Page 18 of Devil on Skates
The way she looked at me during the game tells me this isn’t just a fling. It’s something real.
Tonight was just the first move in a game way bigger than hockey. And like with every game I’ve ever played, I’m here to win.
Chapter 8
IRINA
“TONIGHT WAS AMAZING,” Keith says, swirling his cappuccino. “I’m seriously impressed.”
The café we’re at is a fancy place near Keith’s campus where students usually don’t go because everything’s ridiculously expensive. It’s exactly the type of place he loves because it’s super elegant and full of people who look like they stepped out of a finance magazine.
“Yeah, it was,” I say, trying to sound sincere, even though I’m wiped out.
The hockey game made me more tired than I expected, and it’s not from the game itself, but from watching Xavier out there while sitting next to Keith. It’s this weird mental tug-of-war I’m still trying to figure out.
I take a sip of my tea and try to collect my thoughts. Keith is objectively pretty good-looking, with nice features, an expensive haircut, and that polished vibe that screams money and privilege. He dresses in casual luxury that somehow never wrinkles, and he’s well-spoken. And honestly, by most standards, I should be thrilled that he’s paying attention to me.
But sitting here with him feels like I’m stuck in a never-ending job interview.
“That captain... Gallagher, right? He’s pretty impressive,” Keith says, and my chest constricts. “He’s got real pro potential if he keeps at it. The kind of guy you flip at the deadline for a very decent return.”
Hearing Xavier talked about like some business asset is jarring. The fierce guy who pinned me against a wall is now just some player being evaluated for his market value.
“He’s talented,” I say coolly, keeping my face neutral, even though the memories of Xavier’s celebrations that seemed dedicated to me are rushing back. “My dad thinks he’s got a lot of potential too.”
“But those celebrations were a bit... theatrical.” Keith’s jaw tightens as he speaks, his tone just a shade cooler than before. “I guess professionalism comes with age.”
I bite my tongue, because Keith has no clue what’s really behind Xavier’s style. “Some players just express themselves more, or maybe his girlfriend was in the stands.”
His gaze lingers on me, and then he gives me a small nod. “True. My dad always says personality is just as important as skill for team chemistry. Too many lone wolves can mess things up.”
We switch to safer topics, like his studies and some charity event his family’s sponsoring. I chime in enough to seem interested, but my mind keeps drifting back to the rink, Xavier’s intense focus, and those charged moments.
“Everything okay?” Keith asks, catching on better than I expected.
“Just tired,” I say, because it’s an easy excuse. “Exams have been brutal.”
He bobs his head like he gets it. “What made you choose physical therapy? Seems like an unusual pick, considering how smart you are.”
It’s not a rude question exactly, but there’s an underlying vibe that physical therapy isn’t the “smart” or “influential” path. It’s the same vibe my dad gives off when he dismisses what I’m doing, and it makes me grit my teeth.
“I like helping people get back what they’ve lost,” I say. “There’s something powerful about helping someone recover after an injury or trauma.”
“Admirable,” Keith says, but I can tell he’s more puzzled than impressed. “With your brain, you could do something with more... influence. Healthcare admin, maybe. Hospital management.”
The idea that patient care is somehow less important than managing others fits perfectly with his whole hierarchy-obsessed worldview. As if titles and power are the only measures of success.
“I prefer working directly with patients,” I say, not wanting to get into a debate.
He gives the kind of calm and polite smile that people use when they’re sure they’re right and you’ll figure it out eventually. “Of course, but you always have options as your career grows.”
My frustration bubbles up because of the assumption that I’ll outgrow what really matters to me and move on to something “bigger.” It’s like talking to my dad all over again. My real wants get dismissed by guys trying to map out my life for me.
“More tea?” Keith asks, waving down the server before I can answer.
And right then, I realize that this is what dating him would be like. A lifetime of decisions made for me. My preferences will be noted but will always come second to what he thinks is best. It’s a relationship where I’m less of a partner and more like a project to manage.
I can’t build a life with someone who doesn’t get what really matters to me, can I?
