Chapter 10
FEE
The next day, I’m on the way back to my apartment after class, very excited—in an embarrassing way—to finally be able to marinate in Mac’s cologne-scented hoodie while I study, when I spot him rushing toward the athletics facility.
His hood is pulled up, and his head is lowered as he approaches the door.
The school team has their own rink, so there’s a big question mark as to why Mac is all the way over here.
Curiosity and a light obsession with my fake boyfriend who I would like to be my real boyfriend, has me tailing him.
I channel my inner James Bond and hide behind a snow-covered emerald cedar when he glances over his shoulder before entering the athletic building.
Maybe he’s meeting up with someone to work out? But again, why here? Why not use the dedicated arena for school teams?
Like Mac, I keep my hood up as I step inside the building.
I’m immediately sweaty, and not solely due to my heavy winter jacket, mitts, and toque.
Spying on Mac like naughty business, my heart bangs around in my chest like a caged gorilla.
My fingers and toes tingle. I can hardly breathe.
Why can I so easily put up posters all over the school, but this feels like the lead role in a high-intensity spy movie?
Committed to this act of stalkery, I check the weight room first. Tank-top-clad gym bros with thick biceps lean on weights while one guy does curls, and all the treadmills are in use, but the space is Mac-less.
The track is dotted with lean, long-distance runners and sprinters, again, no Mac.
I backtrack to the ice rinks. Two girls are figure skating in rink A, but B is where I find Mac.
Cones are set up on the ice, a pile of pucks on one end, and a net at the other.
I expect to find him with Gage or Brody, or even Chase, but he’s out there alone.
I stealthily slip through the doors and enter the rink, taking cover behind the benches so I can observe Mac undetected.
Pinging has me sucking in a breath as my phone buzzes against my hip. I yank off a glove and frantically search for the device to silence it. Except my phone is already on silent, which means Mac’s phone is making all the noise thanks to our friend group chat.
Brody
Anyone want to go out for food? It’s wing night at Chickies.
Chase
Can’t tonight.
Cammie
I also can’t tonight.
Gage
I’m always up for wings.
Enid
I like wings.
I bet this is why Cammie and Chase can’t come.
An illustration follows of Arwen, Legolas, and Aragorn in a particularly graphic scene. I drew it for Cammie a while ago but made her and Enid promise not to tell anyone it was me. I’m still new at character illustrations, but they’re a lot of fun.
Gage
Holy shit. Who drew that?
Enid
A fan of Cammie’s work.
Gage
I need to watch those movies.
Chase
None of that happens in the movies.
Brody
But it does happen in Cammie’s fics.
Cammie
Even you’re reading my fic, Brody?
*dies gif*
Brody
I support my friends.
Enid
*my precious gif*
Tally
Cammie, does this mean an update is coming tonight?
Chase
Probably. But we’re doing some research first.
Cammie
Why not just tell everyone we’re having sex, Chase?
Mac laughs and shakes his head while I bite my lips together and fight to stay quiet.
Tally
We already knew you were having sex.
Gage
You know if Flip underperforms and you kick him to the curb, I’m here as a rebound, Tally.
Tally
I’ll tell him you said that.
Gage
Please don’t. That was a joke and I don’t want to die.
Brody
Mac? Bro? Are you alive? Wings?
Mac
Depends on how long you’re there. Maybe in an hour or two?
Brody
You bringing your girlfriend?
Fee
I could be persuaded.
I peek out to find Mac smiling at his phone.
Brody
See you in a while. Gage and I will probably already be on wing bucket two by the time you arrive.
Mac slides his phone back into his pocket, grabs his stick and hooks a puck, then starts running drills. I don’t understand why he’s out here practicing alone. Brody never says no to ice time, and Gage is the same about hockey.
Mac takes a shot on net, but it goes wide. He slaps his stick on the ice and skates back to the pile of pucks, starting again. God, he looks good out there on the ice, all broad shoulders and thick thighs and an ass that never quits. Plus all that focused intensity.
He misses the net thirty percent of the time, not because he doesn’t have the skill, but because the angle is off. I’ve spent so much time in arenas, watching my sisters play or coach. Even though hockey isn’t my thing, I know a good player when I see one. And I also know where he’s going wrong.
I step out from behind the seats. “It’s the angle of your wrist shot that’s the problem!”
Mac trips over his own feet and goes sprawling across the ice. On the upside, the puck goes in the net this time.