Page 61 of Left-Hand Larceny

Tristan hums, nodding slowly.

“He seems lighter. Happier. It’s nice to see.” Her eyes flick to me with a little smile. “You’ve been spending a lot of time together. Helping him with the social stuff, too, right?”

I freeze for half a second, but play it off with a casual nod. “Yeah. Just, you know, coaching him a bit. Helping him get comfortable with others.” I shrug.

I’m still not sure why Ragnar asked me, but I no longer want to know. Mostly because I enjoy spending time with him. And I don’t know what I’d do if he asked someone else.

“Mm-hm.” Tristan’s smile widens just a touch, and I feel my ears burn. “He’s so sweet. Like genuinely one of the kindest guys. It’s awesome to see more people noticing that side of him now. Did you know his social media blew up after he recorded that helmet video with me last year?”

I blink. “Yeah?” Of course it did. Has she seen him? Talked to him? Listened to the way he talks about Kat? It’s Prince Charming, swoon-worthy material. It’s the ultimate cinnamon roll, golden retriever boyfriend, just hidden in plain sight.

She laughs.

“Oh yeah. Like, big time. I figured you saw it since you’re working with him, but I reposted it for him on the team page. He picked up a ton of new followers. Engagement’s way up. People love him. Women love him.” She laughs. “I was going to push him to do more, but figured it made him uncomfortable being in the spotlight. I may have been wrong.”

Pride blooms in my chest, sharp and golden, but something else is there too. Something twisty and tight. A weird tangle of jealousy and happiness. I hate that I even feel it, but there it is. I want the world to know how amazing he is. And I also want to be the only one he’s comfortable showing that part of himself too. My selfishness washes me in a wave of hot shame.

“That’s amazing,” I say, and I mean it, even if my heart’s doing something complicated about it.

Tristan studies me for a beat. Her eyes bright with knowing. I want to shift my weight, bounce my knees, twirl my hair, something to get this itchy feeling to stop. I can feel the weight of her understanding like a fifty-pound anvil sitting on my chest. I’d drop her gaze if it didn’t feel like it would be a confession.

“He’s been posting more on his own, too. Which is huge,” Tristan says. “And now that he’s been showing his face outside the rink, I’ve been thinking. If he’s open to it, I’d love to talk to him about a targeted campaign. Something that really plays to his strengths.”

I smile, swallowing hard. “That would be so good, but I’m not sure why you’re telling me and not him.”

Tristan crosses her arms, leaning her hip against the wall. I used to feel awkward next to Tristan. The same awkward that I feel around my mom and dad. Like Tristan, mom is small. Narrow. I could fit into her clothes in middle school. I’m not exaggerating. Specifically, this one plaid skirt that I used to wear to school. Add in the perfect hair and makeup, and I always feel like I’ve gone three rounds through a dryer next to them.

“You know, I used to worry that his stutter would make things harder on camera. But honestly? I think it’s done the opposite. People love how real he is. The way he takes his time, how thoughtful he is. It’s… compelling.” She frowns. “I feel weird saying that. Like it shouldn’t matter how he talks. The man speaks two fucking languages,” she shrugs. “I can’t believe I fell for the ableist take. You know?”

Pride swells in my chest again, this time free of jealousy. “He’s incredible,” I say. The words might be quiet, but they come from the center of my chest.

Tristan bumps my arm. “You should tell him that.”

“I do.” I laugh under my breath. “I mean… I try.”

“Well, if you want to encourage him more, I can show him some comments people are leaving. There’s a ton of positivity. It might give him a boost. Seriously, they love him. There’s more than one marriage proposal.” She leans in, grinning. “Not to mention…other… proposals.” The wiggling eyebrows are unnecessary. I know what she means.

“Yeah, okay.” I swallow past the hard lump at the base of my throat. “That’s probably a good idea.” I think I deserve credit for attempting to leave it at that, but I just can’t help adding, “but, maybe skip the ones from the super attractive women.”

Tristan’s eyebrows shoot up, and her smile goes sly. “Oh?”

Shit.

Yup. Should have kept my mouth shut. I assumed she already had all the evidence she needed. But I know what they say about assumptions. Tristan looks like her kitten Hela, the first time she caught a bug. Smug with satisfaction and reveling in the panic of others.

I flush, waving my hands. “No, I just—I mean, not that it matters. I just think he’d—you know, it might be… distracting.”

“Uh-huh,” Tristan says, dragging out the syllables like she’s savoring them. “Distracting.” One blonde eyebrow reaches for the heavens.

I bite my lip, staring down at my shoes. I think they might almost be ready for retirement. The high tops barely stand up anymore and the soles are fading fast. I can feel her watching me with that smug little smile. It’s a good thing I like her, or this might be embarrassing.

Before she can say anything else, the lights dim, signaling the third period’s impending start. The Stand’s announcer asks everyone to take their seats. Up on the Jumbotron, Howl, the mascot, dances with a group of kids.

Tristan leans in close.

“You know… if you two ever did want to make it official, you’d have an army of cheerleaders in your corner. Big ones. In hockey pads.” She presses closer, her lips almost grazing my ear. “Fuck the organization. Do what makes you both happy.”

Her voice is low and teasing. I don’t even have time to respond before she winks and slips away, phone already in hand, fingers tap tap tapping away. She leaves me rooted to the spot,my heart thudding wildly in my chest, and I settle back into my usual spot as the third period starts.

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