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“Okay,” I say, tucking my hair behind my ear. “You’re right. I’m sure you also can’t afford distractions this early in the season. And it’s not like it was a big deal.”
“Right.”
“So we’re good.” I shrug.
A muscle in his jaw ticks. “Let’s just get to work so we can finish early.”
A.k.a. so he doesn’t have to see me for long.
“Fine.”
But before I’m able to move my limbs again, he grabs the pile of books I collected and walks away. Like some damn gentleman.
Getting over Max Cassiano isn’t going to be easy.
CHAPTER 17
MAX
Ifeel like I’m walking underwater while I drag myself to the gym. The janitor is the only one in the building before me, and he gives me a weird look.
In front of me, the window at the front of the facility shows the beginnings of dawn. The sky is a haze of blues and purples, cut by the first rays of a yawning sun. I should still be in bed, but between my roommate’s snoring and the whirring of my brain, that was impossible.
After stopping by a treadmill, I unzip my windbreaker and drop it into my sports bag. Normally, I’d put on a pair of headphones and listen to my lectures again, but today I don’t need the noise. The point is to shut my brain up. So it stops running through every conversation with Tinker Bell, analyzing every minuscule expression on her face.
I hop onto the machine and start at a quick walk, gradually increasing the incline and the pace until all I hear is the heavy thuds of my strides, the breath rushing in and out of my chest.
Why can’t I be like other dudes who just shrug these things off and move on to the next girl? I can’t stop thinking about her. The more I try, the more her face keeps appearing in my mind. At this point, I may have to ask Boucher to bash me over the head with a stick. Just to see if a concussion makes me think about something else.
I almost kissed her at the library—after psyching myself up for days about how kissing her had been wrong. The grand speech I’d prepared melted down like butter under too much heat as I looked at her. Maybe it was the isolation. She’d been browsing for books in a quiet section when I found her. Only books would’ve witnessed had I kissed her again.
But Tinker Bell hugged the book I picked for her to her chest, as if she needed a barrier between us. That’s what snapped me awake.
She’s not interested in me. If anything, she doesn’t seem to like me very much. Annoyance oozes off her every time I show up. I should’ve read the signs instead of mucking everything up like this. I pick up the pace until it’s a punishing rhythm no less than I deserve. It’s clear from our conversation yesterday at the library that she agrees I was out of line. And that it should never happen again.
If I’m being honest with myself, it’s a blessing in disguise. Hockey has to be my number one priority in college. It’s what will get me out of this town, away from my family and on to a successful life. When I have something to show for myself is when I’ll be able to consider dating.
Definitely not right now. I’m still a nobody on my way to nowhere, and not just because I’m running on a treadmill. I have to take the L and carry on. So I like a girl who doesn’t vibe with me, so what? I won’t die from that.
Gradually, I reduce the speed and incline and spend a couple of minutes regaining my breath. I pant like a horse that has galloped to the ends of the earth. By this point, the sky is more yellow than blue on the horizon. When I step off the treadmill, I’ve worked up a good enough sweat. I grab my bag, about to head to the mats, when I notice two abnormalities.
The first one is Tinker Bell, and she’s already on the mats. I get a flashback to the first day of bootcamp, when she beat me to the ice and my first words to her were almost Boucher-level. No wonder she can’t stand me.
Our eyes meet through the mirror, and she looks away. My chest squeezes. I have to take a deep breath so the constriction eases.
The second thing I notice is a couple of guys using some of the weight machines. But they’re not Bolts. They’re also not in any of my classes. There’s about half an hour until the gym floods with Bolts, and both the Strikes’ captain and these guys are gonna get the boot. But for now, they can do whatever they want.
I change course to the rowing machines. They face directly into the other machines and not to the mats. I try to develop tunnel vision as I set everything up to my height, focusing on the straps around my sneakers as if my life depends on it, before I start rowing.
An excited whisper draws my attention up, though.
One of the guys nudges the other, wide eyes trained on the front where I know Tinker Bell is doing leg training.
I don’t stop pulling at the handle as I look. Tinker Bell is in a baggy T-shirt and leggings. Nothing eye-popping. There’s an elastic band around her calves that I know gives a good burn while crab-walking in a crouch like she is.
And then she does a sumo squat.
As she lowers herself, the T-shirt molds around her waist, and the curve of her butt is on full display. The two snoops look like an old cartoon. All they’re missing are the wagging tongues.
