page 15 of Unsteady

He takes a sip of the coffee black and curses.

“Maxwell House,” I say, taking another gulp of my own.

Rhys shakes his head. “That’s shitty coffee.”

“Very,” I agree.

“I think I was just hustled.”

I can’t help but smile. “Hustle my favorite customer? I would never.”

His laugh bursts, beautiful and tinged with the boyish vulnerability of a kid talking to his school crush. It makes me want to bat my eyelashes and preen—which only makes me sick when I realize his presence is turning me to mush.

“Favorite, huh?”

I shrug, “You tip the best.”

He laughs again and takes out a high bill and slides it my way, before leaning towards me on his elbows. “I guess I do.”

It would be so easy to kiss him. The boy is a hazard to my personal boundaries and health.

“Like I said, I’m expensive.”

His mouth opens for a second, before snapping shut as he shoots upright and shoving away.

“Sorry—I’ll uh, see you.”

He’s gone so fast it gives me whiplash.

I look around for a moment, cheeks heating at how close I’d leaned into him. My eyes flicker over a tall, handsome middle-aged man and a group of players decked in Waterfell hockey t-shirts and hats, and my face flushes with the clear implication.

Good enough for a quick morning flirt, but embarrassing in the face of his friends.

Forget him.

* * *

“Rhys Waterfell hockey”sits in the search bar of my browser, indicator blinking, waiting for me to make a decision when Rora pops up beside me.

“What’s that?”

“Jesus Christ, Rora,” I seethe, hand on my chest to stop my now-racing heart. “We need to get you a bell.”

She giggles, pulling a cherry lollipop—my favorite—from her waist apron and handing it to me. “I wouldn’t need one if you weren’t so distracted by”—she starts, drawing out theyand leaning across me with her long-limbed form and slamming the enter button on the search bar— “Rhys Maximillian Koteskiy. Sheesh, that’s a mouthful.”

I can only nod, my tongue suddenly stuck to the roof of my mouth at the image of him displayed across my screen.

Rhys Maximillian Koteskiy: 6’3” 210 lbs. C. Shoots Right.

“You have that look on your face like you’re thinking about how much you wanna eat him.”

“I’m only thinking about how obnoxious it is to spell‘Reece’like that. God, could he be more cliché?” My finger taps at the screen beneath his stats, at the prep school background I’d been joking about. “Berkshire School? That’s a private hockey academy, Rora. And look, his dad is an NHL hall-of-fame player. He’s been raised like a perfect little prodigy.”

The words feel heavy, but I spit them anyway, ignoring the image of him panting and terror-struck, laying on the ice. The image of him flushed, panicked that he couldn’t breathe sits in such deep contrast to the headshot across my screen.

He looks younger, decked in a navy hockey sweater, the Waterfell University wolf howling across his chest, looking larger than life with a smile meant to be in front of the world. Dimples. Shorter, well-kept hair and clear eyes.

“Sadie?”

---