Page 12 of Devil on Skates
Five more minutes.
Just five, and then I’ll admit I was being stupid and go write that damn paper.
I wait for more than that. Just as I’m about to leave, I spot her down the street.
Irina.
She’s strolling toward the café, her bag over her shoulder. She’s wearing jeans and an oversized sweater.
No makeup. No sparkle. Just her.
And she still makes my heart stop.
Even from across the street, I can see she looks tired and a little tense. She checks her phone before pushing the door open.
I don’t move, just wait, adrenaline crashing over the exhaustion. I was right. She comes here often. All of this—the waiting and the risk—wasn’t for nothing.
I could go in now. She’s alone, and Keith is nowhere in sight.
It’s the perfect setup, but I pause.
What am I really trying to do? Force a conversation? Get closure? Win something?
Actually, I just want to see her. I want to know if what I felt that night was one-sided, and I want to understand why she ran away like that and why she didn’t even try to talk to me.
I’m on the move. My hand reaches for the café door before I can stop it. Everything else fades away, because all I care about is seeing her up close again.
Chapter 6
IRINA
THIS CAFÉ’S BECOMEmy go-to spot over the last year. It’s a place where no one expects much from me, except a casual nod to the baristas. And here, nobody’s obsessed with hockey or money talks.
“Your usual,” Marta says, sliding my latte across the counter with a smile. “Pulling an all-nighter?”
“Thanks. Physical therapy exam tomorrow,” I say, grabbing my mug.
“Good luck!”
Balancing my coffee and my bag, I head toward my favorite table, where I have enough room to spread out my notes.
But as I look up at the door, I freeze.
Xavier is standing right there and staring straight at me.
My coffee spills over the edge, burning my fingers, but I barely notice, because I’m too stunned.
His presence feels like an invasion, because he shouldn’t be here.
“Hey,” he says, walking over with a confident, casual vibe, as if showing up here is totally normal for him.
“What are you doing here?” My voice is a little too high-pitched with panic.
He gestures to the counter. “Came for coffee. I heard this place was good.”
It’s a lie, isn’t it? There are at least four better coffee shops closer to his campus than this one. Why would he be here, unless he was looking for someone?
“Right.” I shift, suddenly aware of my worn jeans and my oversized sweatshirt.
