Page 27 of Practice Makes Perfect
Then I mentally slap myself. “Have fun,” I say.
Lea’s gaze lingers on me, clearly aware I’d been looking at Linc. “Thanks, Em.”
I give her a quick hug and, as I walk toward the exit, I resist the urge to look back at the ice. The cool air outside feels like freedom, and I take a deep breath, letting the tension drain from my shoulders. My dorm—with its gloriously mindless television and complete lack of gorgeous hockey players—is calling me.
Tonight, I’m answering that call with enthusiasm.
Just as I get outside the arena, my phone rings. I glance at the screen and groan, then answer.
“Hello, Grandma,” I say, holding the phone slightly away from my ear in anticipation of her volume.
“AMÉLIE!” she booms. “YOU WON’T BELIEVE IT! TYLER WALKED IN ON MADISON IN THE SHOWER!”
“Grandma,” I whine, “I literally paused the episode to go help Lea.”
“OH!” She still hasn’t adjusted her volume. “WELL, YOU SHOULD KNOW THAT TRISTAN?—”
“No!” I interrupt desperately. “No more spoilers! I’m begging you! And remember you don’t have to scream into the phone!”
She laughs, the sound warm and familiar. “Fine, fine. So what did Lea need help with?”
I sigh with relief at the change of topic. “I had to deliver some period supplies to Lea at the hockey game.”
She sighs nostalgically, as if menstruation is something she misses. “Did you at least get to see some handsome hockey boys while you were there?”
My stomach twists. “I was in and out.”
“Hmm.” There’s a pause, and I can practically hear her narrowing her eyes. “You sound strange.”
“Do I?”
“Yes, like you’re sad. You had the same tone a few weeks ago when you and Louis came back from your walk. What’s wrong,ma petite?”
I kick at a pebble on the sidewalk. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m just tired from work today.”
“You work too hard. College is supposed to be fun, you know. When I was your age, I was dancing on tables in Paris.”
“Is that before or after you met Grandpa?”
“During, while holding a cigaretteanda glass of wine,” she says with wicked delight. “How do you think I caught his attention?”
I laugh, picturing my proper grandmother in her youth, scandalizing the masses. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“So what are your plans for the rest of the night?”
“More TV,” I say.
She makes a disapproving noise. “You should be out. Go find some trouble.”
After she hangs up, I stand motionless on the sidewalk, replaying her words.
Go find some trouble.
I’ve been desperately searching for a nice, respectable boy—one who won’t expect me to immediately jump into bed with him, one who might be patient and understanding and take things slow. But despite Louis’ dating app screening and Lea’s valiant wingwoman efforts over the past two weeks, I’ve struck out.
Go find some trouble.
But then there’s Linc.
