Page 4 of What We Knew Then
Lane pulls away, his cheeks pink, our noses still touching.
“I shouldn’t have done that.” His eyes are dark and his brows wrinkle in the space between, almost like he’s in pain.
I’m practically panting in his arms. “I think you should’ve,” I laugh, trying to lighten his mood.
He presses another kiss to my lips, forceful and final. “I have to go.”
The words deflate me and I let my hands fall away from him, sadly landing at my sides.
I don’t say anything as he turns and leaves. Lane doesn’t look back; when I see the door open and close, I look down at the floor, trying to piece together what happened.
I’ve had a rule for as long as I can remember: never beg them to stay. It applies to friends, partners, entire friend groups, even some of the clubs I’ve been part of. And with the residual sting from Freddy, this is a rule I need to abide by now more than ever. The thought of another rejection has my mouth feeling like sandpaper—I need a glass of water.
Even so, Lane has me almost breaking my own rule.
Chapter 3
LANE
Whatthefuckwasthat? It’s like I attract things, or people, that will get me in trouble. Lee seems too good to not be trouble.
Glancing at my watch, I’m surprised we’d been together for over an hour. I'm walking down the street with my hands in my pockets, wishing I could snap my fingers and be back in my new apartment. It’s only a ten minute walk—something I know will come in handy in the future compared to the inconvenience it is now.
This is the only opportunity I have to reach the NHL. I haven’t met my coach in person yet, but he was scary as fuck on the phone, making it clear what kind of short leash I'd be on at Great Lakes U. Even though I'm from a rival school, I’ve always respected the hell out of Coach Banks and know enough to stay on his good side. He built something from nothing; there’s no way it was easy.
Then he went and picked me up when no one else wanted anything to do with me. Even giving me a scholarship to cover tuition. This shot? It's everything. It’s the only thing I've ever wanted. Plus, this is a second chance players only dream of.
Fuck.
I can’t stop thinking about the girl from the bar. Why does it feel like her lips are still on mine? I can feel the place where she playfully bit and it makes me want to run back. Still, I trek forward, leaving the bar behind.
I’m only a minute from my place when the streetlight turns green and the crosswalk flashes for me to stop. The air is thick and warm, humid from being near the lake, and envelopes me. Groups of friends walktogether, couples hold hands, and it reminds me how alone I am. There’s no one else cheering me on. No one is looking out for me. Not here.
I didn’t even get her number. Or her last name. Is it possible that I won’t see her again? The thought hits me like a check to the boards, the one you don’t see coming and feel for days later.
I’ve kissed many girls in bars but no one has left me with this feeling in my chest—tight, strained, like breathing is something I need to actively think about doing. Her body flush against mine, the smell of vanilla and peaches, still has my body thrumming.
There’s no way. This can’t be it.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I'm headed back to the bar. I don’t run, but I’m hoping she’s still there. The pull gets stronger as I get closer, until I’m almost jogging like a fucking nimrod.
I keep my eyes glued to the sidewalk as I speed walk, thinking of all the reasons I should–and shouldn’t. It’s not like dating is against the rules.
I have no idea what I'll say when I see her. If she’s even still here. Maybe she’ll tell me to get lost; that she wants nothing to do with me after leaving the way I did.
Luckily, I make quick work of the way back and throw open the door to the bar. I walk in, breathing heavier than I’d like, and search for the inky black hair in the sea of people.
Found her.
The guy from earlier is talking to Lee in the back hallway, where she and I were kissing. He’s leaning on a pool stick and from here I can see she’s not into it. A flame of anger burns in my ribs and I take a long breath, keeping it a flame and not an all-encompassing fire before I walk toward her.
When her eyes land on mine, I see her shoulders drop and almost slump away from her ears. It makes me feel fucking good that I came back. It’s almost like I'm useful. Needed.
“I really should go,” she insists, trying to get around this guy but he awkwardly steps in front of her, taking up her space.
That’s not how this is going to go.
I walk right to Mr. Can’t Take a Fucking Hint and tap him on the shoulder. He turns, his eyes widening to the size of dinner plates when he realizes it’s me.
