“It is,” he confirms. “Though I believe it’s a question abouthimand not you.”
My smirk grows a little more smug. “No, I think you’re meaning to ask whether he’s my boyfriend now or if I’m still as single as the day we met.”
“Or, I just want to know whether you have more than one friend or not.”
Right, because he knows so much about me? He hasn’t even met Doro, my only friend. Grey saw her once, but they didn’t talk so that doesn’t count as having met. Grey also knows that I coach soccer and that I—
“I have tons of friends,” I answer, lifting my nose up a little higher. “You should know that.”
“Elderlies from Bingo-night don’t count.”
AHA. So he does remember. That’s quite interesting. If he still remembers a thing like this, something I have mentionedonceand only vaguely, he’s got to be at least a tiny bit interested in me. I think.
“Charlie is dead,” I finally answer, spitting the words out fast and a little spitefully, like I blame my best friend for dying. I do in some ways, but I also know I can’t do anything about it.
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Although his apology sounds sincere, his face is still as unbothered as ever. There are no signs of sympathy, no signs of regret for having asked. Nothing. It’s like he can’t feel emotions at all, but I know he can.
“It’s alright. He’s been dead since we were twelve, so… I’m over it.” Mostly.
“Are you ever going to step on the ice, or will you continue to stall?” He shakes off the topic like we never even started it.Maybe he’s not so interested after all.
“I’m good right where I am, my shoes—”
“Skates,” he corrects.
“Yes, yes, skates, they’re probably way too loose now too. I’ll trip and snap my ankles or something.”
“You know what we callplayerslike that?”I don’t. “A bender.”
I nod slowly. “Because…?”
“Benders are usually terrible at skating and tying their skates properly.”
Crossing my arms over my chest, I narrow my eyes at Grey. “Wow, you hockey players really have a name for that?”
He nods. “We also have a name for players who only get ice time when the team is so far behind on goals, that even the worst player wouldn’t be able to make it worse.”
Now that seems fairly mean. Imagine you overhear someone call you that name, or well, I guess you just know everyone’s calling you that if you spend more time benched than playing.
I put one foot on the cold, slippery ice, already feeling my life slipping through my fingertips. This is how I will die, I just know it. I canfeelit.
“How do you do this for a living?” I ask as I grip the railing with both of my hands as though it’s the only thing that’s keeping me up on my feet.It is.
Grey shrugs, then holds out his hand to me. “I love skating, and I love ice hockey.”
I take his hand, but I swear to you, the two seconds I’m not holding that railing with both of my hands send me to hell and back to earth.
“Who decided to step on a death-trap likeiceand make a sport out of it?!”
Grey pulls on my arm, forcing me to let my other hand go off the railing.
I squint my eyes shut, expecting to hit my ass on the ice but somehow I am not falling. When I decide to open my eyes again after a short while, I realize I’m not falling because Grey now has both of his hands on my body, holding me up right.
“You really never skated in your life before?”
I shake my head. “I grew up in Malibu, Grey Davis. You should know we don’t do ice here.” At least it’s really rare if snow falls or it gets cold enough to have the streets freeze over a little. Though, I suppose it’s more likely to happen here than in Florida.
“I chose ice hockey over surfing, so your excuse doesn’t count. Besides, Malibu has hockey teams. Not playing for the NHL but they do have teams.”
