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The man standing in front of me, whom I assume is Carter Morgan III, looks like the kind of person who would rob Carter Morgan III at gunpoint.
“You want some soup or something? No offense, but you look like a corpse.” “Full offense, but you look like someone who deals weed to middle schoolers.”
No offense to hockey or anything, but my interest in the sport starts and ends with you.”
“I don’t know, I just…he felt right, is all.” I blush as I say this, the tips of my ears burning. There’s no better way to explain it, though. Carter was inevitable.
He holds a hand in front of himself and starts ticking off a list on his fingers. “He asked you out to dinner and made sure to use the word date so that you would know it was meant to be different than usual. He dressed nicely. He made a reservation. And, last but not least, he looked like you punched him just now when you said he’s just my roommate. You are on a fucking date.”
“We can do this again, sometime, right?” Unconsciously, my hand tightens on Carter’s and he glances over at me. “Go…out, I mean. On a date. And hold hands.” He looks like he wants to smile so bad. “Yeah. I’d be bummed if we didn’t.” “I do not want you to be bummed,” I joke, trying to tease the smile out for real.
“Do I need to ravish you to distract you?” I open my mouth to answer but he swipes his thumb across the line of my jaw and I forget how to form coherent sentences.
I like nobody as much as I like Zeke. It’s a little frightening, this depth of emotion. I am very, very conscious of the fragility of our relationship—born from proximity and barely a handful of months old. There are a lot of things I could survive losing, but Zeke Cassidy isn’t one of them.
“Zeke Cassidy, you are a terrible fucking liar,” I tell him, and then soften the words by kissing the corner of his mouth. “You have to tell me if you don’t like what I’m doing. I’m a big boy—my masculinity will not be offended.”
“He said that you’ve spent much of your time here miserable. That the only thing that makes you happy is being on the ice.” “And Zeke,” Carter says quietly. “Yes,” she smiles at me, “and Zeke.”
“Yes,” I say seriously, and run my hand down to his abdomen, “I wish there was a way I could help you with this particular conundrum.” The words are barely out of my mouth before he’s on top of me, mouth against mine as he catches my laugh with his teeth and kisses it away.
There is a very short list of Carter smiles, and this one is my favorite. This one is private, only for us; soft and cozy like sleep-warmed bedsheets and early morning light through the window.
As we go through the motions of cleaning up and getting ready for bed, I have a sudden clarity of how my future will look. I’ll finish school while Carter makes a name for himself on the ice. I’ll graduate and find a job nearest wherever Carter is playing. I’ll ask him to marry me one day, to save him the anxiety of doing it himself.
