Page 60 of Iced Out

Oakley: It doesn’t have to be ten days.

My blood heats and my stomach rolls as anticipation courses through me. Because he’s not saying what I think he’s saying. There’s no fucking way.

But I type out my response, just to be sure.

Me: What do you mean?

I wait for what feels like an eternity while the three little dots start and stop on the bottom of the screen, my mind racing all the while.

Finally, a reply pops up.

Oakley: I was thinking we should meet up. Gives you an excuse to get out of the house for a while at the very least.

A smirk spreads across my face.

I was planning on going back to my apartment tomorrow as it is, not wanting to spend any more time here than necessary and risk the chance of Dad bringing up quitting hockey again.

But I’m not about to tell Oakley that.

Me: You do miss me.

Oakley: Not at all.

Me: Liar.

Oakley: Think what you want. I was only taking pity on someone in need. You know, in the spirit of the holidays.

Well, that’s a bunch of bullshit if I’ve ever heard it.

Me: Nice try. Christmas is over.

Oakley: Not for another 23 minutes.

A glance at the corner of my phone screen reveals he’s right. It’s still Christmas Day, but only by technicality.

Me: Semantics.

The little dots pop up in the corner before disappearing. Then they keep doing it, back and forth, for a couple minutes, and finally stopping altogether.

Two minutes pass, then five, and still no response.

A slight twinge of disappointment hits me square in the chest as I set my phone down on the bed beside me, realizing I might’ve played this game with him a little too well.

But then my phone dings with another text notification.

Oakley: So is that a no?

An invisible coil constricts around my heart and lungs, and I do my best to sound casual as I type out my response.

Me: What did you have in mind?

Eighteen

Oakley

January

Five past noon on New Year’s Day, two hands cover my eyes, blocking my view of Millennium Park and scaring the absolute fucking shit outta me. But the second I hear the smooth cadence of Quinton’s laugh, the fear turns quickly into…irritation.

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