TWENTY-FOUR | NATHAN
When I wokeup this morning, picking Stassie and Russ up from a cute, little coffee shop date seemed about as likely as me becoming a figure skater, yet here I am.
It takes thirty seconds for the panic to set in. The little line between her eyebrows appears, like it does every time she’s deep in thought. “I can be hard work, Nate,” she blurts out with a shaky voice. “I know you think Aaron walks all over me, but he doesn’t. Sometimes we full-on argue in the middle of the rink.”
Reaching toward her, I tuck her hair behind her ear, cupping her cheek gently. “Why are you telling me you’re hard work like I don’t already know?”
The line deepens, but a small laugh slips out. For me, Monday started great, went shitty, and now it sort of seems to be ending great. I don’t know where my offer came from; I think I’ve just reached my limit of seeing her upset.
I’m not convinced I’ll be any good, but I won’t drop her, and that’s what she needs.
“You don’t understand what you’re signing yourself up for.” She nuzzles into my hand and lets out a sigh. “What if you can’t stand me when we’re done?”
“Anastasia, me not liking you in eight weeks is not a concern you need to have. But just know, if I’m ever down a guy I’ll be expecting you to step up to play hockey. I think your hostility would be a great addition to the team.”
I manage to catch the arm that flings in my direction and give it a gentle tug until Stas is climbing over the console to straddle my lap. “When you get out of this car, we’re partners, and I’m not going to be able to touch you until January. If I’d known this morning would be the last time I could kiss you, I’d have done it better. One last kiss?”
“You can’t be serious.”
“Of course, I’m serious. If you hadn’t been drinking, I’d be asking to fuck you in the backseat. So, a kiss is mild.”
Rolling her eyes, she leans in, stopping an inch from my lips. “Your charm is endless, Hawkins.”
Sinking my hands into her hair, I kiss her with everything I’ve got. It’s a weird moment, where it feels like both the start and end of something, and when her hips roll against me, I don’t know whether to cry or rejoice.
“I’m still allowed to think about you when I jerk off, right?” I ask quickly as she moves back to climb out of the car. “Or is that against the rule?” Please don’t be against the rules.
She actually snorts. Like a little piglet. “I’m fair game if you’re fair game. You’re my go-to. Deal?”
Fuck my life.I nod, unable to speak while my brain paints a very inappropriate image.
The next eight weeks are going to be hell.
By the time I reach home, everyone already knows what is happening because Stassie has texted Sabrina. I called Faulkner from the car; he said he thinks it will work in my favor reputation-wise, and he will design me a regime to stay fit. Figure skating will help contribute to my ice time, so I think he might be pleased with my plan. Only think, not know, because then he called me the most bizarre kid he’s ever had to tolerate and told me to enjoy wearing leggings.
Brin has all the guys around the table in the den, folding pamphlets for the theater society’s rendition of Hamilton. It makes it easier to tell everyone the whole story simultaneously but makes the laughter at my expense ten times louder.
“Since you’re so good at helping other people with their stuff, take a seat.” She hands me a huge pile of papers to fold and points to the chair beside Mattie. “Can’t wait to see your ass in tights, Hawkins.”
“I’m more worried about him getting a boner,” Henry adds, concentrating on getting his pamphlet edges straight. “He’s like a horny little dog around Stassie.”
“Gee, thanks. Nah, there will be no funny business. She wants to make sure she’s not distracted. Just friends.”
The laughing starts again; I imagine there’s going to be a lot of laughing at my expense for the next two months.