Page 18 of Switching Skates
“Have I said I love you yet today? I swear I might just kiss you for this.” He licks his lips.
“Save it for the pancakes.” I laugh.
Ross walks into the room behind him and smacks Chet on the back of the head, the sound echoing around us.
Chet doesn’t even wince. His stare flattens out, and he looks forward, annoyed. “No pancakes for you, Ross!”
Ross chuckles. “I’d like to see you stop me.”
As much as I love Chet, he wouldn’t be able to hold his own against Ross’s frame and size. Ross is six foot four and over two hundred pounds. One of the biggest defensemen in the league.
Chet is a forward, standing only five foot eleven, and he’s maybe one hundred eighty pounds—wet.
Grabbing my plate, I load up while they continue to bicker. “When are we leaving for the arena?”
“Like, three?” Ross responds, and I nod.
Walking back to my room upstairs, I set my plate down on my desk. I usually eat with them, but I wanted a few minutes alone.
Practice hasn’t started yet. It won’t for another two weeks. But we’ll still be on the ice almost every day.
A bunch of us are meeting up today to do some scrimmaging, and it’ll be the first time in a while. I’m so excited to get between my pipes. I’ve missed them.
My phone buzzes, and I check the notification, finding a text from Chet.
Chet: I owe you my life for these pancakes.
Me: How about you stop flirting with Daphne to get a rise out of me instead?
Chet: Hmmm, but it’s so fun to get under your skin. I didn’t even know that was possible until she showed up.
Me: I will never make you those pancakes again.
I hear him shriek downstairs, and I laugh as I shove a forkful of eggs in my mouth.
Chet: Okay, okay. Deal. She’s all yours.
Me: She always has been.
Our encounter at the grocery store yesterday flashes in my mind, and my stomach levitates and does backflips at the memory.
I knew it. I knew she still had feelings for me. That was clear when she was giving me shit at Hy-Vee. Because if she really didn’t care, she wouldn’t have wasted the energy and effort.
She would have stayed silent and ignored me altogether, like she does when she’s actually mad at someone.
Growing up with her, I know her better than she’ll probably ever know. I know what pisses her off, what makes her smile, what makes her laugh, cry, and tick.
I know her favorite color is pink even though she desperately tries to convince everyone it’s sage green. She likes crocheting even though she’s not great at it, making misshapen monsters rather than cute animals. Although I think that hobby has fallen by the wayside.
She is ticklish in most parts of her body.
She hates the feeling of grass on her hands.
She loves the sensation of the sun on her skin right away in the morning, warming up for the day. But not for too long because her pale skin will burn in minutes.
I know that she hates me for leaving for college without a word, and I don’t blame her because I hate me for it too. But I also know that deep down inside of her, she still likes me and is too scared to admit it in case I hurt her. But that’s not going to happen this time around—or ever again.
I get another text, but this time, it’s from Maeve.
