Page 57 of Revolve
He’s yanked away from the door, swinging it open wider to reveal an annoyed Dylan. When he sees me, his entire demeanor changes. He stands up straighter and steps forward as he closes the door, shutting us both in the darkness that shrouds the front porch.
“Hi,” I say, suddenly feeling exposed.
“Sorry about him,” he says, hitching a thumb to the door.
The porch lights flicker on, and I finally see Dylan’s face. It should be a crime to look this good at every hour of the day. His black T-shirt is tight, making his biceps the center of attention, and the gray sweats he’s wearing try to hypnotize me into looking down. I don’t.
“I wanted to give you this,” I say quickly, shoving the bag in his hand.
“What is it?”
“That would defeat the purpose of a gift bag, wouldn’t it?”
He watches me in amusement. “Never going to give it to me easy, are you?”
The comment isn’t intended as a jab, but it still cuts. I’ve never been easy, I was always reminded of that. Suddenly, I feel stupid for being here and barely getting the words out when I practiced them on the way here. Even when I’m trying, I come off as cold, and I don’t know how to fix it.
Dylan doesn’t take his eyes off me even as he takes the tissue out of the bag. He pulls out the red gloves and stares down at them for a long minute.
“Gloves,” he says.
“You never wear anything on the ice, so I thought you could usesome.” I take a step back, feeling claustrophobic with him so close. “I guessed the size, so if they don’t fit, I can remake them.”
“Does someone care if I’m cold?” He coos, as if I’m a child giving my mom a shitty hand-painted photo frame on Mother’s Day.
“You know what? Forget it.” I try to snatch the red gloves, but Dylan grabs my hand. I glare up at him, and he smiles. It’s like staring at those bus stop ads for teeth-whitening strips.
Then he blinks like he’s just realized something. “Wait, wait, wait. Did youmakethese?”
I nod.
“With your hands?”
“No, with my feet,” I say dryly. “Yes, I knit them. It’s not a big deal.”
He stares at me like it’s a very big deal, and I want to snatch them back and pretend like this never happened. Maybe incinerate them in a nearby tire fire, because Dylan’s whole face lights up into the cockiest smile I’ve ever seen him wear, and I close my eyes for a brief second, knowing that he’s going to fucking gloat about this.
“You knit me gloves.” He says it with a sort of awe that makes me feel patronized.
I look at anything but him. “You never wear them to practice, and I know how hard it gets to do all the lifts if your hands are frozen,” I explain.
“You care if my hands are cold.”
“Dylan—”
“Youcareabout me.” He pulls the gloves onto his hands. “It’s a little creepy that you have my hand size memorized though.”
I hold back from rolling my eyes. “It’s pretty universal.”
“I’m sure.” He’s not even trying to stifle his chuckle. But I know behind that stupid smirk, he sees the gloves for what they are, an olive branch. “Do you have matching ones? We’ll be the cutest couple on the ice.”
“Can’t you just say thank you and not make this weird?” I mutter.
“No way. You knit me gloves and you think you’re going to get off easy?” he says. “Miss Rot in Hell but Do It With a Pair of Gloves So Your Hands Don’t Get Cold.”
Suddenly, a man dressed in a red Uncle Frank’s Pizza windbreaker walks up the steps and interrupts our conversation. “Pizza?”
Dylan looks confused, but he pulls out his wallet anyway and hands the man some cash. The front door swings open again, and the bright light from inside makes me squint. The rest of the team and their friends are in the living room. There’s some reality show finale playing, and half the school has been obsessed, so there are watch parties across campus. Scarlett went to part one of the finale last week at Porter’s when they did trivia and played the show on the big screen. She invited me, but I opted out to spend extra time on the ice instead.
