Page 14 of Devil on Skates
So why can’t I stop thinking about how he made me feel? How in such a short time, I felt more seen and wanted than in years? How the passion between us felt real, even though we were complete strangers?
My phone buzzes with a text. It’s from Keith.
I hope you had a great day. My study group just finished the corporate sustainability presentation. Should go over well on Wednesday.
I stare at the message. It’s so formal it might as well be from a coworker, not someone I’m supposed to be getting close to. This is what my dad wants for me—polite, boring, and safe.
I type a few responses, then delete them and settle on something bland.
Glad your presentation came together. I’ve been studying for my PT exam tomorrow.
His reply is quick.
Good luck! I’m sure you’ll do great. Maybe we can celebrate after? Early dinner?
He’s trying. I’ll give him that. There’s nothing really wrong with Keith. He’s smart, polite, and decent-looking in a typical way. He remembers my schedule and suggests appropriate dates. On paper, he’s perfect.
But typing back and hanging out with him feels like a chore, and not something I want.
Sounds great. I’ll let you know when I’m done.
Even as I send it, I know I’ll probably make an excuse tomorrow. Every chat with Keith feels like a step toward a future I never chose. Convenience shouldn’t matter more than passion or a real connection, but maybe I get to like him more as time passes and we get to know each other.
My phone buzzes again, but this time it’s not Keith. It’s a social media alert indicating that Xavier posted something new.
I shouldn’t look, because I’ve already decided he’s exactly the kind of guy I should avoid—popular, cocky, and used to getting his way. Nothing good ever comes from stalking someone like him online.
But I click anyway.
The photo loads. Xavier at the gym, shirtless and fresh from working out, with a towel around his neck and a satisfied grin on his face. The light shows off his defined shoulders and chest, and those muscles that held me against the wall that night.
The memory of his strength sends a shiver through me. My thumb hovers over the like button before my common sense kicks in.
What am I doing? Liking the thirst trap of my dad’s star player while texting the guy my dad chose for me? The amount of complication in this single move is unreal.
I close the app, shame creeping in. This has to stop. Whatever connection I felt with Xavier was physical and temporary. It was a moment of freedom before I had to face reality again. It doesn’t matter how much I think about him, or that Keith never came close to making me feel alive as Xavier did that night.
What matters is the fact that I owe my dad everything, including my education, my car, and my future, and his expectations aren’t up for debate.
“Irina? You home?” My dad’s voice makes me jump.
“In my room,” I say, flipping my phone face down on the nightstand as I get up. “One sec.”
I check my face in the mirror, making sure I still look like the perfect daughter, because even a little of my makeup being smeared could trigger him, and I don’t want to listen to another tirade about how I should try harder.
He’s looking around the living room with his usual critical eye when I come out, and he pulls an envelope out of his jacket pocket. “Tickets for the next game. You’ll bring Keith.”
It’s not a question, but a command. I take it without opening, already dreading what it means.
“I’m not sure he’s interested. His dad owns a pro team, remember? College hockey might not be his—”
“It’s not about hockey,” Dad cuts me off, his jaw tight. “It’s about giving you two reasons to be together. You’re on one campus, and he’s on another. You need legit reasons to meet and spend more time together.”
The way he treats us like pieces on a chessboard makes me cringe. “But—”
“Noel said Keith speaks highly of you,” he goes on, ignoring me. “This will secure your future. Why are you fighting it?”
Maybe because I feel nothing for Keith, and because I’m sick of my life being planned by someone else. And because I can’t stop thinking about another guy’s hands and mouth.
