Chapter 6
Lisa
“I have thought about it,” Blake says as he returns to the living room. “What does it take for you to go on a date with me?”
He sits down, and the way he is casually handsome isn’t helping. It’s messing with my brain.
“You are my brother’s best friend,” I reply.
“You are my best friend’s sister,” Blake counters, and I laugh.
“From what I can tell, you’re a player,” I say.
“The girls I date know up front if it’s casual. Suppose that makes me a player, fine. But not when it comes to you,” Blake says, and he sounds almost offended.
“You know nothing about me,” I tell him, and he shakes his head. “What do you know then?” I challenge him, and he leans in again.
“I know you were an incredible figure skater. You owned the ice and danced on it like no one was watching. It always took you a couple of seconds to feel comfortable. When you were though, you were incredible,” Blake explains, and I can feel a lump form in my throat.
“Have you ever even seen me skate?” I ask, and the words come out softer than I mean them to.
“Many times,” Blake replies. “Besides figure skating, I know you love the color purple, your favorite animal is a bunny, and you love music.”
Blake surprises me, and I can feel a blush form on my cheeks.
“Your memory is good, but you are still my brother’s best friend,” I smile softly. I don’t even dare to think about the implications this would have for James.
“Do you want me to call him?” Blake asks.
“What? No.”
“I could ask for his blessing if you want me to.”
“I don’t want you to,” I say firmly. “Besides, I’m not going to go on a date with you.”
“Well, I’m not going to stop trying,” Blake says while he mimics my crossed arms.
“Don’t you have somewhere else to be on a Friday night? You’re one of the star players on the Grizzlies. The world is at your feet,” I mock him, and Blake smirks.
“I have nothing but time,” he says while he kicks off his shoes.
“What is wrong with you?” I laugh.
“I’m just getting comfortable,” he replies smugly.
“For what?”
“Aren’t we watching a movie?”
“I was watching a movie when someone rudely barged into the apartment,” I tell him, and Blake laughs. It’s a deep sound, and I like it.
“It’s honestly kind of hard to get that image out of my head,” Blake says, laughing.
“Stop,” I say, making him laugh harder.
“I can’t tell if my favorite part was the face paint, or wait, sorry, the face mask, or the bunny slippers,” he goes on.
“This is your way of trying to impress a girl?” I ask while I drop my hands next to my body. Blake takes another sip of his beer and nods. “It isn’t working,” I half-joke.
“What would be the best way to impress a girl in your humble opinion?” Blake asks, and I stay silent for a few seconds. I want to tell him it’s knowing the details that matter, but after remembering my favorite color is purple, I decide not to.
I shrug, pretending to think harder than I need to. “Not showing up uninvited and making fun of her slippers would be a good start.”
Blake grins. “Those slippers are unforgettable. I stand by my strategy.”
“My point exactly,” I reply, reaching for the remote, looking for the music app. “If you really wanted to impress a girl, you’d… I don’t know. You’d listen to her.”
“I listen to you,” he says immediately.
“That doesn’t count. You’re collecting trivia.”
“Purple isn’t trivia,” Blake says, softer now. “Neither is music. Neither are bunnies.”
I look at him, properly this time, and my chest does something inconvenient and annoying.
“You’re still my brother’s best friend,” I remind him again, quieter than before.
“And you’re still avoiding the question,” he replies, leaning back like he has all the patience in the world.
I sigh. “Fine. If someone wanted to impress me… they’d be honest. They wouldn’t turn everything into a joke.” I hesitate, then add, “and they wouldn’t make things complicated. They would make me feel safe.”
Blake watches me a second longer than necessary.
“I am being honest,” he says.
My fingers tighten slightly around the remote. “Any requests?” I ask while I open the app and look for my playlist.
“Play me your favorites,” Blake responds, and I can’t help myself. I put on my favorite playlists and set them to shuffle. It starts with an Ella Langley song, and I can’t help but smile. “I love her music,” Blake says, surprisingly.
“Do you really?” I ask half in shock, and he nods. Something in me tells me he is actively trying to impress me still, and a bigger part of me wants to believe it’s true.
“I’ve always wanted to see her play,” Blake goes on, and I can’t help but warm up a little.
“I have seen her a bunch of times. She is incredible. You really should see her,” I suggest, and he smiles. “What are some of your favorite artists?” I ask.
Blake thinks about it for a second and then takes a deep breath. “I really like the classics. I like Elton John, R.E.M., but also Tim McGraw,” he goes on, and I nod along.
“Not bad for an ice hockey player,” I joke.
“Not bad for a figure skater either,” Blake winks back, and I can’t help but feel slightly offended.
“What is your opinion on figure skaters?” I ask sassily.
Blake leans back against the couch like he’s considering the question seriously. I see a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. It tells me he already has an answer.
“I think,” he says slowly, “figure skaters are terrifying.”
I narrow my eyes. “Terrifying.”
“Yeah,” he nods. “Graceful, elegant, smiling like everything’s easy while doing something that would absolutely kill a normal person. It’s suspicious.”
“That’s not an insult,” I point out.
“I wasn’t insulting you.”
“You were implying we’re secretly unhinged.”
“I was implying you’re impressive,” he corrects, watching me carefully. “There’s a difference.”
I look away before he can see how much that lands.
“Well,” I say, folding my arms again even though I’m smiling, “hockey players slam into each other and call it strategy.”
“That is strategy,” Blake replies immediately. “Highly advanced strategy.”
“Sure it is.”
He nudges my foot with his sock. “You’ve been to games, right? But have you ever actually watched me play?”
“Obviously,” I say. “I’ve seen the Grizzlies,” I say, which is not the same thing.
“That doesn’t count. I mean me.”
I hesitate. “No.”
“You should come.”
“That sounds suspiciously like a date,” I say.
Blake smiles without looking away. “Maybe it is.”
“I already told you I’m not going on a date with you. Especially not a date where my brother is present.”
“Didn’t sound very convincing,” he shrugs.
I roll my eyes and reach for my drink so that I have something to do with my hands. The song shifts into the next one on my playlist, softer this time, slower. The apartment suddenly feels smaller than it did ten minutes ago.
“You don’t give up easily, do you?” I ask.
“No,” he says simply.
“Why?”
He doesn’t answer right away. There’s no joke waiting, no teasing remark waiting to deflect the moment. He looks at me like he’s deciding whether to say something he won’t be able to take back.
“Because I just remembered how much I liked you when I was younger,” he says finally.
My stomach flips in a way that feels unfair, inconvenient, and impossible to ignore.
“Blake…”
“I know you always looked at me like I was the annoying guy hanging around your brother,” he smiles a little. “Still do, apparently.”
“That’s not…” I stop myself. It is what I was thinking.
He leans forward slightly, elbows on his knees.
“I’m not trying to make things weird,” he says more gently. “I don’t want to keep pretending I don’t see you.”
The room goes quiet except for the music.
“You already make things complicated,” I mutter.
“Maybe,” he admits. “But you didn’t tell me to leave.”
I glance at the door. Then back at him.
“I could still do that.”
“You could,” he agrees.
I don’t.
Blake notices. Of course, he notices. His smile this time is smaller, softer, like he won something he wasn’t expecting to.
“So,” he says, settling back onto the couch again, “what’s next on your playlist?”
I tell him about some of my other favorite artists, like Noah Kahan. Blake listens, nods, and smiles at the right times.
“We should start a playlist together,” Blake suggests. “One where you can add song suggestions for me and I can add some for you,” he explains. The idea seems nice, and I contemplate whether I should.
“Is this an elaborate way of you asking me for my number?” I tease Blake.
“Is it working?” Blake asks in return.
“Maybe,” I respond.
“Then, yes.”
I sigh and roll my eyes as I hand my phone to Blake. He quickly types in his number and hands me both his phone and mine. I do the same before I hand his phone back to him.
He taps something on the screen, and two seconds later, my phone rings.
“What are you doing?” I chuckle.
“I just wanted to make sure you gave me a real number,” Blake winks at me. “It’s getting late, I should go, but I’ll text you later about that date of ours,” he goes on.
“I haven’t agreed to going on a date with you,” I tell Blake as I get up and follow him to the hallway.
“Yet,” he says as he puts his shoes back on. “Bye, Lisa,” he says as he opens the door.
“Goodnight, Blake,” I tell him as I watch him walk away.
I close the door behind him and lean back against it.
The apartment is quiet again, but it doesn’t feel the same as it did before he got here.
Blake is a whirlwind. Charming, persistent, impossible to ignore.
Trouble, I think, smiling despite myself.
Then I push away from the door and head to bed, knowing sleep is going to be a lost cause tonight.