“You could’ve tried harder,” I whisper after the kiss cam stops stalking us.
“Gimme a break. I haven’t kissed a girl since I was forced to for a bet in the seventh grade.” He munches his popcorn, his cheeks red as tomatoes.
“Sorry,” I mumble. I should never have put him in this position.
“Don’t be. You weren’t that bad, but I’m not switching teams because of it.”
Tedi comes and sits in front of us, a fresh pretzel and nacho cheese in her lap. “Something is up with you two. I mean, you’re both twentysomethings and you never touch.” She waves her salt-covered pretzel at us.
“I’m in my thirties,” Trevor says.
She gives him the once-over. “Give me the name and number of your plastic surgeon.”
They both laugh, but my gaze is focused on the rink. The Fury are ahead, so Cory isn’t playing
