Page 6 of Devil on Skates

IRINA

THIS CAFé’S BECOME my go-to spot over the last year. It’s a place where no one expects much from me, except a casual nod to the baristas. And here, nobody’s obsessed with hockey or money talks.

“Your usual,” Marta says, sliding my latte across the counter with a smile. “Pulling an all-nighter?”

“Thanks. Physical therapy exam tomorrow,” I say, grabbing my mug.

“Good luck!”

Balancing my coffee and my bag, I head toward my favorite table, where I have enough room to spread out my notes.

But as I look up at the door, I freeze.

Xavier is standing right there and staring straight at me.

My coffee spills over the edge, burning my fingers, but I barely notice, because I’m too stunned.

His presence feels like an invasion, because he shouldn’t be here.

“Hey,” he says, walking over with a confident, casual vibe, as if showing up here is totally normal for him.

“What are you doing here?” My voice is a little too high-pitched with panic.

He gestures to the counter. “Came for coffee. I heard this place was good.”

It’s a lie, isn’t it? There are at least four better coffee shops closer to his campus than this one. Why would he be here, unless he was looking for someone?

“Right.” I shift, suddenly aware of my worn jeans and my oversized sweatshirt.

Not that it should matter how I look to him.

His eyes don’t leave mine, as if he’s searching for something I’m not giving. The silence between us feels loaded, and Marta’s watching us from behind the counter, clearly interested.

Great. Just what I need.

“I can join you,” he says, nodding at my table, “but if you’re busy and don’t want company, that’s cool.”

His casual offer actually gives me an easy out without making a scene, which isn’t what I expected from the guy I blocked.

“I have to study,” I say, clinging to the routine that brought me here. “Big exam tomorrow.”

He nods. “Okay. See you around.”

Just like that, he steps back, making space but still owning it. I watch him carefully as he orders himself some coffee, chats with Marta, and sits at the table right across from me.

I slide into my chair, pretending this is normal and ignoring him, as I pull out my textbooks. When I glance up, he catches my eye and smiles, raising his mug like a toast.

Wow. The audacity is almost impressive.

I try to focus on my notes, pointing my highlighter at a passage about muscles and rehab, but everything blurs under the weight of his stare from across the room. Is he watching me? I force myself not to check for a couple of minutes before sneaking a look.

He’s on his phone, focused on something on his screen. Since he doesn’t look up, I study him. His dark hair falls over his eyes as he leans in, and there’s a small smile on his full lips. That damn mouth that made me...

Suddenly, he looks up, catching me watching. His smile grows wider, as if he knows exactly what I’m thinking. Heat rushes to my neck and I look back down.

This is ridiculous. I can’t study with him sitting there and filling my space with his intense energy. Every time I try to focus on reading about muscles or joints, my mind circles back to the tension of a different kind, like his hands, his mouth, and the moonlight on his face that night.

It’s maddening how easily he’s messed up my carefully controlled world. One random night at a party shouldn’t send ripples like this through me. Just because it felt more real and passionate than anything I’ve ever experienced, it shouldn’t override my common sense.

Yet here I am, hyper-aware of his every move, my skin prickling as if he’s watching me, even when I see he’s not.

Or maybe... I’m the one watching him ? Maybe this buzz isn’t coming directly from his presence at all, but it’s actually my mind refusing to ignore and forget what happened between us.

Soon, I realize I’ve reread the same paragraph three times and learned nothing. The exam feels way too big to handle right now. This isn’t working.

I pack up fast, avoiding Xavier’s gaze as I grab my stuff. But when I’m on my feet, I sneak one last look at him.

He’s watching me, his expression unreadable. He doesn’t move or speak, just stares as I sling my bag over my shoulder and head for the door.

Once I’m outside, the cool air clears my head a bit. I walk fast in the direction of my house, half-expecting to hear footsteps behind me.

But as I keep glancing behind me, I don’t see anyone. Whatever game Xavier’s playing, it doesn’t include stalking me home.

The relief is mixed with something else. Disappointment, I guess, but that would be totally crazy. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.

My dad’s out when I get home, so the place is quiet. I dash to my room, drop my bag by the desk, and flop onto my bed, staring at the ceiling as if it might have the answers about why Xavier showed up where he shouldn’t have.

My phone feels heavy in my pocket, because I keep thinking about how I blocked him. After a few minutes of debating, I pull it out and open the app.

What was I thinking when I blocked him? It seems childish now. My panicked move probably just made him more curious. Maybe if I’d ignored him and his message, he wouldn’t have come after me.

I scroll to his profile, hovering over the unblock button. I tell myself it’s just strategic, and that I have no real desire to talk to him. It makes more sense to keep an eye on him than sit around wondering, and it’s safer to act like things are normal than to stir everything up.

One tap, and he’s back online. His profile loads fast, and it’s popular, active, and filled with typical college athlete stuff, like team celebrations, workouts, and social events with people hanging on his every word.

As I scroll, his life story becomes painfully obvious. He’s the star hockey player, smart student, and a social butterfly who’s good at getting attention from girls. His comment section is full of heart emojis, flirty lines, and inside jokes.

It’s exactly what I expected. He’s an arrogant hockey player used to getting what he wants. The kind of privileged athlete who sees women as trophies.

So why can’t I stop thinking about how he made me feel? How in such a short time, I felt more seen and wanted than in years? How the passion between us felt real, even though we were complete strangers?

My phone buzzes with a text. It’s from Keith.

I hope you had a great day. My study group just finished the corporate sustainability presentation. Should go over well on Wednesday.

I stare at the message. It’s so formal it might as well be from a coworker, not someone I’m supposed to be getting close to. This is what my dad wants for me—polite, boring, and safe.

I type a few responses, then delete them and settle on something bland.

Glad your presentation came together. I’ve been studying for my PT exam tomorrow.

His reply is quick.

Good luck! I’m sure you’ll do great. Maybe we can celebrate after? Early dinner?

He’s trying. I’ll give him that. There’s nothing really wrong with Keith. He’s smart, polite, and decent-looking in a typical way. He remembers my schedule and suggests appropriate dates. On paper, he’s perfect.

But typing back and hanging out with him feels like a chore, and not something I want.

Sounds great. I’ll let you know when I’m done.

Even as I send it, I know I’ll probably make an excuse tomorrow. Every chat with Keith feels like a step toward a future I never chose. Convenience shouldn’t matter more than passion or a real connection, but maybe I get to like him more as time passes and we get to know each other.

My phone buzzes again, but this time it’s not Keith. It’s a social media alert indicating that Xavier posted something new.

I shouldn’t look, because I’ve already decided he’s exactly the kind of guy I should avoid—popular, cocky, and used to getting his way. Nothing good ever comes from stalking someone like him online.

But I click anyway.

The photo loads. Xavier at the gym, shirtless and fresh from working out, with a towel around his neck and a satisfied grin on his face. The light shows off his defined shoulders and chest, and those muscles that held me against the wall that night.

The memory of his strength sends a shiver through me. My thumb hovers over the like button before my common sense kicks in.

What am I doing? Liking the thirst trap of my dad’s star player while texting the guy my dad chose for me? The amount of complication in this single move is unreal.

I close the app, shame creeping in. This has to stop.

Whatever connection I felt with Xavier was physical and temporary.

It was a moment of freedom before I had to face reality again.

It doesn’t matter how much I think about him, or that Keith never came close to making me feel alive as Xavier did that night.

What matters is the fact that I owe my dad everything, including my education, my car, and my future, and his expectations aren’t up for debate.

“Irina? You home?” My dad’s voice makes me jump.

“In my room,” I say, flipping my phone face down on the nightstand as I get up. “One sec.”

I check my face in the mirror, making sure I still look like the perfect daughter, because even a little of my makeup being smeared could trigger him, and I don’t want to listen to another tirade about how I should try harder.

He’s looking around the living room with his usual critical eye when I come out, and he pulls an envelope out of his jacket pocket. “Tickets for the next game. You’ll bring Keith.”

It’s not a question, but a command. I take it without opening, already dreading what it means.

“I’m not sure he’s interested. His dad owns a pro team, remember? College hockey might not be his—”

“It’s not about hockey,” Dad cuts me off, his jaw tight. “It’s about giving you two reasons to be together. You’re on one campus, and he’s on another. You need legit reasons to meet and spend more time together.”

The way he treats us like pieces on a chessboard makes me cringe. “But—”

“Noel said Keith speaks highly of you,” he goes on, ignoring me. “This will secure your future. Why are you fighting it?”

Maybe because I feel nothing for Keith, and because I’m sick of my life being planned by someone else. And because I can’t stop thinking about another guy’s hands and mouth.

“I’m not fighting it,” I say. “I just don’t think college hockey’s his thing.”

Dad’s face hardens. “His thing is making his dad happy. Noel wants this connection between our families as much as I do. The boy’s coming to the game.”

I should feel mad that I don’t get a say in this, but I’m just tired. This is how it always is. My dad is thinking ten steps ahead while I’m stuck on the current one.

“What about what I want?” I blurt out before I can stop myself.

He studies me, his eyes narrowed. “What you want is security. A good match with a respectable family. Opportunities most people would kill for.” His tone softens a bit.

“I’m not pushing you toward someone unworthy.

Keith is smart, polite, and from a great family.

You two could have a nice life together. ”

His reasonable tone makes it harder to argue. He’s not forcing me toward a jerk, just someone who leaves me cold. Someone safe who’ll never make me feel like Xavier did.

“Wear something nice to the game, but not flashy,” he says as if I already agreed.

Just fucking great. I’ll be watching Xavier play, which is already complicated, while sitting next to my potential boyfriend.

“I’ll invite him,” I say, aware that there’s no point in arguing.

My dad nods, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Good. Let me know when he says yes .” He checks his watch. “I should go to sleep. Early practice tomorrow.”

He places a quick kiss on my forehead, which is the closest we get to affection. As soon as he leaves, I lean against the door, letting out a slow breath.

The hockey tickets feel heavy in my hand. Xavier on the ice, in his element, while I fake interest in whatever Keith will be saying. The potential for disaster is huge.

How will I stay calm while watching Xavier, knowing what I know about his strength and focus? How will I sit with Keith, pretending I care, while my mind replays the things that it shouldn’t?

Most of all, how do I deal with this tangled web between my dad, the Costellos, and the guy who made me feel free for a little while?

I go back to my room and stare at Xavier’s gym photo on my phone.

The contrast between his crazy confidence and Keith’s shy politeness couldn’t be clearer.

One is everything I should avoid, because it’s all passion with no durability.

The other is everything I’m supposed to want, like stability, respect, and approval.

But as I close the app and pick up my PT books, I know exactly who’s on my mind. And it’s not the guy my dad picked for me.