Griz: A Fake Relationship College Hockey Romance

by E. Cleveland

  “Two pepperoni for me,” I tell the guy behind the counter.

  “I’ll just take one.” Hattie points to the slices.

  I open the flimsy triangle to-go box and start scarfing the first one while we walk up the hall. Seagulls devouring beach fries eat slower and chew more than I am right now. I can’t remember the last time I was hungry for this long.

  She must be starving too. A million years ago, before we had drinks at Chili’s, she said she hadn’t eaten yet. That supper was good, but it counted as a snack at best. If she’s tempted to dig in, she doesn’t show it. She waits until after we get through the second and then third security points. After showing ID and getting a QR code scanned off her phone, we get access to the box suite. We sit on the seats by the glass overlooking the show. Then, she cracks the lid on what must be cold pizza and starts eating.

  Women live with so much more restraint than men. I’ve always wondered why. If you’re hungry, eat. If you’re angry, yell. If you’re horny, fuck. I don’t know a lot of guys who don’t live by those rules. And I don’t know that many girls who do.

  “You must have loved this growing up.” I soak in our drone’s eye view of the stadium. The stage lights flood out over the first few rows of the audience. The rest of the crowd is hidden in shadows. There are thousands of lit up phone screens, and they look like Chinese lanterns floating across a night sky. Each beacon of light hovers like there’s no human attached to it at all.

  The country concert fades from my vision. The stage and flashing lights aren’t there. Only the ice I’m going to play on. My dreams feel so close, I can almost feel the cold air rush over my face as I rip down the rink. Those shadowy phone holders transform into screaming hockey fans. Their jeans might ride just as high, but no one will be able to tell under their hockey jerseys.

  “It was cool.” Hattie watches the show. The box suite is darkened for the show, but there’s a little light casting over her. The red in her hair seems deeper in this light, like the fading embers in a late-night campfire. She seems softer somehow, like the edge was shaved off her sarcasm.

  “Dad loves it, of course. I willingly went to a few basketball and NHL games, but he’s never had anyone in the house who loves sports like him. He mostly took his friends to those things. The best memories I have are when we all went. The whole family.” She looks at the light reflecting off the glass like she can see those times playing out on a television screen. “Even when I saw The Little Mermaid. Remember that picture in my apartment?”

  “The one that looks like you’re being stolen by a king crab kidnapper?” I laugh, remembering her story.

  “That’s the one.” She laughs too. “Listen, you weren't there. In person, it doesn’t look like an adorable crab, okay? It looked like a human-sized spider, and it was terrifying.”

  “You know the crab is in the picture too, right? It’s big and red—”

  “Pictures don’t tell the whole story.”

  “—it had googly eyes and a big open mouth with a tongue hanging out.”

  “The point is,” she cuts me off, shaking her head, “that nightmare spider scarred me for life.” She shudders, and I’m not sure that it’s entirely put on. “But that was still one of the best nights I had with my family.”

  “Yeah? Even with your sister?” Anger flushes across the back of my neck, and I clench my jaw. Clementine and I didn’t exactly hit it off. The way she talked to Hattie pissed me off. That whole starter relationship quip got under my fucking skin.

  “She wasn’t always like that. Not until I got older.” Hattie’s eyes soften, and the sparkle fades. I shouldn’t have brought it up. She brought me all the way into Manhattan to let me rub elbows with my fucking life-dream, and I go and bring up Bridezilla. Maybe restraint wouldn’t always be such a bad thing to have. “When I started getting heavier, things changed. Before that we were pretty close. I think she’s being extra bitchy because of the wedding stress though. You’re seeing her at her worst.”

  “I’ve heard weddings do that,” I answer.

  For Hattie’s sake, I hope that’s true. I haven’t always been the best big brother. Etta has had some fucking moments too. She knows I’ve got her back though. I know she’s got mine too, even if she’d never admit it out loud. Siblings keep you humble, but they should also be your support system. If you don’t have that, you’re just strangers who share the same parents.

  “You’re lucky you’ve got Etta for a sister. I bet you guys never have drama.”

  I laugh, “You’d be surprised.”

  “Yeah, did she borrow your car without asking?” Hattie gives her eyes an exaggerated roll.

  “No, she dated my best friend behind my back.”

  “Oof.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I guess all siblings have drama then.”

  “We worked it out.”

  “So, you know how it is then. Sometimes they do asshole-y things, but you gotta forgive them. Clementine isn’t usually this bad. Once this wedding is done, her mood will swing back the other way.”

  Hattie is quiet for a while. We both are.

  It’s clear she doesn’t want me to think Clementine is some kind of monster. What she doesn’t seem to realize is…actions speak louder than words. Based on her actions, her sister’s a dick.

  Voices swell up as the crowd below us joins in the song. Their voices blend, and their phones sway from side to side. The floating light reminds me of the time my uncle took us out on his boat. Back when I still had the sense of wonder only kids possess, I spent the whole day keeping my eyes peeled for marine animals. Total failure. A complete bust. I almost gave up.

  Then, as the adults switched from day-drinking to night, I saw a massive jellyfish. The lights from the yacht’s mast made it glow. Suspended in the water, billowing out, I remember thinking that I got fucking ripped off. The way the lights surround the stadium, it reminds me of that jellyfish, except this time I’m filled with the feeling I should’ve felt back then. Above the crowd, it’s like a tree-fort above a house party. It’s cozy and private. No one knows we’re here. It’s our secret hideaway. And, if any part of this was real, I’d be fucking Hattie on every inch of this place.

  I’d pull off her pants and keep her sitting right in front of the window like that. I imagine telling her that she better not take her eyes off that show while I slide between her open legs and wear her thighs as ear muffs.

  The idea that any guy would swipe left on her is crazy. I let my gaze slide down her body. She’s fucking sexy. I can picture my hands tangled in that long, red hair. Kissing those full lips. Tugging off those clothes. My cock thickens, warning me that I’m gonna have to tuck it into my waistband if I keep going down this road.

  Sexy is fun, but it’s also pretty easy to find. What you can’t tell from a dating profile is the meaningful stuff. She’s the girl that would be thoughtful enough to do something like this for someone. I look around the stadium again. There’s not a lot of guys out there worthy of that. I’m no better. I’ve been one of them since hockey started meaning bunnies.

  None of those girls knew anything about me. That went both ways. My fake girlfriend officially knows me better than every girl I’ve fucked in the last five years.

  “Hey, so who knows if this was really the best pizza in New York?” I snap out of my own, interrupting both our thoughts. “Especially since you were so ready to lie to me.”

  Hattie rolls her eyes. “Have you ever had a bad pizza in New York? No? Then, by default, it’s the best, right?”

  “I don’t think that logic checks out, but anyway, thanks for this. It was really cool.”

  Below us, the house lights are on, and the ethereal light from all the phones has transformed back into people. They slowly shuffle out of the stadium exits in mass huddles.

  Hattie and I get our coats back on, ready to head out.

  “For sure. Well, now you know where I’ll be sitting when you play here.”

  I cle
ar my throat, surprised by the emotion that I need to swallow down before I can talk. It just snuck up on me. “Ah, it’ll be hard to see from down there.” I nod. “Maybe you should make a sign for the windows. Like, each pane could be one letter of my name.”

  “Yeah? You think you’ll see that? A floor to ceiling G-R-I-Z!”

  “There’s only one way to find out.”

  “You got it.” She smiles.

  We take the subway back the same way we came, but it’s only gotten sketchier. I wrap my arm around her waist and pull her in tight when the fifth guy in as many minutes slithers his eyes all over her. I keep it around her, even after we get out of the subway station. Even as we walk back into the bubble that is her neighborhood. Even as she fumbles for the key to the house. I would never act on the real urge I have to kiss her. Hattie made it clear from the beginning that she’s not interested in getting to know the top eight things about me: each inch of my dick.

  Hattie doesn’t want the boyfriend experience. She wants the Ken-doll experience. All flash and no bang. So, I’ve gotta stop it with these thoughts. Remembering the answers to all her questions and charming the folks is already using up all of my brain. I can’t afford to be diverting any blood to my cock. Hattie turns to unlock the door, and my eyes go straight to her ass. I can’t even stop them. They’re like Pavlov’s dogs. The way those yoga pants cup underneath her cheeks, that’s the reward. Fuck. Looks like I’m gonna need to learn from all the women in my life a little lesson called restraint.

  15

  Life-Sized Masturbation Poster

  Hattie

  The house is dark except for the front entryway. The brick archway glows overhead. Light spills out like a peaceful dawn around the Pearly Gates. Or maybe it’s the fire and brimstone surrounding the gates of Hell. All a matter of perspective, I guess.

  With the wedding dry-run tomorrow, everyone turned in early. That was undoubtedly the smarter choice than staying out late, but I don’t think extra sleep will help. I, for one, welcome the month’s worth of emotional turmoil that my sister will drag us through over the next couple days. Being well-rested isn’t going to make them any less annoying. It might actually make it worse. Having all that extra energy might bring Clemmie’s tantrums into clearer focus, and I don’t even like the blurry version. Tomorrow morning is still many hours away, and I already want to skip to the part where we crash at the hotel.

  The air has bite to it. The temperature plunged since we left. The deadbolt thuds heavier than usual as I turn my key in the lock. Sounds seem sharper on cold winter nights. We’re both silent when we get inside. I’m sure we don’t have to be this quiet. We’re not a couple of teenagers sneaking in past curfew. My parents expect to hear us come in. They know we’re going to my room. It just feels weird, and not because he’s my fake boyfriend. He’s actually the only guy I’ve ever brought home.

  Our suitcases aren’t down here. Mom probably ordered Julian to take them to my room. A smile settles onto my lips as I imagine him dragging them up each stair. Once I deadbolt the door behind us, I lead Griz up to the only four walls in this house I consider my own.

  “That’s the bathroom.” I point to the only open door. “And this one is my room.” I flip on a blinding amount of light and walk into the room, blinking. The suitcases are neatly lined up at the end of my bed. My smile grows. P-e-t-t-y, I’m petty. And enjoying every second of it.

  Griz walks in, his eyes darting over every surface, and I close the door behind him.

  “Whoa, what’s with all the Keebler Elves?” He jerks his thumb at my collection.

  “They’re not elves.” I laugh. “They’re Precious Moments figurines. My parents used to give them to me when I was a kid, like to celebrate milestones and stuff.”

  “First birthday, Christmas, first day of school…” Griz examines them. “Is this one for your dog?” He lifts one with a yellow puppy and a little girl.

  “Yeah, Maggie. She passed in my freshman year of high school.”

  His face drops, and he puts the ornament back down. “They’ll rip your fucking heart out, dogs. My parents have one that we grew up with, Captain. He’s getting rickety.”

  “It’s hard,” I agree, emotion creeping into my voice, even after all these years. There were times in my life when Maggie was my only friend in this house. In my hormonal teen years, there were days when I felt like she was my only friend in the entire world.

  “Yeah.” Griz runs his hand over his beard. “Captain was always closer to Gucci. When he goes, it’s gonna kill him. That dog followed him around the house for years.

  “You mean your best friend?”

  “Yeah.”

  “The same one your sister is dating?”

  “They’re together now, yeah.”

  “Was he over at your house a lot?”

  “We grew up together.” His words make me want to ask so many follow-up questions, but his face, tone and literally everything else is saying he’d rather not get into it.

  Fighting my curiosity, I keep my mouth shut. Instead, I focus on digging my toiletries out of my suitcase. Griz stands frozen in the middle of my bedroom floor, staring at my wall.

  “What?” I glance around the time capsule that is my bedroom to where his eyes are locked on my wall.

  Oh, no.

  “Never would’ve taken you for a One Direction-poster sorta girl,” he muses. I can see from the glint dancing in his dark eyes that he’s enjoying this discovery. Too much.

  “Yeah, I mean, in high school.” I shrug, but it feels like I’m trying too hard, and it just makes the full-body cringe that much worse.

  “Which one is your favorite?” His smirk would be infuriating if it wasn’t sexy.

  “I don’t really have one,” I lie. “It was a long time ago. Like I wouldn’t find anything embarrassing in your old bedroom?”

  “This bad?” Griz walks up to the poster and stretches his arm out like he’s one of the band, joining them in their exuberant pose. “No, nothing this bad.”

  I try to hide my red face, pulling my pjs and toothbrush out from my bag. Griz is having too much fun to let it go.

  “Is it Harry?” He presses me. “Does he get your Watermelon Sugar flowing?” He watches my face flush. “Okay, so that’s maybe a two on the blushing scale. Not Harry then. More of a Niall girl? You wanna feel his Slow Hands on ya? Oh, we’ve reached a four. I think you’re more of a Zayn fan. You want to hear more of his Pillow Talk, right? Or maybe you’re thinking, why have 1D when you can have all five?”

  Okay, my face is burning bright. I’m sort of wishing I could zip myself inside this suitcase, but then it hits me. “You seem to know a lot of songs for someone who isn’t a fan.” I put my hands on my hips and raise an eyebrow.

  “Who said I’m not a fan? I wasn’t a poster-on-the-wall fan. I mean, that’s a bit much, right?” He winks at me. Winks. Like he just pulled a coin from behind my ear. “They’ve got some good songs.”

  I laugh, imagining Griz rocking out like I used to. “If you haven’t belted out lyrics about girls who aren’t aware of their own beauty into a hairbrush, then can you even call yourself a fan?”

  “You already won the contest with the life-sized masturbation poster.” He shakes his head.

  “Oh my God.” I laugh harder. “Why would you say that? Now I have to burn it.”

  Griz notices I’m sort of awkwardly waiting for him to clear out so I can get changed. He grabs his stuff, and I quickly put on my pajamas while he’s in the bathroom. I’ve got my lime-green, plaid bottoms on with a tank top that has a shelf bra built into it. Not that it holds my girls. I’ve never understood why they don’t make those things bigger. Is there a big market for flat-chested big girls? You’d guess there was from the way they design these things.

  I keep staring at my bed. How are we going to share it? It’s not that big. I try to imagine us both in there without being pressed together tightly. I don’t think it’s going to happen. Should we sle
ep facing in opposite directions? With a blanket between us? Toe to head? Why didn't I think of this before now? It’s a pretty big oversight.

  Griz walks in the room, and it doesn’t help my concentration or decision-making skills at all. He’s also wearing plaid pants. Red ones. His muscles are hard to look away from. Without a shirt, there’s nothing stopping me from noticing how his abs are like steps leading to the dark hairs. The trail guides my eyes down, noticing just how low those pants hang.

  How would that path feel under my hand? The outline of where it leads presses into the fabric. The ridge of his dick is pronounced, demanding my attention. Well, shit. It’s going to be difficult to not feel that when we’re sleeping so close. I force my eyes to shift up to his. “I’ll be right back.” I shake my toothbrush at him like it’s proof that I wasn’t just checking out his cock.

  I leave the room before I have a chance to get dick-notized again. I take care of my teeth and get ready for bed, but I’m really dragging it out. I’m still not sure what I should say to Griz about the sleeping arrangements. No matter what we come up with, it’s going to be awkward.

  In my room, Griz has set himself up on the floor with a blanket and pillow. “You can’t sleep there,” I protest. It might be awkward for us to share a bed, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to force him to sleep on a cold floor in the winter.

  “Why not?” He’s already laying down, and he doesn’t look interested in moving.

  “You’ll get cold.” I look down at him.

  “I’m fine.” He sounds tired. It’s been such a long day, and he’s fading fast.

  “What if someone sees you on the floor? Then I’ll have to explain why you’re there, and it’ll get weird.”

  “The only weird thing about that entire thought is that someone is going to be popping in here to check out our sleep arrangements. I’m good down here, don’t worry,” he reassures me.