Chapter Thirteen Rhys #2
“Okay,” Sadie nods, while her friend jumps up and down in place, using Freddy’s arm as a stabilizer and shouting a chorus of yays.
Freddy easily joins in too, a glint of mischief in his squinted eyes that I’m sure is now permanently stuck there.
We leave quickly, piling into Freddy’s ancient SUV that shouldn’t be road-legal.
It takes a few minutes to maneuver out of the piled-up street parking, which Freddy does one-handed while opening his phone and tossing it to Ro, who has to lean on the console to use it while it stays connected to the cord hooking it to the outdated system.
“I don’t have connection, but there’s lots in my downloads. Play whatever, princess.” He smirks, winking over his shoulder at the already-flushed girl. I elbow him hard in the side, but he only smiles wider. “Just make it good.”
Ro purses her lips and looks quickly at Sadie, who sighs deeply, like a parent—but it’s more out of amusement than annoyance—and leans forward to set her chin on Ro’s shoulder.
Both girls smile brighter as Ro clicks on something and sets the phone back on the console.
“Oh, hell yeah,” Freddy shouts as the song starts, cranking the volume to an absurd level and rolling down all four windows so the heated summer-night air breezes through.
They all sing at the top of their lungs to the blaring Taylor Swift song, so loud I can’t really make out their voices in the mixed chorus.
My eyes flicker between both the rearview and side mirrors, where I can just see Sadie, dancing side to side, hands in the air, ponytail wild behind her, eyes closed.
Her eyes open and her body stretches across the backseat as she and Ro hold hands and yell the chorus into each other’s faces, giggling.
As many times as I’ve seen her, Sadie’s only really smiled at me twice.
But this smile—this is different. It’s so big, her pillowy, faded-red lips stretching, the apples of her sharp cheeks softening and creasing the collection of freckles beneath her eyes that I’m just as desperate to touch as I am to get close enough to count them.
Too distracted by the indecent path of my thoughts, my entire body jolts as Sadie suddenly grabs ahold of my shoulders, leaning into the front seat as far as her seatbelt will let her. Her hands settle and squeeze, and it’s embarrassing how difficult it becomes to hold back a moan.
Her lips are nearly at my ear as she shouts over the music, “Why aren’t you singing?”
Sadie is infectious, so much so that a smile to match hers dances quickly across my face.
“I don’t know the song.”
“You don’t know ‘Getaway Car’?” Ro joins in, smooshing in next to Sadie. It presses Sadie’s cheek to mine for a second, the corner of her lips hitting my skin like a goddamn fire poker.
Freddy graciously turns the volume down. “He’s not really a Taylor Swift guy; unless they’re playing it in the arena, I doubt he knows it. And even then”—he shakes his head—“Rhys is too focused to hear anything besides ‘Get. Puck. In. Net.’?”
Sadie rolls her eyes at the robotic impression, sharing a look with me like she understands how deep that implication goes for us.
If you play it, I’ll listen.
She gestures toward him with her chin. “And you’re not focused?”
“I’m a good multitasker,” he says. In usual Freddy fashion, it’s embedded with a perverse double meaning, making Sadie and me groan while still-drunk Ro laughs again.
I grab the dial and turn the music back up to save us all from Matt Fredderic’s relentlessness, letting the music blare as we cross South College and head to the edge of campus.
“We’re in Millay,” Sadie offers before either of us can ask, pointing to the redbrick buildings facing each other at an angle, the fountain and benches between them barely lit by the orange sidewalk lights, disrupted only by the blaring neon-blue of an emergency box.
Freddy pulls right up to the curb, and I nearly spring from the car, terrified that if I don’t try something now, Sadie’s going to slip through my fingers once again.
Sadie looks a little shell-shocked at the sight of me standing, but she keeps her arm around Ro’s waist and doesn’t say anything as I walk them both up to their dorm entrance. Sadie swipes her Waterfell ID and lets Ro through with a strict command to wait, before spinning back to me.
“Thanks for the ride,” she says. “And for my car. I didn’t mention it before, but that was… You didn’t have to do that, so thank you.”
My head is shaking before she finishes her sentence. “Of course.”
From her position a few steps higher than me, she’s slightly taller, so I have to look up at her. I’ve been looking up at her from every panic-induced dream I’ve had since that day on the ice, like she’s meant to be there.
A fucking guardian angel, I guess. Which is something I’ll never say out loud because I’d never live that down. Especially considering how much I crave that from her.
Like she would want to save me.
Pathetic .
Self-hatred swirls again, and now I want to tape my mouth closed before I say something stupid.
“You could repay me by getting coffee. With me, I mean.”
Something stupid like that.
My laugh is self-deprecating, and I want to tell her that I used to be good at this—that I was charming and not whatever this shaking, pitiful thing is that’s replaced that part of me.
Sadie doesn’t laugh, but she does start shaking her head.
“I’m not really the go-and-get-coffee girl… honestly, not really the get-anything-together kind of girl. And definitely not the girl to date someone like you.”
I smile, completely forced and fake, somehow accepting the absolute kick to the gut her response is. My mouth starts to open, to beg her not to say anything else, but she keeps going.
“Tonight was—”
I groan, my hands covering my face as I beg, “Please don’t say good, I don’t think I can handle that again.”
Sadie laughs lightly, stepping down to my level.
“All right, duly noted,” she says, reaching her hand into my pocket and grabbing my phone.
She doesn’t ask, or say anything, but turns it to my face to unlock it.
She texts herself the most recently used emoji, which is, unfortunately, a hockey stick.
Her eyes dart to mine with a quick eye roll as if to say typical .
“What’s that for?” I ask, taking my phone back from her outstretched hand. We’ve spent over a month together, but never crossed the line to communicating outside the rink.
I don’t want to get my hopes up.
She takes two steps up the short staircase before turning to look at me and shrugging.
“I don’t know yet. Have a good night, hotshot.”
I can’t help the small smile that appears. Despite everything else, I now have something of hers.
“Good night, kotyonok .”