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“I guess that’s our cue.” Blake bangs on the plexiglass and winks. “Later, Princess.”
“Good luck!”
As we find our seats in the stands, Maddy nudges me playfully. “So, how’s the fake relationship going, huh?”
“It’s so complicated.”
“What happens after the Gala?”
“I’m not sure. Blake hasn’t said if he wants to continue.”
We settle in our seats.
“Do you want to?”
I take my time to answer as my gaze strays to the ice and lands on Blake. He stands with a few other teammates, getting ready to do what I think is called the stop-and-start, one-on-one race. I could give a noncommittal answer, but I already know the truth.
I huff out a breath. “Yeah, Lord, help me, I think I do.”
“That’s a good thing.” Her eyes soften. “But you need to tell him that’s what you want.”
“I will. The night of the Gala.”
“Still no word from Memorial Hospital?”
“No. And won’t that make things easier once I find out?”
She rubs my arm. “Don’t fret about it. They’d be stupid not to pick you.”
“Thanks.” I appreciate her vote of confidence, but the longer I don’t hear from them, the more my concern grows. I really thought I’d receive an answer by now.
“What’s been going on between you and Ryan?”
Her face remains stoic. “Nothing. Why?”
“You’re lying. What I saw wasn’t nothing.”
“Think those big heart eyes of yours are clouding your vision.”
“I don’t know.”
“Trust me. There’s nothing. You know I don’t like him.”
I drop it since she clearly doesn’t want to talk about it. I can be a good friend and wait until she’s ready.
The announcer comes overhead and thanks everyone for attending. I tune out my internal chatter and concentrate on the tournament. The vibe is electric, a kind of anticipation you can almost get drunk on. I grip the edge of the seats as they begin the race. It’s intense, and I don’t understand everything going on, but Blake comes to the line, all concentration and silent promises of victory.
The world seems to hold its breath as the start looms, every eye fixed on the two opponents. My heart races in tandem, ready to leap out of my chest. Then, the air split with the sound of the starting signal, and they were off. Blake and his rival are a blur on the ice.
The game seems brutal. Random sirens commanded them to stop dead, regardless of speed or desperation. If they mess up their timing, they are out. Watching Blake move, react, stop, and start again is like watching some kind of primal dance. His opponent tried to keep up, but he always lagged a fraction behind, not quite matching Blake’s lightning-fast instincts.
How does he do it?
I am lost in the moment, every part of me cheering for Blake.
“I forget how fast Blake can be,” Maddy says.
“Come on. You’ve got this,” I whisper.
