Page 13 of Devil on Skates
Not that it should matter how I look to him.
His eyes don’t leave mine, as if he’s searching for something I’m not giving. The silence between us feels loaded, and Marta’s watching us from behind the counter, clearly interested.
Great. Just what I need.
“I can join you,” he says, nodding at my table, “but if you’re busy and don’t want company, that’s cool.”
His casual offer actually gives me an easy out without making a scene, which isn’t what I expected from the guy I blocked.
“I have to study,” I say, clinging to the routine that brought me here. “Big exam tomorrow.”
He nods. “Okay. See you around.”
Just like that, he steps back, making space but still owning it. I watch him carefully as he orders himself some coffee, chats with Marta, and sits at the table right across from me.
I slide into my chair, pretending this is normal and ignoring him, as I pull out my textbooks. When I glance up, he catches my eye and smiles, raising his mug like a toast.
Wow. The audacity is almost impressive.
I try to focus on my notes, pointing my highlighter at a passage about muscles and rehab, but everything blurs under the weight of his stare from across the room. Is he watching me? I force myself not to check for a couple of minutes before sneaking a look.
He’s on his phone, focused on something on his screen. Since he doesn’t look up, I study him. His dark hair falls over his eyes as he leans in, and there’s a small smile on his full lips. That damn mouth that made me...
Suddenly, he looks up, catching me watching. His smile grows wider, as if he knows exactly what I’m thinking. Heat rushes to my neck and I look back down.
This is ridiculous. I can’t study with him sitting there and filling my space with his intense energy. Every time I try to focus on reading about muscles or joints, my mind circles back to the tension of a different kind, like his hands, his mouth, and the moonlight on his face that night.
It’s maddening how easily he’s messed up my carefully controlled world. One random night at a party shouldn’t send ripples like this through me. Just because it felt more real and passionate than anything I’ve ever experienced, it shouldn’t override my common sense.
Yet here I am, hyper-aware of his every move, my skin prickling as if he’s watching me, even when I see he’s not.
Or maybe... I’m the one watchinghim? Maybe this buzz isn’t coming directly from his presence at all, but it’s actually my mind refusing to ignore and forget what happened between us.
Soon, I realize I’ve reread the same paragraph three times and learned nothing. The exam feels way too big to handle right now. This isn’t working.
I pack up fast, avoiding Xavier’s gaze as I grab my stuff. But when I’m on my feet, I sneak one last look at him.
He’s watching me, his expression unreadable. He doesn’t move or speak, just stares as I sling my bag over my shoulder and head for the door.
Once I’m outside, the cool air clears my head a bit. I walk fast in the direction of my house, half-expecting to hear footsteps behind me.
But as I keep glancing behind me, I don’t see anyone. Whatever game Xavier’s playing, it doesn’t include stalking me home.
The relief is mixed with something else. Disappointment, I guess, but that would be totally crazy. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.
My dad’s out when I get home, so the place is quiet. I dash to my room, drop my bag by the desk, and flop onto my bed, staring at the ceiling as if it might have the answers about why Xavier showed up where he shouldn’t have.
My phone feels heavy in my pocket, because I keep thinking about how I blocked him. After a few minutes of debating, I pull it out and open the app.
What was I thinking when I blocked him? It seems childish now. My panicked move probably just made him more curious. Maybe if I’d ignored him and his message, he wouldn’t have come after me.
I scroll to his profile, hovering over the unblock button. I tell myself it’s just strategic, and that I have no real desire to talk to him. It makes more sense to keep an eye on him than sit around wondering, and it’s safer to act like things are normal than to stir everything up.
One tap, and he’s back online. His profile loads fast, and it’s popular, active, and filled with typical college athlete stuff, like team celebrations, workouts, and social events with people hanging on his every word.
As I scroll, his life story becomes painfully obvious. He’s the star hockey player, smart student, and a social butterfly who’s good at getting attention from girls. His comment section is full of heart emojis, flirty lines, and inside jokes.
It’s exactly what I expected. He’s an arrogant hockey player used to getting what he wants. The kind of privileged athlete who sees women as trophies.
