At least thirty seconds pass where I stare at him, unable to formulate a response. He taps at the watch on his wrist. “Tick tock, Stassie. Time’s almost up.”
“I don’t know.”
“Ten, nine, eight, seven…”
“Fish head with my body. I think. God, that’s disgusting to visualize.”
“Great choice,” he praises, looking satisfied with my answer. Brady blows her whistle, indicating for everyone to switch. He winks at me again and I’m definitely blushing. “I hope to see more of you soon.”
Time flies as each guy sits at my table before moving on. Three freshmen asked for my number, a guy called Bobby spent our five minutes talking about a girl instead of himself, and when a guy called Mattie realized we’re on the same course, he spent five minutes asking me to explain our latest assignment and writing the answers on his phone.
Robbie approaches my table when the whistle blows, and it’s nice to see someone I kind of know. “Anastasia.”
“Robbie. Fancy meeting you here.”
Sabrina and Robbie might be a thing, I’m not sure. She’s not even sure. The second she found out we’d beteam buildingtogether, I was given strict instructions to find out. “How are you?”
“I’m good. I’m hoping you’re going to spend the next four minutes and—” he looks at his watch, “—twenty-eight seconds talking about your roommate.”
She’s gonna lose her mind when I get home. It’s the easiest four minutes of my life; Brin is an open book, what you see is what you get. Talking about her to someone else is easy, because she likes everything and she’s the most loving and supportive friend ever.
I’m ashamed to say, Joe and Kris are very funny and had me slapping my hand over my mouth to stop laughing, which is so annoying because I had no intention of adding other hockey players to my approved list.
It was going to be Henry only, forever.
Ten minutes of laughing was well-timed, because I’m in a good mood when Russ sits at my table.
It feels pointless describing hockey players at this point, because the only word that ever comes to mind isbig. Russ is no different, but the one thing that sets him apart from his friends is his baby face. Unlike the rest of the team, there is no stubble in sight. His eyes are big and soft—like a puppy.
I’ve never noticed before, but I’ve also never seen him up close. He looks nervous as hell, too, and I think back to what Henry told me about him being a quiet guy. “I’m Stassie. Russ, right?”
He nods, the tips of his ears reddening. “Yeah. It’s nice to meet you. Do you wanna talk about yourself or something? I don’t have anything interesting to tell you.”
Oh, Russ, why did you have to be like a timid animal when I want to be mad at you?
I launch into the same spiel I’ve given every other guy; he asks follow-up questions that keep me talking, and by the time the whistle goes and he’s moving on, I still don’t know anything about him. “It was nice to meet you,” he says gently as he leaves.
The activity is nearly over, and I’m incredibly annoyed that it’s sort of had the desired effect. It’s hard to begrudge letting the guys share the rink after you’ve heard all about their aspirations and motivations.
I mean, I said it’s hard. It’s not impossible.
Through the process of elimination, I know I’ve only got two people left. My social battery is wavering, but I try to push through, because I know it’s worth it when Henry drops himself into the seat in front of me.
“This is unnecessary, isn’t it?” he mutters, placing his elbows on the table to rest his head in his hands. “Why do I need to know what someone’s childhood pet is called or when their birthday is? The only person who cares about that information is a hacker. And I don’t even like computers.”
I’m in shock.
During the few one-on-one encounters we’ve had, Henry was calm and so laid back he was practically horizontal. It appears Skinner has found the thing to get under his skin—forced socialization.
“Please don’t tell me about your pets, Anastasia,” he begs, brushing his hand over his short, auburn curls, sighing heavily. “I don’t have the energy to pretend to care.”
“You wanna sit in silence? You only have one more person after me. You can have a little pre-finale break.”
“That’s a good idea, thanks.”
Henry shuts his eyes and I have no choice but to just watch him have a micronap. I feel like a creep, but equally, what else am I supposed to do? He could go into modeling if hockey doesn’t work out for him. Perfectly symmetrical face, smooth, glowy brown skin, the most defined cheekbones I’ve ever seen on a man. He’s beautiful.
“I can feel you staring at me. Can you stop?”