Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 100612 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100612 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
“Bro, it’s gotta be wings,” Gabe says, chewing a protein bar. “Nothing better than some spicy wings after working your ass off.”
Deshaun snorts. “Nah. Wings are messy as hell.”
Marcus turns to look at him, surprised. “You don’t like wings?”
I tune them out; their banter is just…noise. I rub a hand over my jaw, exhaling through my nose. My knee bounces, restless energy buzzing through me, and I clench my fists to stop it.
A sigh leaves my throat before I can help it, and Gabe leans forward to prod me. “You good, dude?”
I school my expression before he can dig any deeper. “Yeah.”
“Doesn’t sound like it,” Marcus says, glancing over at me. “You’ve been weird since practice. And why didn’t you say hi to Harper like I told you to? You were straight-up cold to her when we were at the lockers afterward. Macy says she’s totally into you!”
Was I being weird? This is news to me—but no surprise.
I feel like I’m being weird.
Deshaun makes a noise of agreement with a protein bar in his mouth, gnawing around its wrapper. “Bruh, you’re quiet as hell. That’s not like you.”
I roll my shoulders. “Just tired.”
It’s a weak excuse, but no one pushes.
I stare out the window some more, watching the blur of landscaping streak past. Marcus is right. I was being a dick…My fingers twitch with the urge to reach for my phone, to text Harper, to just say something.
But what the hell am I supposed to say?
Hey, sorry for acting like you were invisible?
Hey—I didn’t mean to make you feel like shit?
I wasn’t purposely being avoidant but now I can’t stop thinking about it?
I drag a hand down my face, frustrated with myself.
Harper has all the evidence of my crimes. I need to keep her on my good side, or our deal might blow up in my face. She could turn me in to the principal, and I’d lose everything: my scholarship, my future…all of it. And yet I chose to ignore her. Why? No idea.
Well, that’s not totally true. It’s just that I’ve never had a girl come watch me practice before and had no idea how to react to it. Seeing her there, staring at me behind the glass, it made me feel the same type of nerves as when the college scouts used to come to my games.
Something about her eyes following me as I skated across the ice just set me on edge. Probably because she’s blackmailing me. But still…
I need to fix this. Before she calls off our bargain for good.
“Can you drive me to Harper’s house?” I blurt the question out before I can think it through. Frowning, my best friend glances over from behind the wheel.
“What for?”
I shift uncomfortably in my seat. “I feel like I need to talk to her. Clear some stuff up.”
“What stuff?” Marcus pauses. “Is something going on with you two?”
I glare out the windshield. “No. I just…You guys are right. I should have said hi to her at practice. I was being rude.” And I need her to like me so she doesn’t rat me out to the cops.
Marcus shakes his head. “You think showing up at a girl’s house unannounced is a good idea?”
He has a valid point, but I see no way around it.
“What’s the worst thing that could happen?” I waffle, unsure.
“Literally everything terrible is the worst thing that could happen. A girl’s house is like her sanctuary. You don’t just walk in there,” he counters, focused on the road ahead of him while everyone snacks on protein bars. “How will you get home if I drop you off?”
“She has a car.” I blow out a puff of air. “Okay, fine. Don’t do anything yet. I’ll text her.”
My head tilts back against the headrest and I sigh, the Jeep falling silent except for the reverberating sound of the engine, along with my buddies chomping on food, as we get farther away from the ice rink and closer to the suburbs where I live.
I watch the scenery blur by, my mind racing with things to say to Harper. Excuses for my idiotic behavior at the rink. Like the moment I first saw her, when I looked to see who was watching practice tonight—people (parents) usually come to watch—then forced my eyes past her.
The more I think about it, the more I feel like absolute shit.
I shift again, jaw tight, the image of her face stuck in my dumb brain. The way her shoulders dropped, like she’d been waiting for me to acknowledge her. Like she expected something from me.
How am I going to apologize for ignoring her like an asshole? There was literally no reason not to say hi.
Not only that, this was one of the rare nights my dad wasn’t in the stands watching practice so he could show me videos of my playing and lecture me about it later.