Page 81 of Hockey Halloween
Then Paisley nudges me. “Let’s go.”
Before I can say no, her fingers lace through mine and she’s dragging me forward. Tamara’s eyes lock onto mine, and bam. It hits me. Oh hell. She knows. I don’t know howshe knows, but she definitely knows I’ve got it bad for my best friend.
Dude. That ship has not only sailed—it’s doing laps around the Bermuda Triangle.
Tamara lifts a ringed finger and points. “You,” she says to Paisley. “Come to me.”
Paisley lets out a tiny, nervous squeak and slips away, settling into the chair across from Tamara. Tamara takes her hand, starts tracing her fingers, and I swear I feel every single touch in the depths of my soul.
Shit, what if she tells Paisley I’m in love with her?
What if it ruins everything?
We’ve worked so hard to get here, to this good, safe, post-high school zone where everything is fine.
But is it fine, Gunther?
Paisley turns. Her teeth graze her bottom lip. Her eyes flick to me…then glide right past me.
To Jaxon.
Okay, this is good. Totally fine.
She clearly told the fortune teller she’s into Jaxon. Probably asked all about their future—matching tattoos, white picket fence, baby hockey players. And judging by the way she’s grinning, she likeswhat she’s hearing.
Awesome.
But like I said, this is good, totally fine, because Tamara isn’t outing me, so our friendship is still intact… but the idea of her with Jaxon—one of my friends—makes me want to punch a wall.
Goddammit.
“Hey,” Melanie says, suddenly beside me.
I glance over and nearly flinch. Great.The last person I need sniffing around my emotional wreckage is the therapist in the group.
“Hey,” I say, slapping on the fakest smile I can muster. “Everyone seems to love the fortune teller.”
“Are you going next?” she asks, eyes gleaming.
I back up half a step. “I’m good. I prefer my future to be… unknown.”
“Oh yeah? You like surprises?”
“I guess,” I say, but her smirk makes my stomach twist. Like she knows something I don’t.
“That’s good,” she replies.
“Why is that good?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.
But before she can answer, Paisley swoops in and grabs my arm. “Can I talk to you?”
I nod, dazed, and as she pulls me away, I catch a quick, pointed look between her and Melanie.Okay. What the actual hell is going on here?
Paisley’s eyes shimmer like she can’t contain herself. She tugs me down the hall, into the bathroom, and shuts the door with a softclickthat rattles my insides.
“What’s going on?” I ask, my nerves lighting up like the ghoulish skeleton on Gina’s lawn.
She’s fidgety, jittery. Her energy zips through the small room, and I shift on my feet while setting what’s left of my beer on the counter. Then she snatches the glass and takes a big swig like she needs liquid courage for what she’s about to say next.
