Page 53 of Practice Makes Perfect
My hands freeze. “Who told you that?”
Declan tries (and completely fails) to look innocent. “Lea may have mentioned something.”
I carefully focus on mixing the vegetables together, not meeting his eyes. “We kissed at O’Neil’s then ran into each other after a game. No big deal.”
“Uh-huh.” His tone is infuriating—like he’s humoring a child who insists they didn’t eat the cookies despite the crumbs all over their face.
I glance up sharply. “What?”
“Nothing,” Declan says, raising his palms. “Just… you seem to like each other.”
My knife pauses mid-chop. “Did Lea say that?”
“She didn’t have to.” Declan shrugs. “I’ve seen how you look at each other. But we’ll see how it goes.” He smirks. “It’s not like you’ve slept together or anything…”
Heat creeps up my neck. I know he means that as a joke, but the technical truth makes it worse somehow. Wehaven’tslept together, but we’ve definitely done… other things.
“Food’s almost ready,” I say, dodging the conversation entirely. “Go tell them?”
Declan looks amused but mercifully backs off. “Sure thing.”
As he disappears into the living room, I take a deep breath. The last thing I need right now is everyone getting all up in my business about Em. What we have is… complicated. And new. And private. And so fucking good it scares me a little.
I shake my head, refocusing on dinner. The chicken sizzles as I transfer it to the pan, the aroma of garlic and spices filling the kitchen. I throw the vegetables in next, giving everything a stir.
“YOU FUCKING CHEATED!” Mike’s voice cuts through the apartment like a gunshot.
I whip around to see Mike jabbing a finger at the TV screen where the Mario Kart results still display. Maine’s character sits triumphantly in first place, Mike’s Bowser in second.
“I did not,” Maine says. “You took the inside line on Rainbow Road. Rookie mistake.”
“You used a shortcut that’s not part of the official track,” Mike insists, his face flushing an alarming shade of red.
“It’s in the game,” Maine says, sounding maddeningly reasonable. “If Nintendo put it there, it’s legal, dipshit.”
“It’s bullshit,” Mike snarls, throwing the controller onto the couch with enough force that it bounces off and clatters to the floor. “You’re a cheater.”
Maine raises an eyebrow. “Dude, chill. It’s just a game.”
Wrong thing to say. I can see the exact moment Mike’s control snaps. I take a step out of the kitchen. “Hey, guys, I?—”
Mike ignores me as he barrels on. “Maybe it’sjust a gameto you, but this is all I have right now.”
Maine frowns. “What do you mean?”
Mike laughs, but it’s a hollow sound. “I sit on the bench every day watching you guys play out our senior season while my ankle is as fucked as ever.”
“I thought your rehab was going well,” Declan says quietly. “Last time we talked, you said?—”
“I tweaked the ligament lifting the other day,” Mike cuts in. “My physiotherapist says I’ve got at least a few more weeks of therapy before I can get back on the ice for even the most basic activity.” His voice cracks slightly on the last words, and he turns away, jaw clenched. “I’m back where I started.”
Maine glances at the food, then back at Mike. “Let’s forget about this and eat, yeah? Food’s getting cold.”
Mike ignores him. His eyes burn with a fever-bright intensity that makes my stomach knot. “You don’t get it. None of you do.”
“Mike—” I start.
“No,” he cuts me off. “I saw you judging me when I was working out the other day. You think I’m overdoing it.”
