Page 34

I push into the athletic building that happens to hold the ice rink and the MMA fighting ring. It’s just a coincidence that Daniel is in the same place as Lincoln right now.

I look both ways down the hallway before reading the sign that points toward the ice rink. My heart takes off. Nerves sit in my stomach taking the shape of butterflies, which is a stupid description but somehow also accurate.

I don’t understand it, but it probably has something to do with what I did in the room. That’s all.

I follow the signs. Telling myself it’s just curiosity about my roommate. Cold washes over me as I open the door. A clean winter smell follows it. It’s loud in here, voices bouncing off of the glass.

I almost turn around.

The stands are mostly empty. There are a few girls in them, watching the guys on the ice. I stay by the glass instead of sitting, because sitting would feel like I came here on purpose. And how do I explain that to Daniel if he sees me?

Would it be weird that I’m here? We’re friends. Friends would support each other like this…I would go to one of Lincoln’s fights, so watching a little piece of his practice is what a friend would do. The logic of it calms my nerves a little. Even though I did come here on purpose.

Daniel is easy to find. He looks bigger in his pads and on the skates. Fast too. His hair is under a helmet, but I can tell it’s him by the way he moves. My mouth goes dry, and I swallow.

I put my fingers on the glass and then take them off because that’s weird. He cuts across the ice shouting something at one of the other guys, and something in my chest does the little jump again.

I’m transfixed.

Lust. It’s lust. I’m just feeling it for the first time. Of course I’m going to want to watch him. It will give me more for next time. Because I’m sure there will be a next time.

He slams into the boards, and the whole glass shivers under empty air where my hand just was as someone slams into him. There is no way he’s not going to see me standing right in front of him.

Breath parts my lips, but I can’t pull my gaze from his face, needing to see the second he registers me on the other side of the glass. He straightens. A scowl on his face for the player that tried to crush him. His eyes find mine, and it’s like slow motion. A smile kicks up one side of his mouth. He’s happy. Like me being here is a good thing and not something I need to explain.

Then he’s gone. Skating off. Already back in the practice. And my feet feel as if they are glued to the ground. Nothing will be able to pull me away.

“Hey.” Lincoln’s voice washes over me. “What are you doing in here?”

I flinch. I didn’t hear the door. When I glance over my shoulder at him, he’s not looking at me. His eyes are on the guys on the ice, and his face is almost angry. I follow his gaze.

The guy who hit the boards after Daniel. Tattoos peeking out between his gloves and sleeves. Dark hair falling into his eyes and over the back of his neck beneath the helmet. I recognize him almost immediately. Blue. Lincoln’s step-brother.

“Sorry,” I say, fast. “I was just—passing. We should go. You wanted lunch.”

His jaw flexes. I don’t think he’s blinked, and his hands are curled into fists at his sides.

“Linc.”

He looks at me then. The anger fades slightly. “Yeah. Okay. This place smells like sweat and wet socks.”

I peel my feet off the floor. At the door, I almost look over my shoulder, but I don’t. The fact that Daniel smiled is going to live rent free in my head all afternoon.

Lincoln bumps my shoulder with his. “Next time, wait at the MMA doors, Q. This hallway isn’t for you.”

He means Blue. They hate each other. I nod. I don’t tell him I didn’t come for his step-brother, but for the guy who smiled at me through the glass before skating away.

The athletic building dumps back into warm air. Lincoln’s long legs eat up the distance between the building and the diner across the parking lot. I walk faster to keep up. Nana’s is loud. But I know this place, and I make a beeline to my normal booth in the back. I take the seat against the wall, and Lincoln slides into the bench across from me.

We order as soon as a waitress comes over. He gets a burger. I get a sandwich because Christine isn’t here to force pancakes on me. I put my straw into my drink and then roll the wrapper into a tight coil.

Lincoln watches me do it. “You’re being weird.”

“I’m always weird,” I remind him dryly.

“Weirder than normal.” He angles his head toward the window, toward the building we just left. “You don’t ever go to the athletic building.”

“I was meeting you,” I say, keeping my eyes on the tight spiral of the wrapper.