Page 57 of Icing Hearts

“I think I’m gonna be sick.” I shove my face into my crossed arms.

“Yeah, that feeling means you like him,” Clover tells me. She rolls onto her back and laughs at my misery. “Sorry, girl. I assumed you knew. I thought everyone knew.”

“Whatever,” I groan. “I don’t wanna talk about this anymore.”

We sit there, in various states of wind down. Thomas comments on the discomfort of his prosthetic and how he needs to get fitted for a new one now that he’s hit a growth spurt. He and Clover chitchat over my head until a velvety voice tinged with smoke has my eyes darting north.

“Perfect, you’re all gathered for our first company meeting.”

When Tory’s eyes meet mine, he must see something concerning because a shadow of disconcertion crosses his eyes, and his lips tighten for a moment. I look down at his shoes and rest my chin on the heel of my left hand while I untie his shoelaces with my right.

The other two managers hum their greeting, and I see them making eyes at me in the periphery. I ignore them.

“Did Clara tell you the good news?” Tory asks. He sits down and lifts his legs, resting an elbow on each knee. I keep fidgeting with his laces, but he doesn’t say anything.

I shake my head, and Thomas asks what Tory’s referring to.

“Well, Charity here discovered that I’ve been paying her for being a manager and won’t let me keep paying her unless I pay the two of you.”

“She probably doesn’t want you paying me anymore,” Clover chirps, shrugging a shoulder with pride. I’m not mad at her. I’m really not. She can do what she wants and so can Tory. But that doesn’t make me feel any less crummy. Picturing them together is…horrible. Jealousy is a witch.

“No, Clover. It’s fine. Just no end-of-season bonus for you.” I wrap one of Tory’s laces around my index finger like a spool of thread.

He just stares at me.

Analyzing.

Fitting the pieces together.

I shake off the jealousy and perk back up. Mostly to make Tory stop looking at me so intently.

“Welcome to the company,” I tell them.

Chapter 33

Clara

After I change back into my school clothes, I tell Vince I’ll meet him out in the parking lot and head to my locker. I need to get my backpack and books for home. Plus, there’s an Italian right wing with a funky name who has been particularly playful today, and I wouldn’t mind seeing a bit more of him. Even if it’s just for a confrontation.

Sure enough, Tory is leaning against the glossy white cinder block wall adjacent to the visitors’ locker room when I exit. Waiting. Sometimes I feel like there’s a brain wavelength and we’re the only two on it.

As I pass him, he reaches out and hooks an index finger in my palm. Just that simple, small point of connection sends tingles up my arm and down my spine. It’s one of those touches I know will be invisibly branded on me for the rest of the night.

I pull him along behind me for a few steps before dropping it and tell myself it’s to earn that raise. The thought makes me giggle.

Tory follows.

A sidelong glance in the reflection of a trophy case tells me he’s about six paces back. He follows through the gym and into the main part of the school building. I slow down. He slows down—maintaining those six paces of space.

But all the while, I feel his sizzling gaze on the back of my neck the entire way. Blood heats my ears, and I know I’m blushing.

Down one hall and up another, until I reach my locker. I try to enter my locker combination. But I’m flustered. After three tries, Tory hip checks me out of the way and puts in the correct combination.

“How do you know my locker combo?”

“I pay attention.” He leans a shoulder against the locker beside mine while I crouch down and unzip my backpack. “You gonna tell me what’s wrong or do I have to dock your pay?” He tries to joke.

I’m not having it. “I didn’t know you and Clover were such bosom buddies.”

---