“It’s okay.” I give him a forced smile because it’s not. Not really. Chase’s words were supposed to be a joke, but they don’t feel like it. Not after what Jenni said last night.
Chris tilts his head, studying me. “Didn’t think you were coming today.”
“Neither did I.” I force a shrug. “The library was packed. Needed somewhere quiet to think.”
He studies me for a moment, his expression thoughtful. “Everything okay?”
No, everything is not okay. I'm drowning in an internship I hate, barely keeping up with my classes, and I’m feeling increasingly awkward around my boyfriend after showing up at his place drunk last night. I can barely look him in the eye, and now I’m here, sitting in a cold rink watching another guy playhockey instead of facing my problems. Worst of all, I'm not being honest with anyone—not Zach, not Chris, not even myself.
“Just tired,” I say instead.
Chris doesn't look convinced, but he doesn't push. “Want to talk about it?”
I shake my head. “Not really. I'd rather watch you practice that new move. The spin thing.”
He brightens at that. “You noticed? I've been working on it all week.”
“It's impressive,” I say honestly.
“Not as impressive as Chase makes it look,” he says with a hint of jealousy behind it.
“Different styles,” I counter. “His is all flash and speed. Yours is more… controlled. Deliberate.”
Chris’s mouth twitches, fighting a grin. “Most people don’t notice the difference.”
“I’ve been watching a lot of hockey lately,” I say, smiling faintly, annoyed that I ever thought watching that, and being here would solve my problems.
He holds my gaze, and the weight of it lingers a beat too long. Long enough that I have to look down, and fuss with the hem of my sleeve.
Jenni’s words play on my mind.
“Can we talk?” I ask, my heart nearly thumping out of my chest because I know what I have to do.
“Sure. Let me grab my water, then I’ll join you.”
“Great,” I manage, my voice shaky.
I watch as he skates to the bench, removes his helmet, and takes a long drink of water. My phone buzzes in my pocket—probably Zach again, or my father, or Jenni asking what my plans are after Zach’s game on Saturday. I ignore it, as I've been doing too often lately.
Chris returns, settling onto the seat beside me, leaving a careful distance between us. The silence stretches for a moment, broken only by the rink's cooling system.
“So,” he says, his expression open and concerned, “what's up?”
I take a deep breath, deciding to be direct. “I was out with Jenni last night.”
“Yeah, she mentioned you two were going for drinks. Sorry I couldn't make it. Coach added an extra practice.”
“It's fine. Actually, it gave us a chance to talk,” I say, then add softly. “About you.”
Chris's brow furrows. “About me?”
“She, um…” I pause, searching for the right words. “She implied you might have feelings for me.”
Chris goes very still, his eyes fixed on the water bottle in his hands. For a long moment, he doesn't speak, and I begin to worry I've completely misread the situation, that I've just made a huge fool of myself.
“Chris?”
He looks up, a rueful smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Jenni talks too much.”