Page 8 of Devil on Skates
My heart stutters. I duck behind a tree without thinking, watching them talk like they’ve known each other for years.
What’s going on?
I run through the possible scenarios. Is she a student-athlete? Maybe a family friend? But Coach doesn’t like to spend his precious time talking with random students. Something’s off.
They start walking as they keep talking. I do something I instantly regret: ditch my bag behind a bush and follow them.
Insane? Yeah. But curiosity has me by the throat.
They don’t go too far and take a seat at a restaurant just off campus. It’s fancy and expensive enough that not many students go there, so this isn’t the usual coach-student lunch.
I find a good hiding spot behind a wall and wait. A few minutes later, a tall, dark-haired guy joins them. He’s well-dressed, slick, and looks like he has money. He seems familiar too.
I squint, trying to place him. No luck.
The guy shakes Coach’s hand, and then he leans in and kisses my girl on the cheek. It’s polite and respectful, but I instantly hate it.
My hand moves on its own. I snap a few quick photos with my phone, hoping I can figure out who they all are and why they’re hanging out like this with my coach.
The guy sits next to my mystery girl. No touching and no couple-y vibes, but still, it’s weird.
I leave before they can spot me, my head spinning as I walk back to the campus. I should be in class and getting my life together. But instead, I rush to my dorm and open my laptop, my fingers flying over the keyboard.
Once I upload the images, I try reverse-searching their faces. After a few dead ends, I find her.
Irina Marshall. My coach’s daughter.
I rake my fingers through my hair. Fuck!
Her profile’s low-key. She has a few tagged photos, and one of her at a campus event. A few at a coffee shop with friends. A formal gala shot. All clean and classy, and not much else. She’s attending the college across town, so no wonder I haven’t seen her around here.
I dig deeper and find the guy who was at the restaurant.
Keith Costello is the son of Noel Costello, who owns the pro hockey team Stonebrook Shadows and runs Costello Investment Group. Fuck. The guy was in the sports mag photo, and that’s where I’ve seen him before.
So what does he want with Irina? Or Coach?
I keep scrolling. Keith’s socials are exactly what I expect—jets, yachts, hockey games, and luxury vacations. No sign of Irina anywhere.
If they’re together, they’re keeping it quiet. But honestly, it doesn’t look like they are.
I’m the one who made her moan yesterday, not him. So why were they at lunch? Why was Coach there?
Sure, Costello probably has a lot of influence in the hockey world that Coach could use somehow, but the whole thing seems weird. If Irina was dating Keith, then why was she alone at the party? They definitely didn’t look in love, so maybe there’s something else.
By now I’ve missed two classes, and I don’t even care.
Back on her profile, I start liking every post from the past year. All of them. One by one.
Then I hover over the message box.
This is a bad idea, but I type anyway.
Hey, stranger. Miss me yet?
I hit send, then toss my phone on the bed like it’s going to burn me.
What the fuck am I doing?
