Page 2 of Waiting Game

This is me unashamedly falling back on lessons my mum taught me. Ones that I’ve let fall to the wayside because hockey makes men entitled jerks—there.

I said it.

With my genes and career, I’m already on a losing streak.

Unfortunately for me, Mia doesn’t recognize my Victorian-shaped sacrifice.

She keeps on weeping at center ice.

“Guess I know how Quasimodo feels,” I mumble under my breath as I skate toward her.

Another guy might run for the hills, but my sister from another mister would have my balls if I didn’t try to help her. Unlike my peers, I know to listen to the chicks in my vicinity. Not that Gracie is easy to ignore.

Mia doesn’t stir at my approach, doesn’t appear to even register my existence until I tap her on the shoulder in athere, theremotion.

She jolts at the first tap, her head whipping back to look at me as if she didn’t know I was standing in front of her.

This spontaneous outburst of emotion appears to have drained her.

Her eyes are rimmed red, massive fat tears overwhelming the lashes and making ‘em into little water-logged half stars and… Fuck, she’s beautiful.

On the one occasion I’ve seen Gracie cry, she went the whole hog. Snot everywhere. Tears rolling down her cheeks that wore grooves into her skin. Bright red in a whole cacophony of misery.

Honestly, she was crying like she does everything else—with serious gusto.

Mia, on the other hand, is delicate and fragile, and hell if I don’t want to wrap her in my arms and hold on tight. While vowing to her that I’ll not only make the world a better place, but I’ll also ensure every impoverished nation has enough food to stop starvation as I singlehandedly figure out some refrigeration technique that’ll get the glaciers to refreeze themselves.

Thatis how beautiful she is.

All glossy burnt caramel curls and piercing blue eyes that could cut through the average man like a knife.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispers, trembling fingers swiping at her eyes. “This is embarrassing. I didn’t mean to cry. I was panicking about being late… I promise this won’t happen again.”

Awkwardly, I shoot her a half-smile.Awkwardly, mostly, because I’m a complete ass for noticing how goddamn pretty she is when she’s so distressed, but this is like a scene I’ve read in books.

The stars are aligning, and Mercury has to be blowing Venus—or do I mean Mars is jacking off Jupiter?

Whatever. Those light-blue eyes of hers are borderline freaky but I’m not afraid, especially as they accentuate the rich shade of her curls.

Her forehead is wide, culminating in a widow’s peak. Her nose is dainty with a small, uptilted tip that leads to pouty lips, the corners of which are curved downward.

A part of me wants nothing more than to make them curve upward, but perhaps that’s insensitive of me.

Then, I realize she’s staring at me with bloodshot, watery eyes and I pick up on the fact she’s expecting me to say something instead of gaping at her like a moron.

“You don’t have to be sorry.”

I try not to notice the tiny silver studs in her ears—cat silhouettes.

Even her goddamn ears are cute.

Jesus fuck.

Talk, Cole.

Act normal.

“Something’s obviously going on and you can’t help being upset.”

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