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I might act like she doesn’t exist, but I always notice her.
For the first time, ignoring her felt wrong. It was a relief, actually, not having to pretend like I wasn’t aware we were in the same place.
Aside from my mom, I’ve never had anyone express concern about my well-being. And I can’t believe it’s Harlow Hayes, who’s looking at my bruises with a mixture of alarm and anger, like she’s contemplating taking on Northampton’s defenders herself.
Being here isn’t odd, but I feel weird that my first instinct was to come see her.
“You’re probably the last person I ever thought would be promoting drinking and driving, Hayes. If you’re in my car, I’ll be stone fucking sober.”
fuck me
Does it change any of my feelings toward her? No. And since I can tell Harlow’s wondering if it does, I reach out and grab her hand, twining our fingers together. That’s how we walk, the whole way back to my house.
“What are you doing here, Conor?” I ask softly. “I just wanted to see you.”
“Hayes?” he murmurs. “Yeah?” I whisper. “You look gorgeous. Always.”
“You’re saying you noticed me?” I tease. “That’s exactly what I’m saying. I’m so attracted to you, it’s insane.”
My attention is all on Harlow. It’s like I have a new, sixth sense that’s only attuned to her.
“I thought, I have absolutely no game when this girl is involved. Because you were standing there, just looking at me, and I couldn’t think of a single fucking thing to say. And it had nothing to do with anything except you, Harlow.”
“Do you love something more than you love hockey?” I ask. “Someone. I love you, Harlow.”
“Mess up all my plans, Harlow. Because I don’t want to be part of any plans unless they include you. I need you in my life, for anything to mean something. When I play in my first pro game, I want you to be behind the bench wearing my jersey. If you’re not, it’ll just be another hockey game.”
