Page 35 of Heart Check
Dawson laughs. “Mm, yes. Many have said this about foosball, game of champions. Someone should make sure that power doesn’t fall into the wrong hands.”
I grin. I could spend all night trying to make him laugh. Everything feels fuzzy and warm, all my worries so distant. Dawson beside me, his solid, muscled chest inches away, only makes this moment even more unreal and dreamlike. Just hours ago, we were cuddling in the walk-in, and for a minute I didn’t even mind the cold.
Dawson’s not as bad as I thought.
I drain the last sip of my drink, and my head spins pleasantly. I let it drop to his shoulder. It missed his shoulder. It wants to be there tonight.
“Whoa,” Dawson murmurs.
My brain buzzes right past that, too distracted by the warm, slightly spicy, musky scent of his cologne or deodorant or aftershave or whatever. That’s the best thing I’ve ever smelled.
A low rumble of suppressed laughter vibrates through Dawson’s chest. “Thank you,” he says.
I blink. Did I say that out loud? I can’t even bring myself to be embarrassed, which must be a bad sign. How much have I had to drink? I don’t usually drink, but I’ve had… three? Four? They snuck up on me faster than I expected.
Not sure what to say, I just flash Dawson a thumbs-up.
This time he laughs out loud. “Can I see your purse, please?” Before I can even give him permission, he grabs it and extracts my keys. “I’m hanging on to these. You’re not going anywhere tonight.”
“Hey!” I lunge for my keychain, but he easily holds them above my head.
Dawson grins. “I wish I could say you’re putting up a good fight, but…”
“You’re mad with power!” I squint, trying to figure out a strategy to overcome our height difference—but then one set of keys turns into two, doubling in my vision, and yeah, maybe Dawson’s got the right idea. For once. I sigh. “Fine. Can I get a ride home with your DD then?”
He winces. “Don’t have one. I was planning on crashing here. Can you call someone? Or an Uber?”
I bite my lip. An Uber is going to be expensive. More than I should be spending right now, with money so tight. I really don’t want to tell my parents where I am, and Marissa wouldfreakif I told her I was at a hockey party, and… yep, that’s about the list.
The thought brings an unexpected tightening in my chest. It’s nice to be surrounded by so many people and so much camaraderie, but it reminds me just how short my list of trusted people is.
“Not really,” I admit.
“Oh. Okay.” His eyes search my face, and for once I’m too tipsy to worry about what might be on display there. “Well, um… would you want to stay?”
For a minute, my happy fog lifts, clearing space for all the calculations and worries that are usually churning in my mind. Am I really going to stay the night at ahockey party? Who even am I? And what if my parents find out?
But underneath all the overthinking, theyesin my chest is louder than ever. I couldn’t ignore it if I tried.
So I don’t. I don’t even have a snappy comeback. I just smile. “Staying sounds good, actually.”
13.HARPER
The buzz of the alcoholfades, but the buzz of the party doesn’t. I let myself get swept into conversations with people I’ve never spoken to before, play rounds of games I’ve never played, and forget everything that’s been stressing me out.
Maybe the hockey team has a few things figured out.
Over the next few hours, people slowly start trickling outside to head home or upstairs to crash. Sometime around one a.m., Sam loads up an Uber full of inebriated hockey players, buckling Patrick’s seat belt for him (“He celebrated making varsity a little too hard,” Dawson whispers to me), and everyone nods silently but supportively while Brady gives a speech about how this team means everything to him and maybe he should justnotgraduate so he can stay and play another year? As they pull out of the driveway, the guys in the back seat bellowing “we are the champions,” I see the depths of human suffering in Sam’s gaze.
Sabrina gets washed toward the door in a wave of other partygoers, Ryan chasing them and begging them to stay. “There’s plenty of space! Especially if you’re willing to share a bed,” he says with a wink.
Sabrina waves him off, enveloping me in a tight hug and whispering, “I’ll text you about the commission.” I’m surprised at how widely I smile back.
As long as I’m staying, might as well be useful. I start collecting bottles from the living room and head toward the kitchen when my arms are full. I nearly run into Dawson, who’s leaving it with a garbage bag in his hands.
“Let me take those,” he says, opening the bag and nodding at my haul.
I dump them in with a clatter, too surprised to see Dawson cleaning up after his teammates to say anything. But then again, why should I be shocked? When he’s not getting me to cover his shifts, he never shirks his work at the diner, is always finding spare chores to fill the downtime.
