Page 33 of Left-Hand Larceny
Sadie:
Mate?
A smile tugs at my lips. I type back.
Me:
Correct. Bonus point for speed.
Her reply is almost instantaneous.
Sadie:
I’m on fire today.
Ready for the next one.
Me:
Six letters, turns men to stone
I pretend not to care whether she answers.
Spoiler: I care.
Vic skates over while I’m halfway through my water bottle, tugging off his helmet and raking a hand through sweat-dark hair.
“Dude,” he says, leaning against the boards. “You good?”
I grunt in a way I hope reads as fine, just dying a little. Conditioning skates are hard. That’s the whole point. I might have been at the rink instead of the beach. I might not have let myself neglect my fitness. My hip might have gotten the all-clear, but it’s all still a readjustment.
He snorts. “I thought we might have to carry you off the ice, but you’ve been grinning at your phone like a lunatic all morning.”
I frown. “I ha-a-aven’t.”
“Yes. You have.” He jerks his chin toward my bag. “Sadie?”
Vic drops on the bench beside me with a grunt, his gloves hanging from one hand. He eyes my phone, then my face, and shakes his head like he already knows.
I shrug.
He doesn’t buy it for a second.
I glare at him. “I-it’s not l-l-like that. She’s h—”
“Helping you, I know. Social skills, marketing, smiling at people without looking like you wanna disappear into the boards.” He leans in, lowering his voice. “You realize you’re down bad, right?”
The phrase takes a moment to compute, but I remember looking it up when Katrín listened to the song on repeat. It was the least I could do, taking an interest in her musical tastes. Even if I’m not sure why she’s listening to a song about alien abductions and crying at the gym.
“I’m n-not.”
“Rags.”
I sigh, dragging a hand down my face. “It’s n-not l-like that.”
Vic grins. “Hey, it’s cool, man. I get it. I was the same way with Tristan. Swore up and down we were nothing more than friends helping each other out, totally professional.” He makes air quotes. “Next thing you know, surprise.” He holds up his ungloved left hand, the goal band on his ring finger catching the fluorescent overhead lights.
I make a face.
