The Matchmaker

Chapter 17

"Erm, but I was only going to – " My words get clogged and stuffed back down my throat, his damn beautiful contact eyes remaining fixated on me, trailing agonisingly from one feature to another.

I'm grateful for the cold now, my face may seem red and flustered due to the bitter air but I'm red because of his intensive scrutiny. If I cry for help will anyone or anything hear me? And even as I describe this "romantic" and sentimental moment, which only exists in theory, my damn nose starts to get runny and a snotty, red-faced Catherine is not a sight worth picturing.

My thoughts are so engrossed into how awful I must look that Zander's movements take me by surprise; his arm holding onto me tightens and his face inches closer, making the air that was freezing cold a few nanoseconds ago, stifling.

"Hey lovebirds! We're closing in ten minutes, get off the ice!"

Blinking rapidly, I try craning my neck to look past Zander who's turned his head to look at an old man glaring at us in annoyance. Taking this as a golden opportunity, I upright my body and quickly distance myself from Zander entirely.

Placing a hand against my cheek, my other hand digs into my pocket in search of tissues and without having to hear another bark of warning, I skate to the edge of the rink and get off the ice – leaving Zander alone.

"Hey! Catherine! WHAT ABOUT ME?"

Wincing from the guilt he inflicts onto me, I refuse to look back and swiftly unlace my skates, fast walking the rest of the way to the little rental shop and hand them over to a middle aged man over the counter who looks like he's about to nod off to sleep at any moment.

"CUPCAKE!" Zander hollered from somewhere in the distant, making my flushed state even worse as the man behind the counter presents me with an inquiring look.

Gnawing my lip, my eyes widen and a sudden bout of frustration mixed with anxiety crashes down onto my conscious while the more functional and rational side of my mind demands me to grab my boots and make a run out the backdoor, find the nearest empty recycling bin in a back ally, and hide in it.

Shaking my head, I quickly look up to the roof that's draped with flags of hockey teams and plead to the heavens to forgive me for abandoning Zander before stomping my foot and running a frustrated hand through my bun, shaking my head violently.

My actions seem to amuse the once sleepy rental shop man because he raises a questioning eyebrow at me, "um..." Feeling caught, I stare open-mouthed, slightly embarrassed.

"Don't bother explaining, could you even?" He asked, his eyes trailing behind me in indication to what's happened between Zander and I.

"Uh..." That's a very interesting question, my 'Zander story' stems as far back to only a few days and it's still incomprehensible, even to me.

"CUPCAKE!"

"Cupcake?"

Gritting my teeth now, my internal verbal meter rises as a stream of profanities cross my mind. The man behind the counter chuckles before shaking his head in amusement and any dignity I had left, symbolically melts on the ice a few feet away from me.

Rental shop man has a faraway gleam in his eyes, recalling a memory. "I used to call my girlfriend Cookie. Cupcake's a good one." He winks at me with a grin and I lean over the counter and shake my head with vehemence, my eyebrows knitted in anxiety. Why do people constantly get the wrong idea?

"I'm not his girlfriend and he's not my boyfriend," I squeaked out desperately, humiliated beyond repair. Why is Zander and everyone else doing this to me? I can't continue to live a life full of misunderstandings; especially if I'm to be unofficially christened with the name 'Cupcake.'