Page 172 of The Fake Date Agreement

I grin at him. “If you like her, then better you tell him than have him catch you checking her out and think you just want to sleep with her. Right?”

He straightens. “See you at practice tomorrow. Don’t?—”

I mime zipping my mouth shut.

“I listen,” I tell him before he can leave.

“What?”

“Women want a lot of things… gifts, compliments, attention, and more. If you show them you know how to listen, the other stuff matters less.”

“That won’t be enough.” His smile is sad. “I know almost everything about her, but none of that matters. She thinks Coach Conner is the only guy who can make her happy. See you around, Casanova.”

“Jay,” I call after him.

He twists to face me, eyes raised.

“Casanova was never really me. I prefer Jay.”

He nods once. “See you around, Jay.”

That’s the thing with teammates who are like family. They don’t need much of an explanation or any if you don’t want to give one. They take you as you are. It’s going to fucking hurt saying goodbye after graduation.

When he leaves, I study my cell phone as I think about time and missed opportunities.

My inheritance changed everything. It opened up much more than a window for me. It opened up the beginning of the life I always wanted.

Pity it’s going to take even more from me than that.

Chapter 40

Tobie

Late one evening,I take a gamble that Caleb will be on the ice days after he, Reid, and Javier brought movies and snacks to my room.

I make my way down the quiet hallway toward the rink.

He’s on the ice, alone, but he’s not slamming pucks into the goal like I thought he would be. He doesn’t even have his stick in his hand. It’s resting on the side of the rink near the entrance closest to me.

He’s standing in the center, staring down at the empty goal, his expression thoughtful.

Maybe now isn’t a good time.

I turn to leave.

“You chasing down your dream yet, Myers?”

I halt at his voice, my fingers inches from the door handle, and turn around to find he’s skated toward me.

“I applied for a master’s in teaching at the University of Michigan.”

I did it last night when I couldn’t sleep. Like ripping off a Band-Aid, I furiously typed out my application to the grad school of my dreams in Ann Arbor. I won’t get in, but at least when I get the rejection, I’ll know I aimed for the impossible.

He nods, then cocks his head. “Something is wrong.”

I pick my fingers nervously. “I have to talk to you about something.”

He gives me a probing look, then skates to the side and swaps them for his sneakers in record time. “Come on down.”

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