Weird questions

At the arena, I met Riley on the rink. Even though he wasn’t wearing his gear, except for the skates that helped him glide on the ice, he was very focused that he didn’t know when I came in. And he was practicing alone. I thought he practiced too much. I thought he trained too hard. But he was Riley Beaumont. It was how he became who he was.

I took a seat, watching him for a few minutes without saying anything, then he turned back to see me.

“Hey.” He placed his hand on his waist, trying to balance his unsteady breath. He looked down, and back up, raising his head with a flip, causing his night-black, wet hair to sweep back, and he used his hand to smooth it out. “Should’ve just called,” he said as he glided towards me. His voice was echoing throughout the empty arena.

He reached for his water bottle. “Shit!” He shook the bottle that seemed to be empty.

“I still have some water left,” I said, and somehow, it seemed easier to say. Even though I was mad at him. I think I am mad at him. I should be mad at him. I pulled the bottle from my bag and stretched it towards him.

He took the bottle and then inspected it.

“Hmmm, that’s a pretty bottle.” He said it matter-of-factly as he looked at my pink bottle strangely. I blushed. Even though I didn’t know if it was a compliment or not.

He joggled the water in his mouth, his cheeks puffing at intervals. No one would believe me if I said Riley was cute. But seeing him now, that was the only suitable definition.

“I don’t think it’ll be easy for you to concentrate after training. Your brain takes a reasonable amount of energy to regulate your system, thereby depleting your ability to focus.” I read it to him like a news.

“Hmmmm,” I heard him say, then he crashed on the seat close to me. The one closest to me. He sat down with a thud and a grunt, spreading his legs and arms so wide that I had to squeeze myself to create more room, more space to breathe. I wondered why he had to sit on the chair just next to me when the entire arena was empty.

I had a sudden urge to move to the next chair, but I didn’t know if that would be considered rude. If it would annoy him.

He was looking at me, and then he brought his finger close to my face and flicked on my forehead.

“Aren’t you so smart,” he said. I felt my toes curl on their own, and my nose and cheeks felt hot. I’m sure he was seeing the blush given that I’m as pale as a ghost.

“Well, let’s do twenty or thirty minutes and then you can get out of here while I get back to my game.” The words came out casual as he undid his shoes. My eyes drifted to the rink, the hard ice, the empty arena, then I asked,

“Where are your friends?”

“They left.”

I wondered how long they had been here. I imagined his friends screaming it was enough, that they were tired. I imagined Riley, in his hectoring voice, telling them not to act like weaklings, and them, eventually getting burnt out and leaving.

I imagined Riley saying NO when they told him they were leaving, and if he would come.

There was too much I wanted to confirm, so I just said, “Oh.”

“You’ve got a boyfriend?”

“Hmmm?” I replied. I felt my ears were playing tricks on me, then I heard it again, clear and sound.

“Do you have a boyfriend?” And this time, he was looking at me.

I shook my head too quickly. “No,” I said.

I wanted to ask him back if he had a girlfriend, but I didn’t know if he would like that, so I just pursed my lips.

“So, you haven’t smashed in a while, huh?”

I wondered if he was really seeing the person he was talking to. Maybe he was mistaking me for one of his bros, Liam or Richard. Or was he beginning to see me like one of his bros? Even though I didn’t like how it sounded, even though it cringed me, I felt some sense of importance thinking about it.

“No,” I said. I wanted to tell him that I haven’t smashed, ever. I didn’t care to wonder why he asked me these questions. I have come to accept that Riley does or says whatever Riley wants at any place, at any time, and to anybody. It doesn’t have to mean anything.

“Follow me tomorrow. Night. Have some fun.” It didn’t sound like he was asking me, more like a command. I didn’t know if I could say no.

“I’m not sure I can,” I said it in a very meek whisper. I was surprised he heard.

“Why not?” he said in a casual tone. He was loosening the bands on his legs. And then he stopped. “Don’t worry, this time, no one’s pulling pranks.” He said it like I was just supposed to believe him. But something in his voice made it sound different.

“Come,” he said, and I nodded.

“Okay.”