Page 106 of Pinkie Promise

“Yeah,” I tell him. “I’ll let you take me for another spin.”

He lets out a low laugh and then tucks my head under his chin.

I close my eyes and nestle further into his chest.

For the first time in my life I don’t feel car sick.

Chapter 27

Hunter

Coach Benson’s punishment for my fight with O’Neill consisted of making me sit five consecutive practice sessions in the stands and disallowing me from playing this week’s game. He looks as pissed off about the arrangement as I am, but neither one of us is saying anything about it because we were both in the wrong.

I shouldn’t have brawled with a sore loser who couldn’t keep his mouth shut, but Benson shouldn’t have had restrictions on his players’ personal lives when it’s none of his damn business in the first place. So we’re letting our frustrations simmer down before we finally broach the subject with one another.

The free time that I gained from missing this week’s game meant that I could finalise this semester’s essays, along with finishing up my thesis and getting it sent off to my supervisor.

Knowing that I’ll end up sharing what grades I get with Fallon has been the shove that I needed to actually put some effort into finishing my assignments.

Fallon only stayed at the hockey house one night this week because she has a crazy amount of essays to finish, on top of this secret cheer training that she’s refusing to tell me any details about. I could tell that she was barely conscious from how hard she’s been working so we took the evening easy. We watched a hockey replay on my bed and then made out a little before we went to sleep.

Obviously, after a night of no action I woke up harder than fucking steel, but I wasn’t about to try anything on with her when Fallon still seemed so exhausted.

But my week of hockey punishments is now over, as are a bunch of Fallon’s essays, so after my first practice back this afternoon she’s going to come to the rink and let me skate with her for a while.

Before I head to the ice I drive my truck to my mom’s diner. I made the mistake a couple of days ago of answering her FaceTime call while forgetting that I had a whole black eye, meaning that she lost her shit and has insisted to inspect my face.

I pull up into a parking space and flick my keys around my finger as I walk my way toward the diner doors. Fallon only works Sundays so she definitely shouldn’t be here but I’m still nervous as hell about the idea of bumping into her, and then her somehow realising that the woman she’s working for is her boyfriend’s mom.

I’ve been meaning to tell her everything – to explain my fucked-up logic of getting her this job without telling her about it – but it’s so damn backwards that I can’t bring myself to do it.

How the hell do I tell a girl who explicitly told me that she hates involving other people in her personal business that I went behind her back and orchestrated this whole thing?

There’s no justifying something that stupid, not when I could have been upfront from the start. My only option so that I don’t seem insane is to keepon lying to her, even though I’m essentially just digging myself a bigger hole.

I grip a hand through my hair and shoulder-shove the door open, my brain in overdrive.

Fuck it. She needed a source of income and I was able to help her get it. I didn’t want her working somewhere shady, so I didwhat I had to do. I know she’d hate that I pulled some strings, but I can’t bring myself to regret the decision.

I just hope that when I finally dotell her what I did, she won’t think that I crossed a serious line.

I jerk my chin at the regulars who have been coming here since I was a kid and then I open the counter-door, ducking through the back to find my mom.

She’s leaning over her desk in the small back office, inputting data into a spreadsheet as I rap my knuckles on the open door.

Wren peeks up over our mom’s shoulder and starts kicking her feet excitedly.

“Sup Tiny,” I grunt, walking into the room so that I can steal her from my mom’s arms.

My mom shoots me a look as I heave up the baby, narrowing her eyes on my healing cheekbone and giving me a scolding triple-tut. Then she turns her attention back to the keyboard.

I smush a kiss to Wren’s cheek and then pull the hood of her baby-grow over her head. It’s small and furry and has teddy bear ears at the top.

“Can I bring her to practice?” I ask, only half-joking.

My mom shuts her laptop and turns to me with her arms folded over her chest.

“If your face is any indication of your ability to skate, then absolutely not.” She points a finger up at my eye and asks, “What the hell happened?”

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