Page 93 of The Switched-Up Playbook
“We can’t–”
I know exactly what he’s going to say; I can feel my stomach sink with the obvious answer: It’ll be too complicated, too risky in our first season. And maybe Nicko just plain doesn’t want more than sex. I don’t want to think about not being able to kiss him, touch him, or just banter with him in the future, when I can do all those things right now.
Growling lowly, I bite along his jawline to his neck and throat, pressing the length of my body against him. My hands are in his hair, pushing the soft strands back.
“We can right now,” I murmur against his skin, sucking over his pulse. It hammers away under my lips, in time with my own. “And we can tomorrow. We can next week. We’re not in the NHL yet,” I remind him, my mouth trailing lower.
Nicko’s hands slide over my chest, pushing my coat away. Then he turns us around so that it’s my back against the wall.
“Fine,” he declares, a gleam of determination in his eyes. “Until the end of the season.” His words are barely above a whisper, but they feel as solid as the bricks behind me. He pushes closer until there’s nowhere left to go.
“Until the end of–” I start, but Nicko steals the words from my lips.
Nicko, February 25th
“Nate just texted; he’s on his way back to the dorms.”
Xander’s words stop me mid-bite, my mouth hanging open, half an inch away from my hotdog. With the end of the season in plain sight now, our team has taken on extra training sessions on our free Sundays, meaning I had to skip a post-workout meal if I wanted to make it to Milo’s game on time. So far, I’ve managed to keep my word and visit every single one that didn’t clash with my own schedule. Even if it meant that I had to take Xander along in order to spend some time with him as well.
After our firstdate, we’ve been on another. And another. And maybe we casually hung out a few times in between.
I’m not sure what exactly is going on between us right now, only that there is an expiration date loomingover our heads. We’ll both graduate this summer, either parting ways or becoming teammates. Whatever the Rebels decide to do with me, I can’t see howthiswould work out. I’m still stressed out of my mind whenever we’re in public together.
“I thought he was staying at some girl’s place tonight.” My voice comes out scratchy and almost inaudible, which causes Xander to snort.
“Told you you’d lose your voice from screaming,” he lectures, and I shrug. I can’t keep quietly seated when there’s action on the ice. Doesn’t matter if it’s a Stanley Cup final or a regular middle school game.
“Didn’t you mean toshut me upanyways?”
“True, but now that Nate’s going to be around, I’ll have to think of a PG way to do so.”
I scrunch up my nose at the prospect of my brother walking in on Xander and me. It’s embarrassing enough that he already caught on to us over Christmas. I definitely won’t be staying over with my twin sleeping a few feet away and making smooching noises every five minutes.
Xander seems to share my thoughts, because he lets out a soft sigh, the air leaving his mouth in little white clouds.
“Walk a bit before we drive back?” he suggests, and I nod reluctantly. It’s hard to admit, but I’ve been looking forward to tonight.
Xander is different from what I’ve assumed based on the small glimpses he showed me on the ice and whenever he snarked at me from across my brother’s dorm room. Yes, he’s still annoying as fuck when he reprimands me for going just a bit over the speed limit or frowns at me for not unpacking my hockey gear right away.
But then there’s the way he lets himself get bossed around by a tiny Chihuahua whenever we’re visiting the dog pound to take Lila and Violet on a walk. The care with which he pets their little heads and strokes their backs. The smile that spreads on his face when one of them snuggles up to him. It’s similar to the one he wears when he masters one of his silly word puzzles or finds out a new historical fact literally no one else cares about.
Over the past few weeks, I’ve learnt that Xander holds a special interest in European history and even has a list of places he wants to see. In handwriting! We spent a whole evening looking at pictures from my last family visit to the Netherlands, Xander asking so many questions my jaw hurt from talking.
To my delight, I also discovered that pouring hot water over instant ramen really is the pinnacle of his cooking skills, since his mothers spoiled him rotten by preparing his lunch boxes until he graduated high school. It’s one of my favorite things to bring up every time he calls me a brat.
“You could come to my place.”
My stomach growls to remind me of the important tasks in life, and I finally take a huge bite of the hotdog.
“Are you serious?” Xander stares at me as if I suggested we just camp out here.
I snort, then nod, too busy chewing to give a proper answer.
“O-kay,” he frowns. “But do your roommates know?”
“Yes,” I mutter between bites, coughing when a bread crumb goes down the wrong pipe. Xander raises his hand to thump on my back, but I fend him off. “Wait, what do you mean, do theyknow?”
“Well, do they know we’re seeing each other? Do they know you’re bi? Will we have to pretend to be study buddies when we’re there? Because I’m not comfortable lying–”
