I hand his stick back. “Not as therapeutic when it doesn’t go in.”
He lines up, shoots, and the puck sails down into the net and dings against the back pole. There’s a twinkle in his eye as he looks to me. “There’s nothing better than that sound.”
“Can I ask you a question?”
“I guess so,” he says slowly.
“What scenario leads a girl to wake you up screaming while naked? Wait, were you naked or was she?”
He chuckles softly, closes his eyes, and shakes his head. “You’ve been thinking about that since we met, haven’t you?”
“Pretty much.”
He sucks that bottom lip behind his teeth again before answering. “We were both naked.”
“Okay, so why does that lead to screaming?” I’m doing a pretty good job of envisioning a naked Rhett. He’s just over six feet by my best guess. He’s filled out but not bulky. I can clearly see the muscles in his arms stretching the fabric of his shirt. My eyes drop to his crotch. Maybe he’s not packing? But would that make me scream? Run away, maybe, but not scream.
He catches me checking him out, and my face heats, but he doesn’t call me on it. “We were naked,” he says slowly, then pauses. “And I fell asleep.”
“Oh.” My eyes widen. “Ohhhh.”
“Yeah.” He takes another shot. This one goes in but doesn’t make that magical sound he mentioned.
“So, then what happened?”
“Then I came here and got yelled at for sleeping again.” He winks and skates toward the net to collect the pucks.
“Oh, come on. That’s all I get? Where are all the details?”
“You know, you’re chatty for someone who wanted to be left alone.”
“I can’t help it. Your retelling of the story really sold me,” I say, sarcasm dripping from my tone.
He stops in front of me and grins, then rests both hands at the top of his stick. “You’re a good skater. You said you have a show coming up. When?”
“You’re changing the subject.”
“Yeah, because it’s humiliating. You have enough dirt on me already.”
“Yes, there’s a competition coming up, but the truth is I just like being on the ice by myself.”
“I get that,” he says.
“Do you mean all the way naked?”
Shaking his head, his deep laughter echoes in the empty rink. “Naked enough.”
“How does that happen? Logistically.”
“Well, you see,” he starts in a serious tone. “When two people are attracted to one another—”
“I know how that happens. I want to know how you fell asleep? Do you have some sort of sleeping disorder?”
He’s still laughing and smiling at me in a way that makes my heart rate climb. I skate to the wall and jump to sit, taking long, even breaths. He follows, and I share my water with him. He squirts it into his mouth and hands it back.
We’re quiet, sitting together and staring out at the empty rink. This is the quiet I was looking for when I got up this morning and decided to head to the rink early, but I’m the first to break the silence.
“In third grade, I fell asleep on the bus home from school. The driver got all the way back to school before he realized I was still in my seat. My parents had to come get me. Super embarrassing.”
“Only mildly embarrassing by comparison to the circumstances in which I fell asleep.”
“Well, I wouldn’t know since I haven’t heard the whole story.”
He drops his head and runs a hand along his jaw. “I was at a party. We started drinking as soon as the bus got back from the quarterfinals. I think I slept two hours that night, and then we got up for drivers and donuts, and by noon I was done. I caught a ride back to my apartment with some buddies. She followed. I actually thought she was into my friend, but then she started kissing me, and she came into my room. I was so tired.”
I’m holding back a smile as he pushes his hair out of his face.
“She was on her knees in front of me, and I was sprawled back on my bed…” He lifts his legs dangling over the edge and waves his hand between them.
“Oh my god! You fell asleep during a blow job?!”
He glances around like someone might be hanging around eavesdropping.
“Sorry.” I lower my voice. “But seriously?”
“If I’d known it was going to happen, I would have better prepared. Maybe taken a cold shower first or, fuck, I don’t know.”
“What do you mean if you’d known it was going to happen? Doesn’t that sort of thing happen a lot—girls following you around and dropping to their knees?” My face is lava hot. “And I mean, okay, prepared or not, I don’t think falling asleep is the appropriate reaction to sex.”
“No. I mean, yeah, I guess. It’s sort of a new thing, and I haven’t quite gotten used to it.”
“Well, it’s the opposite for me. I used to have boys following me around, and now they don’t. It’s better in your shoes, trust me.”
“Guys don’t hit on you?” His expression says he doesn’t believe me.
“Girls hitting on you is a new thing?” I give him the same look back.
We’re smiling at one another, and there’s this electricity in the air between us. Rhett’s different than I imagined. Easier to talk to. Nice. Funny.
Suddenly we’re not alone. A couple of hockey guys come out at the same time Josie arrives.
“Guess it’s time,” I say and jump down onto the ice.
“Hey.” He follows. “What are you doing tonight? Would you want to hang out maybe? A bunch of my teammates are going to this party at the basketball house. You know it?”
“I do.”
“So, you want to go?”
“With you?” I ask, a little confused.
He looks around. “Yeah?”
“Sorry, it’s just… I don’t think I’m your type.”
“Okay.” His brows scrunch together. “Why aren’t you my type? Or better yet, what do you think my type is exactly?”
“Look, I am cool with an occasional casual hookup, but based on the number of girls you’ve been entangled with this week alone… I’m sorry.” It turns out there is really no good way to tell a guy you aren’t into being his next slam piece.
“Right.” Rhett skates backward. “Got it. Well, I guess I’ll see you around.”
* * *
I’m in the library studying when Elias calls. I prop my phone up against my backpack on the table and accept the video call.
“Hi.” I keep my voice low.
“Why have you not called me back? And where are you?” His eyes scan the background, and I can tell the second he realizes my location. “Unless you’re planning to make a fashionably late appearance at this party, you’re going to need to get a serious move on. It’s already after eight.”
“I’m not going.”
I knew I never should have told Elias about Rhett asking me out.
“Why not? Ronnie sounds like a fun guy. Go have fun.” Even if I couldn’t see his big smile, I could tell how excited he is by his tone.
“You know that isn’t his name.”
“He gave my girl a black eye. He doesn’t deserve real first name usage yet. Plus, hockey boys are stupid. One too many hits.” He raps his knuckles on his head.
“And still, you want me to go out with him.”
“Not with him exactly. There are only two months of college left. Go out, drink a little too much, make bad decisions, let me live vicariously through you.” He sticks his bottom lip out in a pout.
I hum a noncommittal response. “What are you doing?”
He’s holding the phone close to his face, so I can’t make out the background, but it’s dark. Elias is from Massachusetts but lives with a host family in Toronto while he trains with his pairs partner, Taylor. They have a shot at going to the Olympics. They’re really freaking good.
“I’m in bed. I have AcroYoga at five o’clock tomorrow morning.” The s
hade of his dark brown eyes is hard to see in the dim lighting, but it’s impossible to miss the giant eye roll he sends my way. “We could do all the yoga in the world, and it’s not going to make a lick of difference unless Taylor decides to trust me.”
“You did drop her.”
“It was one time. My wrist was fractured. I was holding her with a broken wrist!” He gets heated, waving one hand around as if he’s holding up an imaginary partner.
“Until you weren’t.” I grin at his playful jaw drop as if he’s really shocked by my words. We always tell it to each other like it is. No bullshit. “All I’m saying is maybe doing AcroYoga together will help rebuild some of that trust. You have to start somewhere.”
“And I’m just saying no one is bonding that early in the morning. Also, you’re one to talk. What about you?” That’s the thing about having a best friend that’s a guy—a guy not at all interested in sleeping with you—they don’t tiptoe over your feelings.
“What about me?” I play it off like I don’t know where this is going.
“You need to enjoy what’s left of college. If work is anything like what I’m doing, it’s a real snooze fest centered around a continual lack of sleep and caffeine. I hate to think of you sitting in the library tonight. Eeeeew. Plus, I think you want to go.”
“What gave you that idea?”
He tilts his head and studies me. “Are you wearing makeup? Hmmm. And is that a new shirt?”
I bat my fake lashes. “Point made.”
He laughs, smiling at me. “My dating life makes yours look pathetic, and I’m training or sleeping twenty-two hours a day. If you won’t do it for yourself, do it for me. I need some excitement in my life.”
“You have plenty of excitement without even trying. What about the girl you met at the coffeehouse last week?”
“Well, we’ve been texting…”
And as quick as that, I’ve turned the topic of conversation back to Elias. He very much enjoys talking about himself, and I’m happy to think about anything but Rhett and the party he invited me to.
I had fun with him today. I felt something, and it seemed like he did too, but maybe I imagined it? I don’t want to be a dumb girl who’s reading more into the situation than what’s there. But I also know that the indescribable chemistry and connection I had with him is something I haven’t felt in a long time.
It was only an hour and I had to basically force him to talk to me. But once he did, I felt it. There was something else accelerating my heart rate and giving me butterflies deep in my belly. I don’t put myself out there very often, and it will really sting if I put myself out there and I’m wrong.
I close my laptop as Elias chats my ear off and give up on getting any more schoolwork done tonight. I really came here to convince myself I didn’t want to be at the basketball party.
Elias yawns as he finishes telling me every detail of the text exchange he’s been having with the girl he picked up while grabbing coffee. He’s handsome and charming, and even though I haven’t met him in person, I can tell he’s one of those people that are impossible to resist. But he’s also super picky.
One date, sometimes less, and he convinces himself that it’ll never work. She has a pet goldfish and those freak him out, or she’s a flight attendant for an airline he doesn’t like. One time he stopped texting a girl because she had the audacity to wear white pants after Labor Day. And he is not the picture of fashion. He wears socks with his sandals. He’s not allowed to judge anyone.
“I should let you go,” he says. “And you should change into something far more revealing, call Josie, and then go to that party.”
“Tempting,” I muse.
“I’m texting her now. Better think up a really good excuse or hide.”
“How do you even have her number?”
“We exchanged after your accident last year. In case of emergency.” He says it all so casually. Funny how a few near-death experiences can make a person so blasé about it all.
Elias and I have the same heart condition. That’s actually how we met. I was scrolling YouTube one day and stumbled upon a video where he was talking about the condition and how it impacts his training. It seemed like fate to see another figure skater my age dealing with it. I reached out, we started messaging back and forth, and now he’s stuck with me for life.
My phone pings with an incoming text.
“That was fast,” I say as I read the message from Josie. OMG. I’m jumping in the shower. I’ll be ready in thirty minutes.
“I knew I could count on Josie.”
“I don’t think this is a good idea. I told him no and basically implied that he was a slut. Won’t I look like a bitch showing up now?”
“Please. If you show up looking hot, he’s not going to remember anything you’ve ever said or done.”
“I have too much going on right now.” It’s a last-ditch, bullshit excuse and he knows it. Of course, he calls me on it.
“You need to get laid,” he says loudly.
I duck my head in embarrassment, even though no one can hear him, thanks to my ear pods. He’s not wrong though. “Fine, but if this ends badly, I’m blaming you.”
“I can take it. Call me tomorrow or later tonight if you’re doing the walk of shame.” He makes an X over the left side of his chest.
I do the same and then flip him off for good measure.
Oh, crap. What have I gotten myself into?
7
Rhett
“Ha ha, very funny,” I say when I see the mysterious gift left on my bed—a shopping bag filled with three different brands of energy drinks, condoms, and a box of Kleenex.
“What are the tissues for?” I ask, bringing the entire bag out into the hallway. Music blasts through our apartment as we get ready to go out. There are two bathrooms in this place, but the guys are all crowded into one fighting over the mirror.
“Those are for the girls you make cry,” Heath says. Mav elbows him, and Heath rubs his arm as he adds, “I mean, that’s what I assume.”
“Please, I know this was all you two.” I hold up the box of glow-in-the-dark condoms.
Mav cackles. “Those are fun. Makes your dick look like a lightsaber.”
Adam meets my gaze in the mirror. “Maybe the glow will help keep you awake.”
“I hate all of you.” I take the bag back to my room and toss it all on the bed except the largest energy drink.
“That Carrie blowing up your phone earlier?” Adam calls across the hallway.
“Yeah.”
“Everything good?” I know he’s terrified I’m going to get back with her. Adam never liked Carrie. The feeling was mutual, actually. Carrie didn’t really get along with any of my teammates.
“All good.” I don’t know if I manage to sound like I don’t care, but that’s the vibe I’m going with tonight. I don’t give a fuck. About any of it. Not that my ex won’t stop fucking calling or that every time I try to move on with someone else, it blows up spectacularly.
“Last night to get stupid,” Adam says when we’re all finally ready to go. “Tomorrow it’s time to go to work.”
“Hell yeah,” we agree.
We get to the basketball house, known on campus as The White House, and within the hour, I’m already too drunk to walk a straight line. Last night to get stupid? Challenge accepted. I have finally reached the point of not caring about the disaster that is my dating life.
Here’s a free party tip for you. If you want to have a good time at a party (or anywhere, really), stick with Maverick. He knows everyone, drinks like a damn fish, and nothing gets in his way of having fun.
We’ve been teammates for two years now, but we’ve only hung out just the two of us a few times and never like this where I’m ready to match him drink for drink. The longer we hang, and the drunker I get, the more I think how ridiculous I’ve been stressing over everything. Mav is single, and he’s always happy. I don’t know why I let my breakup drama get in the way of hav
ing fun for so long. But no more.
We’re talking to a group of girls who immediately ghost us when some frat dudes arrive with a cooler of Jell-O shots. Mav doesn’t seem fazed in the least.
“Who needs girls?!” I shout and raise my drink.
“Easy there, let’s not talk crazy.” Mav pushes my hand down.
“I’m jealous, man,” I tell him. “Nothing gets to you. You’re always the life of the party. I don’t know how to do it,” I admit. “I was a couple for so long. Now everything out of my mouth is a disaster. I fell asleep during a blow job.”
He laughs and wraps an arm around my shoulders. “Yeah, also add that to the vault. Take another drink and forget it happened.”
“She didn’t want to go out with me because she thinks I’m a player.” I laugh, a little slurred. “It’s kind of funny, really.”
“Who didn’t want to go out with you?”
“Sienna. I asked her out.” I managed to keep that to myself all day, but the liquor has loosened my lips.
“Well, what’d you say? What’d she say?”
“I asked her to hang out tonight, and she told me I wasn’t her type.”
“Ouch.” He unscrews the cap on the Mad Dog 20/20 and hands it over.
“Yep.” I tip back the bottle. I care a lot less than I did two hours ago. The truth is, maybe she isn’t my type. Or maybe I don’t have a type. She seems different than Carrie, and that’s all I have to go by.
“Sienna’s rad. I could see you two together but stop overthinking it. If it happens, it happens. If not.” He shrugs.
“That’s the most Maverick thing you’ve ever said.” I mock his shrug, exaggerating it in my drunken state. “Whatever happens. If it’s meant to be, it’ll be. If not, I’ll just bless the women of Valley with my six-pack and beer drinking skills.”
He grins. His shirt is still on, but the night is young. “Now you’ve got it. Come on, let’s get you on the dance floor.”
I start to protest. I don’t dance, but fuck it. Tonight I do. Not well, but whatever. Maverick moves straight to the middle, where a group of girls shakes their asses in rhythm to the music. They swallow him up, and… yep, there goes his shirt.
Broken Hearts Page 5