“I think you are. Doesn’t that count for something?”
“It does to me but not to them. They think I’ve been trying to avoid any social interaction since regionals. They already think you make me a better person. Happier. That’s why they’re being so pushy about it,” she explains quietly.
“Doyouthink I make you a happier person?” I ask, a grin widening across my face. She smiles weakly, blinking back the last of her tears.
“Yes,” she says through a sigh. She clears her throat. “I mean, my life sucks a little less when you’re around.”
I don’t think I’ve ever had a feeling like this before. Usually, with the few girls I’ve been with, we hook up, talk for a few days and then it’s over. We never get into this stuff. We never get to be vulnerable. But with Wren, it feels so easy. So natural. Even if our other relationship is fake.
“Come on,” I say, standing up. “Let’s get some food.”
CHAPTER 12
WREN
I’ve been feeling on edge all week, so I wasn’t surprised when I freaked out when I saw Augustus. My mom has been on my case more than ever, pushing me to train harder, to make sure the winter showcase goes ahead as planned.
I’ve been spamming my social media, trying to get more people to show some sort of interest. Miles posted a picture of us in the gym which earned me a couple followers but it’s more of a waiting game to see if they show their support by turning up to the showcase. It doesn’t help that Austin is completely AWOL, so my mom has no one else to project on. I was surprised that I broke down crying in the party bathroom and Miles had to save me.
I can’t do that again. I’ve had panic attacks before, but I have never been told how to deal with them. I pushed them down as far as I could, and I ignored them. That's what I taught myself to do. They were seen as inconveniences more than anything. This one was worse because I already had other things weighing on me and seeing Augustus topped it off.
I’ve always hated parties, so I was expecting the nervousness, the skittishness. I wanted to do it for Miles. He has been training with me all week and he’s not complained about it once. The least I could do for him is go to a stupid party for a couple of hours, but I couldn’t even do that.
We didn’t stay at the party for long after my breakdown. We took a few intimate photos, not showing my face after I ruined it by crying. Miles got a good shot of us in the car, my face buried into his neck as I tried my hardest not to breathe in his scent. The pictures areallvery intimate, meaning we had to be very close to each other to take them.
After having his mouth on me at the party, I haven’t been able stop thinking about it. I’m blaming my horniness on the fact that I haven’t slept with anyone in over six months. That’s why when we start driving to find somewhere to eat, I tell him stop at the first one we see to get this over with as quick as possible.
We end up in a secluded diner, calledFries. Where, according to the very short menu, they only sell fries or fries (exploded). We sit across from each other in a back booth after ordering our fries and drinks. I ordered regular fries and Miles ordered the exploded version which I’m terrified to find out what that means. I take a long sip of my Coke, fiddling with my paper straw.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper after our small talk dies down. He looks up at me, his eyebrows knitted in confusion as he drinks his strawberry milkshake.
“Sorry for what?” he asks, titling his head to the side.
“I don’t know. Everything,” I sigh, leaning back in my chair as I talk with my hands. “I just feel so useless. This is the part of the deal where I’m supposed to try my hardest. This is the part that should keep me on the team. I just feel like I keep messing it up. My mom has already got in my head.”
“You’re not messing anything up. We’re still getting to know each other and it’s good that we know now whatnotto do. If college parties aren’t your thing, we’ll find something else to show everyone what a strong couple we are,” Miles says cheerfully. At least he’s being optimistic and understanding. The anxiety in my chest deflates slowly like a balloon.
Our fries arrive and sure enough, his exploded ones look disgusting. It’s even worse that he has the biggest grin on his face while I grimace at them. They’re covered in melted cheese, bacon bits, mustard, and hash brown bites. If I wasn’t so hungry to eat my own food I would have thrown up by now. We dive into our fries, our conversation becoming drawn out by pauses while we chew.
I make the mistake of locking eyes with Miles the second I begin to lick the salt and ketchup that dripped down my fingers. He watches me, his eyes dark and fierce as I pull out my fingers slowly, not knowing where to look. He stares at my mouth for a long second before looking down at his food.
“Sorry. That was gross,” I groan, picking up a napkin.
“Stop apologising." I nod, biting my tongue not to apologise again. “I’m assuming you don’t get to do this often.” He gestures to my fries that I doused in ketchup. I laugh as I swallow.
“Yeah. I can’t remember the last time I had food this greasy. If my mom found out she would have a heart attack,” I laugh shallowly.
“Does she, like, monitor what you eat?” he asks, playing with his straw.
“Uh, I wouldn’t say ‘monitor.’ But she does ask when we speak, just to make sure that I’m staying healthy enough to skate. It was worse when I was younger, but I think because I got so used to it, I don’t really think about it that much,” I say shrugging, poking around at my fries.
He nods in understanding, not pushing it any further. He eats more of his fries before pulling out his phone from his back pocket. “Question time,” he announces.
“My absolute favourite time of the day,” I say, sarcastically.
These questions have opened up a lot about us, especially while we take breaks at the gym. Going into this, I never thought I would be that interested in getting to know him, but it turns out he’s really fun to talk to. He knows how to keep things light and where to draw the line.
He scrolls through his phone before landing on one.
