Page 43 of Between the Blue
“And what?”
“And what else?” he asks. “What are you gonna do now?”
“I…don’t know.” I try to step around him the other way, but he blocks me again.
“There’s something you’re not saying.”
“No, there isn’t. And I told you what’s wrong, so I’m leaving now.”
I try to side step around him, but there’s no chance of doing so.
“Not all of it,” he says.
“For the love of God–”
“Just spit it out, Cherry–”
“Oh my God,fine. The internship with the fashion company didn’t work out and I don’t have time to find another option on my own. But my academic advisor has a different possible option lined up for me. It’s just not at all what I want to do. My specialty and passion is in fashion, not sports. I’m upset and frustrated, but I don’t know what else–”
“Sports?” Ben cuts me off.
“What?” I say, blinking at him.
“What about sports? Your advisor offered you an internship in sports?”
“Well…yeah. But it’s just so–”
“What sport?”
I feel tears of frustration welling in the corner of my eyes, and, refusing to let Bennett James see me cry, I turn away from him, forcing a chuckle as I swipe at my eyes.
“Hockey,” I tell him, “believe it or not.”
When I look back at him, his brows are pulled together and his posture seems more rigid. He’s definitely just as surprised as I was when I heard the suggestion from Tiffany.
“Hockey?” he finally repeats, his voice neutral.
“Yeah,” I nod. “Ice hockey. I mean, this is Texas. Who even plays hockey for fun here? Much less professionally?”
His tongue swipes against his lower lip. “Professionally?”
“Yeah,” I confirm. “My advisor knew of a position with Austin’s NHL team. The Texas Storm?”
Nothing on Ben’s face tells me he has knowledge of the team either. “Have you heard of them?” I ask.
His throat bobs, and something in his expression looks like he’s sorting through the files of his mind. “I’m familiar,” he eventually says.
I nod slowly, running my hands through my hair as my thoughts begin to spiral once more.
“Are you going to take it?”
I look up at Ben. “What?”
“The position,” he says. “With the Storm. Are you going to take it?”
“I…I don’t know,” I admit. “My advisor thinks I should.” I glance down at my phone in my hand, clicking on my email app. The tickets are still pulled up from when I looked at them this morning. “She even sent me the dean of my college’s season tickets for tonight's preseason game, but I don’t know if I even want to bother going. I just don’t think this is what I want. And I’m not sure if I’m even cut out for it. But, if I was smart, I know I’d take the opportunity–”
“Don’t.”
