Page 74 of Unsteady

The boys are gone from the green, Bennett strict enough about his schedule not to bother waiting, but Freddy has waited, for some reason that I don’t care to know. He settles in step next to me, backpack half-slung over his shoulder as a girl sends him a happy, coy greeting when she passes, which he enthusiastically returns while slapping an arm over my shoulders and pulling me away, breaking my view of Sadie.

“Stilljustsharing ice time?” Freddy asks, his tone serious despite the easygoing smile he has. “Cause with the death glare you’re giving Luc; I’m thinking it’s a bit more than that.”

“If it was more, I think I just fucked it up.”

“One step forward, two steps back. You’ll be fine.”

I shake my head. “Who’s Luc? The guy she’s with?”

“Oh god, you don’t know that guy?” I shake my head and Freddy laughs, patting my chest before pushing the doors to the cafe open, blasting us with a burst of cold air. “Good for you. I can’t fucking stand him.”

That doesn’t help considering Freddy likes everyone. “Who the hell is he?”

We grab trays for the food line—it’s the major hub for athletes here at Waterfell for any meal. Serving grilled chicken, full-fledged salad bars with every topping imaginable. Greens, potatoes—mashed or baked or diced—it has anything we can and will eat, especially during the season.

“He’s a figure skater, a pair; or he was. He has trouble staying with his partners and not sleeping with them.”

There’s nothing I can do to stop the slight surge of adrenaline that surges through me, fingers gripping the tray tight as I grab nearly every piece of grilled lime chicken that Freddy leaves behind. I take a calming breath.

It’s not like he said Sadie’s sleeping with him.

“He was Olympic bound before he ended up here, I think. Thinks he’s god's gift to women, or some shit.”

I snort. “Takes one to know one, eh, Freddy?”

He laughs, nodding. “Sure, sure.” He’s already got a little potato popped into his mouth as he chews and talks, walking us towards the hockey table.

A couple of people nod their heads as we settle, myself at Bennett’s right, Freddy directly across from me. Where we all have heavy smorgasbords of food within our set diets, Bennett has a sectioned bento box of his meals he makes at home.

“I know you said you’re not together or anything,” Freddy continues, his voice quiet even amidst the roar of the crowd. He rubs a hand along the back of his neck. “But I swear I think he and Sadie used to be a thing.”

Damnit.

Bennett looks up at me for a second. “Sadie likes Rhys. She’s at our place all the time. I don’t think she’d have time for anyone else.”

I sigh and nod towards him in a silent thanks. “She’s got plenty of time for it now.”

“Yep—and if that’s the case, Captain, you’ve got plenty of time for other girls. What about P?”

As if she’s been wished into existence by the utterance of her own name—let alone just the letter—Paloma sinks between Bennett and I, her arms dusting both our shoulders while she angles a wink to Freddy.

“Bragging about me again?” She smirks, stealing a potato wedge from my plate and dancing it around her painted lips.

Paloma Blake is gorgeous and she knows it. Blonde hair, lightly tanned skin, thick, pouty lips and a body nearly every player at the table—hell, maybe the entire male population of the school, has salivated over at one point. Everything about her looks like a sexed up runway model, with an overconfident attitude to match. She might be all flirty winks and blown kisses, but I’ve always suspected the girl has hidden claws.

“Rhys pretends you guys never dated.” Holden laughs, flicking his head with a wink towards her. “If you want someone to brag, just give me a night, P. I’ll never shut up about it.”

Paloma smiles again, all sultry, and every piece of it so fake I want to jerk my entire body away.

Bennett does, pulling away entirely and she melts into his seat without a second thought as he leaves the cafeteria.

“What’s his problem?” she sneers, body spinning to watch Bennett leave, leaning entirely on my side. I lightly jostle her off me.

“Maybe he didn’t want you all over him,” I whisper. I’m not mean, I just don’t care anymore. Old Rhys would’ve let her lay there, let her flirt a bit before refocusing on practice. “You know how he is.”

“I don’t, actually,” she argues, her tone defensive. “But what’s your fucking problem?”

“No problem.”

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