Page 22 of My Last Dance

I didn’t even have to search for the culprits—they were laughing at me.

“Sorry!” a boy around my age sporting a mullet and a hockey windbreaker called out. I think his name was Kappy, or something like that—I only knew because Hans, the rink manager, was always yelling at him.

My face immediately flamed.

He held a fist to his mouth to cover his laughing. The other two boys beside him didn’t do a thing to cover their own laughter.Ugh.While the three of them were cute, they were total jerks. They had absolutely no social or emotional awareness for others around them, and they were constantly being obnoxious in the lobby and weightroom.

“Hans banned suey from the lobby, or did you forget?” I snapped. Picking up the soccer ball, I hurled it as hard as I could at his face. Only problem, throwing that hard tweaked my shoulders a little, making me release a strangled noise.

His friends immediately busted up laughing even harder.

“Assholes,” I grunted, feeling my face burn with embarrassment.

The boy called Kappy raked a hand through his mullet, making it stick up at odd angles. He blew out a breath. “I said I was sorry.”

I held my hurt shoulder and glared at him. “If you were sorry, then why were you laughing?”

His cheeks pinked up a little.

“Oh my God, Kappy was silenced!” his friend with a buzzcut yelled out.

“Never thought I’d see the day,” the other kid with curly brown hair said with a chuckle.

Rolling my eyes, I went back to my stretches, ignoring the way I could practically feel Kappy’s dark eyes lingering on me.

_________

At the end of the very long day of off-ice, then practice, then ballet, I gingerly made my way out to the lobby on sore legs. Walking up to the windows, it was clear Gwen’s car wasn’t there. Since my parents’ work required them to stay in New York City, Gwen was my “handler”, aka glorified babysitter, here in Michigan. Inwardly fuming, I pulled out my flip phone to text her to hurry her ass up. I needed to soak my muscles in a warm bath, like, yesterday.

“Hey.”

My neck snapped to the side to seehim.

Hunched over a textbook on the rubber-covered metal picnic table, he pulled off his hood and raked a hand through his messy hair. “Iamsorry I hit you earlier. I didn’t mean to.”

Steeling my spine, I turned toward him. “And?”

He set his pencil down and held his hands between his knees. “And I’m sorry we laughed about it.” His cheeks heated up again. Secretly, I found it endearing that this super outgoing boy had a little shyness inside of him. “Colt and JP, my friends, they’re gonnaapologize to you, too.”

“It’s fine, they don’t need to.” My eyes dropped to the table. “Can I sit?”

He looked taken aback, like he was shocked that I asked, and he didn’t know how to answer.

Rolling my eyes, I plopped down in front of him. “Relax, it’s not a big deal. I’m not, like, hitting on you. My legs just hurt.”

He continued staring at me, gulping like a fish out of water.

I gestured to his math textbook. “Why are you still here?” Most of the rink had cleared out by now. Only old-timers were out on the ice for beer league.

He jerked a thumb to the concession stand where Teresa, the pretty dark-haired woman who ran the concession stand and rink restaurant, was wiping down the counters. “My mom’s closing up.”

My mouth gaped open. “Teresa’s yourmom?”I met her a couple months ago. After seeing me fighting tears while massaging my sore legs in the lobby, she handed me a bag of ice from the concession stand. She was the only person in the rink who asked me if I was okay that day. I had no clue she had a son, let alonethisparticular son.

“Yeah.” His dark eyes held a little suspicion as they darted over my face. “You’re not mad at me anymore?”

“Why do you care?”

“Not sure.” He shrugged. “I just do.”

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