Page 7 of Off The Ice

So, I sat there.

I thought about turning the television on, just for some noise to drown out my thoughts, but it didn’t feel like my place to doso. I wanted to find the bathroom, but I had no idea which door it was. I considered grabbing a snack, but rummaging through someone else’s fridge felt weird.

More than anything, I just wanted to go home. Back to the comfort of my routines. My space. My boyfriend.

Not whatever unfamiliar hellscape I’d landed in.

Suddenly, the idea that Dave had made some terrible mistake entered my head. I was sure that if only I went home and talked to him, we could figure it all out together. It didn’t have to be this way. We didn’t have to lose the last six years of our lives over what was surely just some silly quarter-life crisis.

I jumped to my feet, deciding that I needed to go home. What was I doing here? In some random man’s apartment? It was insane. The only reason I had agreed to it was the expected lapse of judgment that comes when your world shatters. But now that I realized it didn’thaveto shatter, I had newfound inspiration. Everything was going to be okay!

Racing to the front door, my bag on my arm, I had energy buzzing through me and a smile on my face as I manifested the reunion Dave and I were going to have in a few short moments. My hand reached to pull open the door, eagerly forming a script in my head of what I could say, when it hit me.

Literally.

“Ouch!” I groaned, rubbing my now red forehead from the door that was now partially open.

I jumped back from the impact, revealing the towering form of a man who looked equally surprised and irritated with a hint of loathing all in one go.

It was impressive, honestly, the way he could mesh so many emotions together into one scowl and furrowed glance. And if his intention was to intimidate me into submission, he fully succeeded.

I backed up, clearing the way for him to enter the apartment. I had no idea if it was even Liam, but the way the man was glowering at me gave me the impression it was better not to ask any questions.

“Um, hi.” I raised a hand awkwardly in a wave, feeling idiotic as soon as I made the gesture.

He dropped his duffel bag, flicking a switch beside the door, which illuminated the place in warm light, showing his displeasure all the more clearly. That, and his massive frame. I searched his face for any similarities to link him to Maggie but found only vague references to my friend in him.

He had tousled waves of dark brown hair, where hers was pin-straight and black. Where she was slender, he was broad and solidly built. His nose might have resembled hers slightly, long and narrow—but his eyes were what sold me. The same exact shade of sea glass green that I’d always fawned over in Maggie, framed by thick dark lashes that looked too good to be true. It really wasn’t fair that some people were gifted with traits that you would think only an artist could come up with. He and Maggie were those people, I guessed.

“I’m Cassie,” I said, now more confident that this was, in fact, Liam Brynn I was dealing with.

He looked me up and down in a way that made me feel like he was holding up a magnifying glass to me. I crossed my arms over my chest, shifting from foot to foot, waiting for his final assessment.

He frowned, and I held my breath in anticipation of his words. Usually, meeting strangers didn’t phase me, but I’d never seen someone as intimidating as the man standing before me. It felt uncomfortable to be in his line of vision, the sole focus of his scowl.

“Do you make a habit out of sitting in the dark?” he asked in a tone I couldn’t quite detect. “Or, in this case, sitting two inches in front of the door?”

“Um, no.” I let out an awkward laugh. “Not really. I just, I didn’t know where the light switch was and—”

“Why are you covered in paint?” His dark eyebrows arched as he looked down at my rainbow-splattered jeans.

“Oh, we were finger painting at work today,” I explained. “And usually I change after work, but you know, I didn’t have any clothes on me. And I couldn’t exactly go home to get any because- well, I’m sure you heard that part, but—”

“Finger painting at work?” He looked at me incredulously.

“I work in an elementary school.” I laughed at his confused expression. “You know, with kindergartners. That’s why a lot of the paint is in the shape of a handprint. They can be sort of grabby with adults. You know, they haven’t learned about boundaries and personal space and all that yet.”

He looked at the two inches between us with a pointed look, apparently trying to inform me that my boundaries were hazy as well. I took an immediate two steps back, giving him room to enter deeper into his apartment.

“Thank you for letting me stay, by the way. It really means a lot. It was a really generous offer, but—” I rambled, ready to tell him about the mix-up and how I’d actually be headed home after all, leaving this night of awkward encounters decidedly behind me.

“I didn’t,” he said, in a tone as cold as the stainless steel of the fridge he was currently scrounging through.

“I-uh,” I began, watching him take out a carton of eggs, butter, and spinach. “Sorry, what?”

“I didn’t ‘let’ you. I didn’t offer it. I had nothing to do with this.” He spoke volumes with those sea-glass eyes of his.

“Oh,” I started, trying to make sense of his words as he turned his back to me and began prepping his 10 p.m. breakfast meal. “Right, like not me specifically. I know we haven’t met or anything, so of course you didn’t letmestay. But when Maggie said you were desperate for a roommate—”

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