Page 68 of Hot As Ice

Where?

Stevie

At Wildfire!

Wildfire is one of the fanciest restaurants in town. A favorite of my father’s. No doubt he recommended it. Anger and fear war in my chest, as they often do when I think of my father. I have a terrible feeling about it all, and my gut is rarely wrong. I don’t want Stevie to get close to Celeste. If it were up to me, Stevie and I would go off grid, live in a log cabin deep in the woods somewhere where no one could ever find us.

Sometimes I want to escape so badly, but I feel trapped by my family’s expectations and all my obligations to them. I hate that my father keeps me on a tight leash. I hate that I love my grandfather despite all his faults. I hate that neither he nor my uncle stand up to my father. I hate that I don’t stand up to my father.

On the TV, they show a replay of my third goal late in the third period. I look so confident and capable on the ice. I look, and am, unstoppable. But when it comes to my life off the ice, I’m not unstoppable. I’m not the confident and formidable opponent who shoots pucks into the net like it’s a walk in the park.

In my real life, I’m still a scared eight-year-old boy who couldn’t save his mom.

twenty-two

stevie

“OH, STEVIE, it was so romantic,” Celeste says, a wistful look in her eyes. She sighs. “Just a perfect ceremony. I wish you could’ve been there.”

“I’ll be at your party next month. I’m sure it will be just as romantic.”

Celeste nods. “Absolutely.”

She looks pristine and perfectly put-together in a white sheath dress and ivory pumps, her blonde hair sleek and shiny. Not a strand out of place, as they say.

I’m a bit in awe of her.

She’s Socialite Barbie, with impeccable manners and an aura that pulses with a genuine sweetness. She doesn’t put on airs. I feel comfortable with her even though we are in totally different tax brackets and I’m here in clothes I bought off the cheapest website I could find.

“Ben is wonderful,” she says in the same wistful tone. It’s like she can’t believe her own luck. And I guess it’s definitely a flex to marry a billionaire real estate mogul. Hunter’s dad scares me to death, but maybe he’s nicer to his new wife. People contain multitudes and all that.

“He takes such good care of me,” Celeste continues, absentmindedly stirring her Arnold Palmer with her straw. “He swept me off my feet. I was really beginning to think I would never meet the right person for me. I guess it’s true that older men make better partners. Men my age are so lukewarm. They’re incapable of being consistent. You know?”

“How…old are you? If you don’t mind my asking.”

“I turned 30 in August. Yup, I’m a Leo.” She smiles. “Could you tell?”

“Oh, I could never guess someone’s sign.”

She laughs. “I love astrology. Ben’s an Aries and we are extremely compatible, according to the stars.”

I nod as if I knew that. “That’s so great.”

“So,” she begins, tucking into the cobb salad the waiter just placed before her. “You and Hunter. How long have you been dating?”

I stab a fork into my own salad, stalling, wondering how to answer her question. Answering questions about my relationship with Hunter always feels so awkward. There’s so much there that I don’t ever want to tell anyone. But it’s not like I have to spill my guts to Celeste. I can just pretend Hunter and I are dating for real and not in some weird sex contract.

“About two months,” I say, since that’s when we met, even though it feels like we’ve known each other for years. And I’m sure it looks like we’re dating to outsiders. I’ve met his family twice now. I’m having lunch with his stepmom. I go to his games wearing his jersey. I’m sleeping with him.

That’s…dating, right?

If I ignore that he pays me for sex, I can pretend we’re dating for real. I can even pretend he’s my boyfriend, maybe?

God, it’s crazy how much I want to call him that.

“Only two months?” Celeste asks. “Hunter seems very smitten by you.”

“Really?”