Page 45 of Falling Like Snow

“Same, obviously,” Preeti says.

“Well, yeah, of course.” I turn back to the game, where Micah dribbles the puck, maneuvering skillfully around defenders, before he backhands it into the goal.

I cheer with the rest of the rowdy crowd, my nerves subsiding for one exciting moment. Then he makes eye contact with me from the ice, and I’m flustered all over again.

How am I supposed to spend a mysterious amount of time doing who knows what with this guy tonight?

Chapter Twelve

I wait in the lobby for almost twenty-five minutes before Micah appears from the locker-room hallway with a group of his teammates, freshly showered and wearing jeans and a Bramble Falls Hockey hoodie I now know he printed himself. He greets a dozen or so guys giving him fist bumps and slaps on the back and several girls telling him how amazing he did. Politely thanking everyone, he pushes through the crowd with his giant hockey bag.

Then he spots me leaning against the wall opposite the room, watching him soak in the attention, and his smile broadens.

“Wasn’t sure you’d stay,” he says as he makes his way over to me.

“I wasn’t either,” I confess.

Then he tells me the hockey team is going to Rohan’s house.

Which is how I end up in the goalie’s expansive finished basement, kicking three of the hockey guys’ asses at pool.

“Should have put money on these games,” I say, sinking the eight ball into its designated pocket.

Owen groans as he watches his chances at a miraculous comeback vanish.

“Who’s next? Any takers?” I call to the room full of giant boys and the friends they invited. I return the stick to its holder when no one volunteers.

“You’re ruthless,” Micah says as his redheaded friend slumps away to get a drink. “You could have at least let him get one ball in so he wasn’t as humiliated.”

“Maybe I would have if I believed he could get one ball in,” I say as Micah pushes into my personal space, flooding my senses with that sweet vanilla smell. “But he sucked, like, really bad.”

Micah laughs. “I can’t argue with that.”

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I hurry to check it.

Hanns:

I sigh and put it away. Asher never responded to my text earlier, leaving me to wonder if he’s mad at me—even if I should be the one who’s mad at him for lying. I’ve tried all night to forget about it and just have a good time, but my thoughts keep wandering back to him.

“You’ve seemed distracted all night,” Micah says. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, sorry. It’s stupid,” I say. “I just blew off Asher to be here, and I’m feeling bad about it.”

“I see…” He rocks on his heels, biting his lip. “Do you, uh, want to go over there instead?”

“What? No. Definitely not.” I assure him. “It’s fine. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be.”

He smiles. “All right. If you’re sure.”

“I am.”

Content with my answer, he takes my hand, my pulse quickening when his calloused fingers brush the soft skin of my palm before he threads them through mine. He pulls me toward the plush gray sectional, where a couple of girls and two of his teammates are watching an unfamiliar movie.

He sits, tugging me down so I’m practically in his lap before letting go of my hand. Any other girl would probably get comfortable and snuggle up to him.

But me? No. I’m not that smooth.

With my butt teetering on the edge of his thigh, my legs bent like two crazy straws, and my left arm squished between our bodies, I sit stiffly, afraid of only being more awkward if I try to find a position to relax into. Sensing my discomfort, he leans forward and tucks my left arm behind him so I’m resting against his chest.