Page 14

14

Atlas

I hate hockey games. All sporting events, really, but I’ve just decided that I hate hockey most of all. The hallways are packed , and I’ve already stepped in three sticky spots even though the doors to the stadium have only been open for an hour. Annoyed, and quickly losing patience, I stop trying to weave my way through the crowd and instead start shouldering my way through. I don’t make any friends, but I am finally able to get to my seat.

Flopping down gracelessly, I accidentally bump the leg of the guy sprawled in the seat next to mine.

“Sorry,” I grunt, and move away from him.

“Atlas, right?”

I look over at him, narrowing my eyes. Dark hair and skin a shade of brown I could never in my wildest dreams hope to achieve. He’s got an open, friendly sort of face that makes me instantly wary of him. I’ve never seen or talked to this guy before in my life .

“Who’s asking?” I reply rudely, which makes him smirk at me.

“I’m Luke. Vas is a friend of mine. He mentioned you might be coming to the game.”

Clenching my fingers around the armrests in annoyance, I turn away from him and look out at the ice. I don’t like that Henri has been talking about me to his friends. I hope to hell he hasn’t told them what we’ve been doing in his fucking dorm.

The teams are skating around down below, one on each half of the ice but not mingling yet. I assume that means the game hasn’t started, so I look back at my companion and notice he’s wearing a jersey.

“Who’s number eight?”

“Max Kuemper. Current leader of the division in points, and hottest guy on the team. Also, mine, so don’t fuck around unless you want to find out,” he says, so smoothly it comes out practiced. I can’t help but laugh.

“Noted,” I reply. “What number is Henri?”

I’m sort of hoping he’s the goalie, because I can already tell they’re the easiest player to keep an eye on. I can hardly see the numbers and names from here—I have no idea how Luke manages to follow his Max Kuemper.

“Twenty-nine. He’s right there.” I follow his finger to where Henri is standing bent over and playing around with a hockey puck. It looks like he’s passing to himself, but doing it so fast I can hardly see the little rubber disc. Luke turns toward me, propping his head in his hand and grinning at me. I don’t trust that grin. That grin spells trouble. “We’ve got a little bit before the game starts.”

“I shouldn’t have come so early. ”

His lips twitch up into a smirk. “So, you and Vas, huh? Cute.”

“There is no us and we’re not cute.” I glare at him, but it doesn’t seem to have any effect other than to make him smile wider. “We have a class together.”

“Aw.”

“How firm are the seating assignments?” I ask, frowning down at the mobile ticket on my phone. “I’m going to move.”

“Sorry, you’re stuck with me for the next two hours,” Luke replies happily. “No switching seats. They are very serious about that.”

I feel like he’s fucking with me, but since this is my first game, there is no way of me knowing. Tucking my phone back into my pocket, I decide to employ my old standby: silence. I’ll just ignore Luke and hope that he finds someone else to annoy.

“Vas was pretty excited you were going to come. Texted me that I should be nice to you because you guys are good friends .” The careful emphasis he places on the word makes me clench my jaw. I’m staring so hard at the ice, my eyes ache. “I’m happy to hear he’s got such a good friend outside of hockey. Vas is just the best, isn’t he? Nice guy. Tall. And don’t even get me started on those thighs. Hockey thighs—am I right?”

“Hey,” I snap, turning toward him and already forgetting my vow of silence. “How about you keep your eyes on Max Kuemper’s thighs and off Henri’s, got it? Unless you want to—what was it?—fuck around and find out?”

“Mm,” Luke hums, looking pleased with my outburst. “Defensive, are we?”

Okay, Luke, you little shit, I see what you’re trying to do .

“Henri told you, didn’t he,” I say, not really a question, but not really a statement either.

“Not in so many words. But you just did—the way you got all puffed up just now when you thought I was hitting on him.”

“We’re not together,” I correct him firmly, trying to derail this train before it runs away. “We’re just friends. Seriously, that’s all it is. You will never see me wearing his jersey.”

I cast a disdainful look down at the number eight on Luke’s shoulder. He doesn’t seem affected by the dig, merely shrugging and looking down at the ice. I watch his eyes ping-pong around until they find Max Kuemper. Apparently happy that he’s still there, Luke looks back at me.

“Cool. Like I said, I’m glad Vas has a good friend outside of hockey. I just hope that friend knows what they’re doing, and that they don’t accidentally cause him any trouble, you know?” Luke’s voice is calm—friendly—even though the words carry just a hint of a threat. I can’t help but respect him for it.

“I’m only going to say this once, and then we aren’t going to talk about it anymore: Henri and I aren’t together. We’re friends who occasionally fool around—nothing more. I haven’t made it a secret that I don’t want to be in a relationship. He knows what this is.”

“Cool, cool,” Luke says again, tone insufferably casual.

By now the game has started, and he’s no longer looking at me. His eyes are firmly on the ice. I pay attention to the game as much as I’m able, but, quite frankly, I have no fucking idea what’s going on. I barely even manage to keep an eye out for Henri’s twenty-nine, and he’s not always on the ice either, which makes it even more difficult to keep track of him. Luckily, it seems like Henri and Max Kuemper play together usually, so I can tell when they’re on the ice by the way Luke sits up straighter in his seat.

A sharp intake of breath from my seatmate has me narrowing my eyes at the game. Everyone else is cheering, but Luke is shaking his head.

“What?”

He glances over at me, surprised, and gestures to the game. “Vas just got boarded.”

I have no idea what being boarded means, but I did see someone get hit into the wall. Apparently, that was number twenty-nine. Fucking hell this is hard to keep track of.

“Okay,” I say slowly. Again, Luke glances at me, throwing me a look that is clearly meant to imply what an idiot I am.

“Vas had surgery on his knee over the summer. A bad hit could set him back or get him benched for the season.”

“Oh.” I squirm in my seat a little bit, uncomfortable with the sudden realization that I don’t actually know Henri all that well. I’ve kept him at arm’s length with my elbows locked, unwilling to share anything personal with him and desperate to keep him far enough away that he can’t hurt me.

“Maybe you guys should chat a little bit, in between all the fucking,” Luke suggests mildly, flopping backward in his seat and slinging an arm over the back.

“You know,” I muse, “I don’t think I like you all that much.”

He laughs. I actually do like him a little bit, but over my dead body will I ever say those words out loud. I don’t even bother correcting him about the fucking thing, even though Henri and I haven’t done more than kiss, and even that has been very rare. Let him think what he wants.

We make it through the first two periods of the game without any further chitchat beyond Luke asking if I want anything from the concession stand. When second intermission rolls around, I’ve developed a slight headache from the noise and lights of the arena, and my eyes hurt from the strain of trying to watch both Henri and the puck.

“Do you come to every game?” I ask Luke, who’s got his arms raised above his head as he stretches out his back.

“Nah, I can’t make them all. I play baseball and the schedules don’t always coordinate. But I try to make as many as I can. You should come more often—it’s fun, right?”

“It’s fine,” I hedge. It’s fun, I suppose, but not fun enough for me to come back for every game. This is a lot .

“You and Vas hanging out over break?”

“Maybe.” Sighing, because I already know where he’s going with that question, I tack on, “And before you bring up how spending holidays together is something boyfriends would do, let me reiterate that Henri and I are not together. I’m not looking for a boyfriend now or ever.”

Luke snorts. “And you think I was? I didn’t go looking for a boyfriend or a relationship, but Maxy found me anyway. Might as well stop fighting it, buddy.”

“We’re just friends and that is all we’ll ever be.”

“And yet, here you are to support him at a sporting event we both know you don’t like or enjoy.”

“Didn’t anyone ever teach you it’s rude to be nosy?”

“I missed a few lessons in manners. Just like you,” Luke adds dryly. It startles a laugh out of me, and he grins. Fuck it all, I like this guy. Damn Henri for having cool friends.

I stand up as soon as the game ends, meaning to sprint out of here as fast as my legs will carry me. I feel like I need a bottle of water, a cigarette, and eight hours locked in a dark, quiet room—preferably in that order. Luke unfolds himself lazily and stretches again, smiling down at the ice with a goofy expression I hope never graces my face. He turns to me, slinging a heavy arm over my shoulders. I shrug it off, pushing him away.

“You coming down to the locker rooms?” he asks, completely unperturbed.

“No.”

“Come on. Come say hi—you’ll make Vas’ night.”

I’m all set to refuse again, but apparently Luke works some sort of spell on me because fifteen minutes later I find myself standing at the end of the hallway that leads to the team lockers, unsure how I got here. Arms crossed tight over my chest, I do my best to blend in with the wall behind me and shoot daggers at Luke with my eyes. He ignores me in favor of texting someone on his phone and whistling under his breath.