Page 15

alex

As we sat at a booth in the corner of the restaurant, I felt absurd.

And not because of the shirt I was wearing, riddled with a hundred holes—truthfully, that was the best part of my outfit.

I’d wear it every single day if she asked.

The real reason I felt silly was that the moment we were in public, words seemed to evade me.

Dimitri had left this week with whatever sidepiece he had, which I only knew because he’d been bragging to Dirks about it in the locker room after our last game.

The thought of her being alone while he was off with someone else gnawed at me.

I didn’t want her to be by herself, so I canceled my plans to go home and decided to stay with her, hoping she’d come over or at least reach out.

Here we were, out of the comfort of the apartment, and I had no idea how to act.

My mind raced as she sat across from me in the booth.

Expressing what I was feeling without crossing the line seemed impossible.

Every time I looked at her, words got stuck in my throat.

I wanted to tell her I was here for her, that I would always be there for her, but it was hard to convey that without sounding like I wanted more.

Which I did, of course, but she couldn’t know.

Not now, not in this way. The private booth in the back of the small restaurant felt more like a confessional than a safe haven.

I glanced at her, searching for the right words, but the only thought in my mind was how much I wanted to protect her from the pain she was enduring.

The silence between us grew heavier with each passing second.

She seemed lost in her thoughts, and I grappled with what I could say to reassure her, to make her smile, but the words wouldn’t come.

“It smells delicious in here,” Anastasia finally said.

The restaurant was only a couple blocks from the house, and it fit no more than ten tables inside. It was packed, and every single person was staring because of the work of art I was wearing.

“It’s my favorite.”

What a dumb thing to say.

As we perused the menu, I found myself mesmerized by the way her delicate hands traced the lines of the pages. The desire to reach out and intertwine our fingers was almost overwhelming.

The waitress came by, and Anastasia went first.

“I’ll have whatever he’s having,” she replied, handing her menu off.

“Two chicken lo mein plates, please,” I responded promptly.

The waitress wrote our orders down and left. I felt stuck again, unsure of where to even begin, but then she leaned over the table.

“Everyone is staring at the shirt,” she whispered.

A smirk spread across my face as I matched her gesture and leaned in.

“It’s because it’s a work of art. Something they’ve never seen before.”

She leaned back and chuckled. “Yeah, definitely something they haven’t seen.”

The restaurant was tucked on a street that felt almost like an alleyway or passage to another street. Cars weren’t allowed to park or drive down the street, so aside from the occasional passerby at this late hour, it was pretty empty.

“Thanks for wearing it though.”

I looked down, tugging at one of the empty holes sticking out on my chest. “What? This ole thing? I’d wear it every day. An Anastasia Sokolov classic.”

Her smile fell from her face as she looked back at me. “Sokolov.”

I furrowed my brows in confusion. “Your last name?”

“Yes.” She sighed. “My maiden name is Ilyiana.”

“That’s a beautiful name,” I offered.

“It is.” She laughed. “My best friend Layla, who moved out here with me, would always laugh because her last name is Ilyian, so we always said we were like sisters separated at birth or rather by a rogue letter a .”

“Do you ever talk to her?”

“Layla?” She asked, and I nodded.

“No. Not really. She’s super busy up in LA now...”

Something told me it had more to do with her husband not allowing it.

“Isn’t your competition coming up?” I asked, remembering that she was competing in an individual skate locally. The prize wasn’t the best, but it was a way for her to get her foot into this new space.

“Yes. I’m so excited about it.” She pointed to my shirt. “I just hope my ice-skating skills surpass my sewing abilities.”

I chuckled, tugging at one of the shirt’s holes. “Trust me, this will be seen as a masterpiece sooner than you think.”

Our food arrived, and I eagerly reached for my fork, only to notice Anastasia’s sudden change in demeanor. She glanced down at her plate and then back up at me.

“Sorry, excuse me,” she uttered hastily, excusing herself and hurrying in the direction of the restroom sign.

After waiting for a few minutes, it struck me that something wasn’t right. I got up from my seat, giving the waitress a small nod.

“I’ll be right back.” I gestured toward our table, making sure she didn’t remove the food, and then walked down the small dimly lit hall where the one-stall bathroom was.

Knocking gently on the door, I called out, “Anastasia?” There was no response. Adopting what was now known as an Anastasia move, I pressed my ear against the door. Faint sniffles came from inside.

Stepping back, I confirmed there was only one restroom before knocking again, more insistently this time. “Anastasia?” As soon as my hand fell to my side, retching sounds echoed from the other side of the door.

“Are you okay?” I asked louder.

My heart rate spiked. Something was definitely wrong, and Anastasia was sick.

The toilet flushed.

“I’m going to break down this fucking door if you don’t answer me,” I declared, my tone leaving no room for argument.

With a click, the handle turned, and I burst into the restroom, scanning the scene before me. Anastasia was huddled on the public bathroom tile, trying to reach for the towels above her.

Tears streaked her face as I dropped to the floor. She shook her head. “Need paper towel. My face.” Her voice was hoarse from puking.

I grabbed a towel, wetting it slightly before sitting on my haunches to face her. “Have you been feeling sick all night?” I asked.

She was fine all day, mostly focusing on crafting the shirt that I was wearing.

“I-I think I need to go home,” she whispered.

I scanned her up and down, searching for injuries. “Are you okay?”

She shook her head. “I want to go back home,” she repeated.

I nodded, unable to formulate words. I needed to get us out of here and bring her somewhere safe and comfortable because letting her unfurl in the bathroom of a public restroom was not the place for this to happen—whatever this was.

“Okay,” I said. “Let me go get our food bagged up.”

I reached down to help her up. For a moment, we both hesitated, staring at my gesture—an outstretched arm waiting for her to take it. I desperately wanted her to take it.

I’d never felt this deeply about anyone, and aside from my teammates, I usually kept my interactions minimal. The ache in my chest was overwhelming, and the urge to protect her was intense; I just wanted to make things easier for her.

The moment her fingers touched mine, relief washed over me. I helped her up, and after she washed her hands, she walked out of the restaurant while I grabbed our food.

Once outside, I saw her with her back pressed to the restaurant door, her long blonde hair in a bun on top of her head, her lips swollen from being sick earlier.

I saw her for so much more, too. I saw her as the woman whose lip curled up as she concentrated on the shirt she worked on all afternoon.

I saw the person who stood outside my door every night, hesitating with whether or not she should come in.

For a moment, I wondered if she saw me. Did she see the man who would give her anything?

Even though the world thought we’d somehow be better as friends, I’d take her in any capacity.

“Are you feeling better?” I asked.

She nodded. “A little. The cool air is helping.” Anastasia looked down. “I’m so sorry I ruined your evening. You shouldn’t be out with me.”

My brows furrowed, and then I reached out, touching her chin and lifting it so her eyes met mine.

This was the most physical touch we’d had since we met, and for a moment, the way she gazed up at me, laden with hesitation, I thought she was going to pull away, somehow tell me everything I was feeling right now was crazy.

“You didn’t ruin anything,” I replied honestly. “I want to make sure you feel better. Let’s go back home.”

“Thank you.”

As I let go of her face, the absence of her warmth reminded me that she wasn’t mine. Not. Mine.

Walking in sync with me, she shoved her hands into her pockets and stared straight ahead. “Tell me, what did you used to do before you met your very best friend?” Her tone was light as if she was joking, but nothing was funny about her statement.

I stopped on the sidewalk, and when she noticed I was no longer beside her, she turned to face me.

“What’s wrong?” She glanced around us and down at the cement before looking back up at me.

“I know you’re joking, but you really are my best friend,” I confessed, closing the distance between us.

“I never knew what having a friend was like until I met you. I’ve only ever had teammates, not someone who really understood me in the way you do.

No one ever asked about my family or cared enough to bring me food.

I wouldn’t know what to do without you.” The last sentence came out quieter than I intended.

I didn’t know what was wrong with me. I was always so sure and confident.

I spent my entire life with my family yelling at me, telling me I was never good enough to be the best. So I made sure to do the very opposite of what they taught me.

I was overly confident, especially around women.

I never had an issue getting anyone into bed—usually I had a few willing participants.

Granted, everything I was saying was the truth, too.

I didn’t know how to navigate friendships, but this felt so much more.

It felt like my entire heart was beating outside of my chest. If this was what friendships felt like, then I wanted to have a thousand, but only if I could have them with Anastasia.

As I waited for her response, lost in my thoughts, I noticed her fidgeting, anxious to see what I’d say or do next. “I used to go out a lot with Dirks.” I finally admitted. Her eyebrows knitted together in confusion. “You asked me what I did before you came over.”

“Ah,” she responded, and we fell into a comfortable walk back to the apartment again. “Why haven’t you?”

Shit. Wasn’t that a complex and layered question that I didn’t even have the answers to. “I’ve found other interests.”

“Like hanging out with me and being forced to watch rom-coms?”

I smiled and huffed out a breath. “Exactly like that.”

“Weird.” She chuckled, and I wanted to tell her more, but we turned and were in front of our apartment.

“Ready to go in?” she asked. “I think I’m feeling a bit better, so maybe if it’s okay with you, I can bring my food to my apartment.”

I reached for the door in front of her to prevent her from typing in the code on the pad. “I thought you were going to come up with me?”

Her bright blue eyes, only illuminated by the street lights below us, stared right at me. “I-uh-if that’s okay with you?” She laughed. “I don’t want to stop you from going out and picking up girls.”

I looked down at the ground, punched in the code before pushing the door open. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”