Page 10 of Faking It with the Forward

A player skates up and asks. “Twy, got a towel?”

“Yeah.” I toss it over and he wipes the sweat dripping off his face. Reese watches me—waiting apparently for me to continue. Fine. “Normally, she vanishes all night, turns off the location app on her phone, and drags in looking like hell the next day.”

A strange expression crosses his face, and I can’t help but ask, “What’s that look for?”

“Just trying to figure out if I have a pattern,” he asks, at the moment Jefferson skates up.

“Probably a trail of used condoms and morning-after pill packets,” Jefferson jokes. “Come on, Cap, the guys are ready.”

Although I wrinkle my nose at the thought, my pulse quickens at the idea of his casual hookups. I’ve heard the rumors about Reese’s exploits. The talk in the locker room and I saw the girl waiting for him on the porch last night. It’s just so easy for him and Reese doesn’t even have the sense to look guilty at Jefferson’s comment, a small smirk lifting the corner of his mouth. “If anything, that’syou,” he says to his best friend, securing his helmet. “And stop being gross in front of Twy. She’s not into it.”

“Sorry, Twy,” Jefferson says, pushing off with his skate. Without another word, Reese grabs his stick and follows.

I stare at his name stretched across his shoulders: CAIN,the number fifteen underneath. He’s a powerhouse, commanding both the ice and his team, which is probably why he makes me nervous. I don’t like feeling out of control, but every exchange with him sets me on edge, like he’s two steps ahead and I’m, predictably, falling behind.

I don’t like it. No, I don’t like the way he makes me feel.

But unfortunately for me, it’s Reese Cain’s world, and like everyone else, I’m just living in it.

* * *

Ever since the party,he’s everywhere.

Reese Cain.

It’s like the phenomenon when you’re shopping for a new car and then suddenly all you see is that brand of car on the road. Everywhere I go his massive frame looms. Between classes, always surrounded by a group of teammates or puck bunnies hanging onto his every word. Or he’s on the quad, sprawled out trying to catch a few of the remaining rays of sunshine before winter takes hold. Twice, I see him over in Shotgun. Both times I was walking out of my house as he was on the way to campus. I ducked back inside, peering out the window, and not leaving until he passed.

Why am I avoiding him? Fuck if I know.

There’s something about him that is a sharp reminder of how I’m perceived—uninteresting and unattractive. The opposite of people like him and Nadia. And the people who do take notice? They aren’t good for me anyway. That lesson has been learned.

I can’t avoid Reese at practice, but I’ve managed to ease myself to the background, helping Coach Green when I’m needed and luckily, he’s not one of the ones that needs trainer assistance at the moment. It’s outside the training facility that seems to trip me up.

“Twyler?”

My name is called by the barista, and I step forward to get my iced latte. I grab the cup and turn, crashing into a brick wall. No, not a brick wall. Reese Cain.

His hands stabilize my upper body, fingers tight around my biceps. It’s not enough to keep my drink from sloshing onto my shirt.

“Seriously?” I mutter. If I didn’t know better, I’d accuse him of stalking me. The problem here is that Idoknow better. I’m just cursed.

“Shit, sorry,” he says, reaching behind me for a wad of napkins. “Here.”

I take them, wiping the droplets of coffee off my hoodie.

“I didn’t see you,” he says, taking the trash and tossing it into the nearby bin.

Of course he didn’t.

“George!” the barista shouts.

“That’s me.” He steps over to the counter and grabs his drink. To my surprise he returns to stand next to me. On the side of his cup the name “George” is written in block letters.

I raise an eyebrow. “Having to go incognito?”

He shrugs those big shoulders. “It’s just easier.”

“Ah, the life of a celebrity.” He doesn’t respond to my jab, which is probably an indicator of how true it is for him, and takes a sip of his drink, wincing when it’s too hot.

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