Fake Skating(67)

“What’s up?” she said quietly, and somehow I just knew. It felt like she was forcing calmness in her eyes as she looked up at me like it was no big deal, but I watched her swallow, and I knew she was as freaked out as I was.

Because even though we kept getting interrupted, those seconds where our lips connected felt fucking insane.

Huge.

“I just want to make sure we’re good,” I said. “I got a little carried away with the whole… everything, and—”

“No, I got carried away too,” she said, raising a finger and mindlessly touching her bottom lip—mine—like she was thinking about the kiss. She looked distracted when she said, “We’re okay.”

Thank God,I thought. Thank God we’re okay and thank God she looks as unsettled as I feel.

“I mean, neither one of us has ever been able to turn down a dare,” she said, shrugging. “So why would a kiss dare be any exception?”

Wait.

Dani looked up at me with a smirk that made me think maybe it was just me who was freaking out. She looked… not unsettled, actually.

She looked completely settled.

“Well, I’m glad we’re on the same page,” I said, unable to look at her face without wanting to lean in and try again.

Dammit.

“Same,” she said, nodding and tucking her hair behind her ears. “We didn’t mess with the mojo and all is well.”

Apple juice and flowers.“Yeah, thanks for that.”

“We should go back inside before we freeze, don’t you think?” she said with a breezy smile. “I mean, I’m sure you would never, because you’re Minnesotan…”

“Yeah, of course, never—feels like summer to me,” I said, following as she started walking back toward the building, irrationally disappointed that she was unfazed by the kiss.

I mean, it was good. It meant things were fine with us.

But… fuck.

My hands were literally shaking and I didn’t know what to even do with that. I’d kissed a fair number of people since Dani’s and my first time in the shed, right? I knew what I was doing now and I was good at it.

So the shaking hands didn’t make a damn bit of sense.

Right? Wrong.

No. Everything was fine.

Except… wait.

Why the fuck is Benji texting you??





CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN Dani




What the hell what the hell?

I paced around my bedroom, all keyed up and unable to relax because there were multiple problems with this pretend-dating situation already.

Like the fact that we’d already kissed twice.

Both kisses fit into the scheme, because they were both for the optics of gossipy hockey people, but if I was being honest, I liked them too much.

Way way too much.

I mean, maybe it was just because I hadn’t kissed anybody in a really long time, but my brain wouldn’t stop constantly replaying the way Alec’s brown eyes got all intense just before he lowered his head and put his mouth on mine.

God.

“Kid,” I heard from the other side of the door.

I assumed he was talking to me, because of course Grandpa Mick didn’t knock like a normal person.

No, he just barked out a word and waited for doors to open.

I pulled open my door and he was standing in the hallway.

“Hey, Grandpa,” I said, dreading what was coming.

Because the idea of Grandpa Mick lecturing me for kissing Alec?

Nightmare.

“You okay?” he asked. “I heard you walking around in circles, and it’s one in the morning.”

So far, so good.

“Sorry, did I wake you up?” I looked down at his flannel Snoopy pajama pants and said, “I forgot that your room is underneath mine.”

“No, I was up reading,” he said. “I just thought maybe you were awake and might need to talk about something.”

What was he doing? Had he read more articles about how to talk to teens?

I kind of wanted to just say no, I’m goodbecause it was easy, but after what Alec had said about my grandpa, maybe I needed to give him a chance.

But in myway.

Here goes nothing….

“I need to play twenty questions with you,” I said.

He made a growling sound. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means I have a lot of random things I’d like to ask you.”

I hadn’t planned on this little game, but I did have a lot of things I wanted to ask him.

He squinted, like he was waiting for the universe to translate my words, and then he said, “Fine. Go.”

“Oh. Okay,” I said, surprised. I cleared my throat and asked, “Question one. Do you miss playing hockey?”

“Yes,” he said.

Oh-kay. So much for learning something new about my grandpa.

I tried again. “Question two. What’s your favorite memory of Grandma?”

He sighed and looked uncomfortable, which made me think he was going to walk away and quit the game. But then he said, “The way she used to sit by the penalty box during every one of my games.”

“What?” It was hard for me to even imagine her watching hockey, to be honest. She’d just always been the woman who smelled like Jergens cherry-almond lotion, owned a closet full of floral dresses, and giggled like a scandalized child every time my grandpa cursed in her presence. “She didn’t sit with everyone else?”