Page 9 of Devil on Skates
I don’t chase girls, skip class, or stalk people across town like some lovesick idiot.
But here I am, and it’s all because of her.
I’m hooked now, and I don’t know what to do about it. Or if I want to.
Chapter 4
IRINA
SOMEONE WAS WATCHINGme at the restaurant. I glanced around casually, checking out the sidewalk and the street, but I didn’t see anything or anyone. But the feeling made the hairs on the back of my neck rise.
“You seem distracted,” my dad says, his voice even but with that usual edge, as if he’s quietly evaluating me.
I snap my focus back to him and force a smile. “Sorry. I was just thinking about a deadline.”
“Ever the diligent student,” he replies, like he finds it mildly amusing. “The Costello boy is the same way. Top of his class. You two will get along very well.”
I bob my head and make a vague sound of agreement, but mentally, I’m miles away. That lunch was pure torture. My father tried to present Keith like a damn investment opportunity.
I nodded in all the right places, threw in a few comments, and kept my real thoughts buried. My dad’s got deep roots in both business and hockey, and now apparently he’s using them to play a matchmaker.
“Remember,” he says. “You can’t afford to make a mistake. Costello is a great match, and you need to show interest in him and what he does. You need to get him to like you. Really like you.”
“Yes, Dad.”
“He’ll be great for your future, and he’s a good and nice guy. He’ll treat you right. Maybe you don’t see it right now, but you’ll be thanking me later. You should come to the campus and hangout with him more. How about you pay him a visit tomorrow? Lunch or something? Just the two of you.”
I furrow my brow. “But I’m on my own campus and I have classes. I have to study too, and my job—”
He waves his hand in dismissal. “It’s just across town. You’ll make it. Ditch the job. That part-time nonsense you’re doing is worthless anyway. Check Keith’s schedule and adjust yours.”
“But—”
“No buts, Irina. Just do as I say.”
My phone buzzes. It must be a group chat notification, a text from a friend, or maybe it’s some professor emailing me about an assignment.
My dad goes toward the kitchen, muttering something under his breath about my studies being a waste. I know what he thinks. Ever since he found out I want to become a physical therapist, he’s been sneering and scoffing about it. Apparently, doing a job like that isn’t good enough for our family, because I should be the boss of something or someone important, and not tape ankles or whatever.
I decide to check my phone before I get even angrier about the whole situation. As I unlock the screen, I freeze.
A bunch of likes, and it’s all from the same guy.
Every photo on my barely-used profile? Liked. Even the one from two years ago with me squinting into the sun in a winter coat.
“What the hell...?” I mutter, opening the app, and my eyes fall on a message.
Hey, stranger. Miss me yet?
My heart skips a beat.
I click on the profile, already half-bracing myself for some random creep.
A gasp escapes my throat.
It’shim.
The guy from last night. Memories flood my mind. The way he kissed me, the way his mouth did all those wonderful things to me, the way he looked at me...
