Page 11 of Devil on Skates
From what I can find online, he’s a human brag sheet—inspirational business quotes, gala appearances, and the same forced smile in every photo. It’s all polish and no depth.
What does Irina see in him?
I try to picture them together. Her, with that fire in her eyes, paired with a guy who probably rehearses compliments in the mirror. It doesn’t fit.
But maybe that’s not the point. Maybe it’s not about a real connection. It could be about safety, obligation, or the comfort of falling into what’s expected.
I get that because I live it.
And then there’s the next obstacle. Coach Marshall.
Trying to get with a girl who’s taken is already asking for trouble. But Coach’s daughter? That’s like lighting a match inside a fireworks factory.
Coach is tough and uncompromising. His whole coaching philosophy centers on the idea that excellence is non-negotiable. And that doesn’t stop with the game. He expects it everywhere, including academics, behavior, and image.
Being caught chasing his daughter, especially if she’s supposedly taken, is a fast track to getting benched. Or worse.
I should let it go, move on, forget Irina ever existed, and refocus on the season.
But I find myself searching her profile again. Or trying to, anyway. She blocked me, but I sidestep it using my teammate’s account. It’s not my proudest moment, but it’s Ian’s fault for not hiding his password better.
I can’t help it. Irina is in my head, and I’m not ready to let her go.
She doesn’t post much, but a few patterns pop up. There are multiple photos tagged at the same place—a small café near her campus. In all of them, she’s tucked away at the same corner table, sometimes alone and sometimes with friends.
Before I even realize what I’m doing, I’m creating a plan. I can get there. It’s a chance to see her, somewhat casually.
My phone buzzes with the notification reminding me about my media studies paper that’s worth thirty percent of my final grade and is due tomorrow.
I stare at it. That paper’s obviously nowhere near finished, but I’ll knock it out tonight. All-nighter, if I have to, because the thought of spending another day spiraling over Irina, without doing anything about it, makes my skin crawl.
I can live without a perfect grade on my paper, but I’m not sure I can live with another day of silence.
I shove my laptop and my notes into my backpack, and leave the library behind. I’m pushing my responsibilities aside for someone I barely know.
What the hell is happening to me?
The walk to the bus stop is full of second-guessing. This is dumb, impulsive, and dangerous in more than one way, but I keep going.
Several minutes and a transfer later, I’m stepping off the bus. The café is at the corner of a brick building. It’s got a warm, homey vibe. The chairs are mismatched, indie music is playing quietly, and local art is on the walls. Seems charming, and I can see why she likes it.
I stop just outside the door and take a better look through the window. People, mostly students, are chatting, studying, and scrolling through their phones.
She’s not there. Not yet.
Fuck. What’s my move here? Walk in and hope she shows up? What if she’s with her friends? Or worse, with Keith?
The thought makes my jaw tighten.
We haven’t met, but I know his type. I can already picture his smugness and confidence. If he walked in right now, I’m not sure if I’d shake his hand or challenge him.
I brush it off, because this isn’t the rink and it’s not about winning.
Instead of going inside, I find a spot across the street with a clear view of the entrance. I pull out my textbook and pretend to read.
Minutes tick by. The sky dims, and people trickle out. I check the time, my heart sinking a little more every time someone approaches and it’s not her.
Maybe I was wrong, and she doesn’t come here often. As I close my book, I narrow my gaze at the door.
