Spiral (Off the Ice, #2) (29)

In the kitchen, I begin by tossing the ground beef into the pan, waiting for the sizzle before adding spices. I dice and sauté the vegetables in another pan before warming the tortillas. Cooking is my meditation—the rhythmic chopping and blend of movements always ground me.

When I was living with my parents, I’d cook every night to impress them. They were always receptive, and that’s what made me the designated cook in our off-campus house. Making food for the guys let us have a meal together, and I think it brought us even closer.

Aiden pauses his game to help assemble our plates in the kitchen. But as he offers me a drink, I decide to have my dinner elsewhere tonight. “Do you mind if I take the extras with me?”

His chews his food. “Where are you headed?”

“I have to check on something.”

Aiden chuckles as he takes his plate back into the living room. “Tell her I said hi.”

I pack the food and head straight to Weston. I don’t bother texting Sage because I know her response. Ballet emergency. But if I’m right, she’s home.

Arriving in Weston, I park in front of Sage’s apartment and notice the gate is wide open. There is no security in this place. I knock, and I’m assessing the rusty hinges of the damaged door when it’s yanked open.

Sage gasps, her tiger face mask shifting. She turns away, then back to me, then away again. “You are not supposed to see me like this.”

“Like what?”

“This!” She points to her face mask. Her hair is pulled into a bun, and she’s wearing an old oversize Sidney Crosby T-shirt and nothing else. Her toned legs are shiny like she just lathered them with lotion, and her toes are freshly painted pink with those foam separators still between them. “Maybe you can leave and come back in five minutes. That way we can both forget about this.”

“Sage, you look comfortable. Why would that bother me?”

She sighs when I don’t move, then notices the paper bag I’m holding. “Takeout?”

“Dinner,” I answer. “I’m assuming you haven’t eaten?”

“Are you forcing me to have dinner with you? You could’ve just asked, you know.”

“I would have, but you’ve been avoiding me.”

She winces, sheepishly gesturing for me to enter. With a hip slam to close the door, she secures it with four bolts and double-checks each one.

The water-stained popcorn ceiling and flaking paint on the walls catch my eye first. Then the rough gray carpet, reminiscent of the ones I’ve seen in public schools. The chipped cupboard doors in the kitchen dangle from their hinges. Though spotless, it’s completely run-down.

“It’s self-care night, and I wasn’t expecting company,” she explains hurriedly. She moves a pink basket filled with nail polish and colorful bottles to the side table, nearly knocking over the nearby clothing rack. Her laptop plays a movie at low volume on the coffee table, beside which sits a framed picture: her and, I assume, her brother, beaming at one of her ballet recitals.

There’s a mildly concerning collection of candles on one side table. Three different ones are lit, crackling softly in a mix of scents. Vanilla, lavender, and another I can’t quite pinpoint.

Sage peels off her face mask and tosses it in the basket. She gestures for me to sit on the couch, and dusts off nonexistent debris. It takes me a second to realize she’s nervous, which throws me off, because I’ve never seen her like this.

“Do you want one?” Sage pulls out a container of silicone-like patches and puts one under each of her eyes. Her hopeful expression lifts the clear eye patches that have tiny gold stars inside them.

I only give her a look but can’t help smiling.

“You’re smiling! You so do.” She uses the tweezers to remove two more. “Okay, I might freak out. Nobody has ever wanted to do this with me. I don’t have many—or any—girlfriends, and Sean is not into all this stuff, so I’m warning you.”

That sparks my curiosity. “Not even any of your ex-boyfriends?”

“The last one wouldn’t touch me with a ten-foot pole if he saw me like this.”

“Why not?”

She avoids my gaze and busies herself with putting the patches under my eyes. I can smell her vanilla-scented lotion when she’s this close. It momentarily distracts me from my lingering question.

But then she answers, “He saw me as a wind-up ballerina, ready to perform whenever he twisted the key.”

Protectiveness makes my body grow rigid.

Sage holds up a green tool. “Do you want a facial roller? It’s fun to use.”

I’m still reeling from the anecdote about her ex when I notice her excitement. It’s damn near contagious. She’s never done this with anyone before, so I give in. The cold stone feels nice against my skin when I try it, but the way she holds back a laugh tells me I must look ridiculous.

She whips out her phone and comes next to me to snap a picture. I can confirm—I look ridiculous. She laughs at me, but I don’t think I mind it.

“Are you going to tell me why you’re avoiding me?” I finally ask.

“About that.” She pauses the movie that was playing on her laptop. “I think we’re way in over our heads about this whole fake relationship.”

“You’re backing out?”