Page 90 of Practice Makes Perfect
“That’s… nice,” I manage.
Maine bursts out laughing so hard that a couple of the guys look our way, and even Coach sends a confused glare down the bench. “Oh man, look at your face!”
“Fuck off,” I mutter, which only makes him laugh harder.
“What’s the deal with you two, anyway? I’ve never seen you this twisted up about anyone.” His eyes narrow. “Wait, are you actually into her? Like, for real?”
For a moment, I consider brushing him off with a joke, but I’m too exhausted to keep pretending. And maybe talking it out with someone less invested than Mike might help. In one quick, quiet rush, I explain our arrangement—teaching Em about sex so she can get comfortable before she starts dating again.
As the words leave my mouth, they sound absurd, like I’m describing the plot of a bad movie rather than my life. Hearing it laid out bare makes me realize how ridiculous the whole setup was from the start. The mental gymnastics I did to convince myself this was just a casual arrangement… it’s laughable.
Maine’s expression shifts from amused to incredulous. “So you’re not dating, but you’re hooking up with her to teach her about sex?”
“Keep it down, asshole,” I hiss, glancing around to make sure Coach isn’t listening. “That was the agreement.”
“The agreement,” Maine repeats, deadpan. “Right. And how’s that working out for you, Professor Garcia?”
I grimace. “It’s… complicated.”
“It’s really not,” Maine says, taking another swig of water. “Your face lit up like a Christmas tree when you spotted her in the stands. You’ve been smiling at her all game. Your ‘student’ shows up to watch you play, and suddenly you’re skating like someone slipped PEDs in your water bottle.”
“She was at the last game too,” I mutter, which is possibly the worst defense I could have offered.
“Yeah, and you went super-saiyan in that one too,” Maine says. “Look, I don’t care what label you put on it, but don’t bullshit yourself.”
I stare out at the ice, watching our teammates battling along the boards. Maine’s right, and we both know it. But hearing him lay it out so plainly makes the knot in my chest tighten. I’ve had the same thoughts circling in my head for weeks, but having someone else voice them makes them impossible to ignore.
“Look, man,” Maine says, his voice softening slightly, “we’ve been friends since freshman year, and I’ve seen you with more women than I can count. Not once—not a single fucking time—have I seen you look at someone the way you look at her.”
I scrub a hand over my face. “I know. And it scares the shit out of me.”
“Why?” Maine looks confused. “Most people would consider that a good thing.”
“Because,” I start, then pause, trying to find the right words to convey the mess that is my head. “It complicates everything.I’ve got the team, scouts watching, my mom’s relentless NHL push, school… I don’t have room for all this… emotional shit.”
“Emotional shit,” Maine repeats with a smirk. “Very mature.”
“Fuck off.”
“Nah, I think I’ll stay right here and keep picking at this because it’s fucking hilarious watching you squirm.” He leans back slightly. “You’ve had plenty of time for casual hookups over the years. So I don’t think the issue is time or complications. I think you’re scared.”
“Of what?”
“Of how much you actually like her.” He shrugs. “Just a theory.”
“I don’t know,” I admit.
“Better figure it out,” he says. “Because she’s gonna be at the party, and you look like a guy about to have a heart attack.”
Shit.
Maine is right.
Whatever this is between us, it’s already way past the boundaries we set. And tonight, one way or another, things have to change, because I can’t keep pretending this is just some casual arrangement anymore. The truth is, I’m falling for Em, and I have no idea what the hell I’m going to do about it.
And that feels all the more scary than the eyes of scouts on me.
twenty-three
