Page 28 of More Than Chemical
But then the kitchen door swung open and hit Dallas in the side. He grunted.
My face was hot, and I was sure my cheeks were as red as a billiard ball. Dallas didn’t seem to mind. We walked back to the bar area, his hand on the small of my back. Before we separated, he trailed his fingers over the small of my back, and I turned gooey.
I held up my hands to the light, and I’d swear there were particles in Brownian motion inside them, buzzing and colliding. I was breathless, weightless, and the happiest I’d been in a long time. I didn’t want the night to end. I wanted it to last forever—or maybe I just wanted there to be more nights like this. More time being with Dallas.
We finished another pool game, and finally I glanced up at the TV. There was a basketball game on. Professional basketball.What?I shifted my gaze to the tables where his friends had been sitting, and they were almost empty.
“What time is it?” I asked Dallas.
He pulled his phone out of his pocket and showed me. Half past midnight.
Shoot. I’d wanted to be back at the dorm before the others got home, so I wouldn’t have to make up more lies. But the game must have ended over two hours ago. Now what was I going to do?
I hung up the pool stick and scurried to my purse to check my phone. It was filled with new text messages from Priya. Where was I? When was I coming home? Did she and Luke need to come get me wherever I was?
“Do you have to go?” Dallas came up behind me.
“Yeah.” I pulled on my coat. “It’s my roommate. She’s worried about me.”
“Does she do that a lot?”
“Sometimes.”
“Okay,” he said. “Let’s go.”
“No, you can stay. It isn’t a big deal.”
He was already putting on his jacket. “I’ve got no reason to stay. I’ll walk you home.”
Outside, snow was coming down in big, wet flakes and building up on the sidewalk. A continuous blanket silencing the streets. As we waited at a corner for the light, he brushed the top of my hair, sending a clump of snow to the ground. Then he pulled my hood up before he stuffed his hands back into his pockets.
“Charlie said you know a lot about hockey.” He kept close to me but not touching. “Do you play?”
My toes curled, but I forced them to relax, to stretch out in my boots. I wasn’t going to be able to avoid the topic of hockey for long, especially if it was something we had in common.
The light turned green, and we set out.
“I did when I was younger,” I said, “but it didn’t last.”
“What happened?”
I hesitated to answer, but then I remembered I was trying to be honest with him. “My dad.”
“What do you mean your dad?”
“Hockey was his life, and I was never good enough at it for him.”
“Hmm.” He clasped his hands together to push his gloves on better. “I’m sure he was just disappointed when you quit.”
“I doubt it, but he was definitely angry when I switched to figure skating.”
“You figure skate?”
“Yes. I’ve passed all my skating skill tests and many of my singles tests, but I haven’t done much of it this year.”
“Are you good enough to be one of those hockey cheerleaders? Do the jumps and spins on the ice between periods?”
An image of my dad flashed in my brain. Early last spring, before the scandal broke, he’d written an email to the hockey cheer coach, trying to throw his influence around to get me on the cheer team. I hadn’t even wanted to try out. I might love figure skating, but that didn’t mean I wanted to be a cheerleader. Yet somehow he’d gotten it in his mind that I wanted to do it and wasn’t good enough to make it without his help. How embarrassing. How irritating.
