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I pause, pretzel wedged in my ice cream, holding her eyes. “I hear that. I could have said it differently. I leaned into the idea of protecting you rather than stressing what I should have—my commitment to being a decent person for you to be around.”
She smiles. “I appreciate that. And I do want to say, I think it’s pretty great that you talked with Ren directly. Just a week into this little project of ours, and look at you, using your feeling words with your best friend. That’s growth, Sebastian.”
My eyes narrow in annoyance, but my mouth kicks up at the corner, a lost battle against a smile I can’t fully overpower. “Don’t act like this is some defining moment in my journey, Sigrid.”
“I would never dream of it.” She slips the spoon into her mouth, then pulls it out with a clean pop. I wedge the pillow harder on my lap and try not to watch her lick ice cream lingering at the corner of her mouth. “I’m just saying…maybe, maybe our friendship isn’t the only thing that’s gone from pretend to real in such a short span.” She leans in and steals a spoonful of my rocky road, smiling wide. “Maybe reforming your ways is turning out to be not so pretend, too.”
“Even if it was, I couldn’t reform too much, not when I have your image to keep roughening up.” I lean in to steal a scoop of her strawberry ice cream, but when I stick my spoon into her container, Ziggy uses it to tug me toward her, sending me right into her space.
Our mouths are a breath away. Ziggy tips her head and smiles. “How magnanimous of you, friend.”
I pull out my spoon and sit back, scowling. For someone so sweet, she’s a damn good flirt when she wants to be. “Speaking of being friends, when’s your next game?”
Ziggy’s eyes widen. “My what?”
“Your next game,” I repeat slowly.
“Oh. Uh.” She tugs on her ear and clears her throat. “Why?”
“Because I’d like to see you play.”
Ziggy bites her lip and ducks her head. I watch her cheeks turn as pink as the ice cream she’s eating. “You want to see me play?”
“I just said that, didn’t I?”
“Well, okay.” She shrugs. “So, uh…there’s my Angel City game. This Sunday is away, but next Sunday is at home. You could come to that.”
“Perfect.” I set the lid back on my ice cream and shove aside the pretzels. Leaning back, I clench my jaw and draw up my knees. The sharp, nagging pains have started in my stomach again. I really do need to get myself seen. I’m an expert avoider, but even this is too much for me to ignore anymore.
I catch Ziggy frowning at me. “Something wrong?” she asks.
“Just need to lie down so I can bask in my brilliance.”
She snorts. “What brilliance is this?”
“How many image-rehabilitating brownie points I’ll get for showing my face at a women’s soccer game.”
Ziggy picks up a couch pillow and smacks me in the face with it. “You’re a jerk. Women’s soccer deserves more coverage, and I really cannot stand that you are one hundred percent correct. You’ll be seen as some benevolent deity blessing us with your presence, rather than someone lucky enough to have front-row seats when we kick Chicago’s butt.”
I tug the pillow away, combing back my hair, which got fuzzy from being walloped. “Who says I’m getting myself front-row seats?”
Settling back into her corner of the couch, Ziggy rolls her eyes. “Please, Sebastian. I’ve known you for a week, and I already know exactly where you’ll be sitting at that game—front and center, for everyone to see.”
17
ZIGGY
Playlist: “Gold,” Sister Sparrow
“Doorstep delivery.” I set Sebastian’s car in park right in front of my apartment building and kill the engine.
Turning toward him, where he sits, clutching my party clothes in his arms, I hold his eyes. “Thanks for tonight.”
He huffs an empty laugh and glances out the window. “Don’t thank me for that. It was rocky at best.”
“It wasn’t. I know…things got complicated for you at the after-party, and I’m sorry. But the roller race was fun. I had a good time. I think maybe even you did, too.”
Sebastian shrugs. “You are pretty fun to watch roller-skating. You go as slow skating as when you drive.”
