Page 48 of On the Edge

I’m sort of hoping he’s the goalie, because I can already tell they’re the easiest player to keep an eye on. I can hardly see the numbers and names from here—I have no idea how Luke manages to follow his Max Kuemper.

“Twenty-nine. He’s right there.” I follow his finger to where Henri is standing bent over and playing around with a hockey puck. It looks like he’s passing to himself, but doing it so fast I can hardly see the little rubber disc. Luke turns toward me, propping his head in his hand and grinning at me. I don’t trust that grin. That grin spells trouble. “We’ve got a little bit before the game starts.”

“I shouldn’t have come so early.”

His lips twitch up into a smirk. “So, you and Vas, huh? Cute.”

“There is no us and we’re not cute.” I glare at him, but it doesn’t seem to have any effect other than to make him smile wider. “We have a class together.”

“Aw.”

“How firm are the seating assignments?” I ask, frowning down at the mobile ticket on my phone. “I’m going to move.”

“Sorry, you’re stuck with me for the next two hours,” Luke replies happily. “No switching seats. They areveryserious about that.”

I feel like he’s fucking with me, but since this is my first game, there is no way of me knowing. Tucking my phone back into my pocket, I decide to employ my old standby: silence. I’ll just ignore Luke and hope that he finds someone else to annoy.

“Vas was pretty excited you were going to come. Texted me that I should be nice to you because you guys are goodfriends.” The careful emphasis he places on the word makes me clench my jaw. I’m staring so hard at the ice, my eyes ache. “I’m happy to hear he’s got such a goodfriendoutside of hockey. Vas is just the best, isn’t he? Nice guy. Tall. And don’t even get me started on those thighs. Hockey thighs—am I right?”

“Hey,” I snap, turning toward him and already forgetting my vow of silence. “How about you keep your eyes on Max Kuemper’s thighs and off Henri’s, got it? Unless you want to—what was it?—fuck around and find out?”

“Mm,” Luke hums, looking pleased with my outburst. “Defensive, are we?”

Okay, Luke, you little shit, I see what you’re trying to do.

“Henri told you, didn’t he,” I say, not really a question, but not really a statement either.

“Not in so many words. But you just did—the way you got all puffed up just now when you thought I was hitting on him.”

“We’re not together,” I correct him firmly, trying to derail this train before it runs away. “We’re just friends. Seriously, that’s all it is. You will never see me wearing his jersey.”

I cast a disdainful look down at the number eight on Luke’s shoulder. He doesn’t seem affected by the dig, merely shrugging and looking down at the ice. I watch his eyes ping-pong around until they find Max Kuemper. Apparently happy that he’s still there, Luke looks back at me.

“Cool. Like I said, I’m glad Vas has a good friend outside of hockey. I just hope that friend knows what they’re doing, and that they don’t accidentally cause him any trouble, you know?” Luke’s voice is calm—friendly—even though the words carry just a hint of a threat. I can’t help but respect him for it.

“I’m only going to say this once, and then we aren’t going to talk about it anymore: Henri and I aren’t together. We’re friends who occasionally fool around—nothing more. I haven’t made it a secret that I don’t want to be in a relationship. He knows what this is.”

“Cool, cool,” Luke says again, tone insufferably casual.

By now the game has started, and he’s no longer looking at me. His eyes are firmly on the ice. I pay attention to the game as much as I’m able, but, quite frankly, I have no fucking idea what’s going on. I barely even manage to keep an eye out for Henri’s twenty-nine, and he’s not always on the ice either, which makes it even more difficult to keep track of him. Luckily, it seems like Henri and Max Kuemper playtogether usually, so I can tell when they’re on the ice by the way Luke sits up straighter in his seat.

A sharp intake of breath from my seatmate has me narrowing my eyes at the game. Everyone else is cheering, but Luke is shaking his head.

“What?”

He glances over at me, surprised, and gestures to the game. “Vas just got boarded.”

I have no idea what being boarded means, but I did see someone get hit into the wall. Apparently, that was number twenty-nine. Fucking hell this is hard to keep track of.

“Okay,” I say slowly. Again, Luke glances at me, throwing me a look that is clearly meant to imply what an idiot I am.

“Vas had surgery on his knee over the summer. A bad hit could set him back or get him benched for the season.”

“Oh.” I squirm in my seat a little bit, uncomfortable with the sudden realization that I don’t actually know Henri all that well. I’ve kept him at arm’s length with my elbows locked, unwilling to share anything personal with him and desperate to keep him far enough away that he can’t hurt me.

“Maybe you guys should chat a little bit, in between all the fucking,” Luke suggests mildly, flopping backward in his seat and slinging an arm over the back.

“You know,” I muse, “I don’t think I like you all that much.”

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