Hooked: A Hockey Romance

by Abby Donne

  Layla: Slow enough. Do you really want a movie recommendation?

  Tyson: Do you really want to go out with me?

  She didn’t reply right away. He hopped off his bed and went downstairs to grab a drink, scolding himself the entire trip. Why would he even ask that? Speech already geared up about not getting involved with anyone during the season, blah blah blah, Tyson knew better than to dip his toe in the waters of a relationship. When was the last time he even went out on a proper date, anyway? Over the summer he took a few girls to parties. He took one of his ex’s from high school out to breakfast one morning. It was after he stayed over at her place but still… it was breakfast. Staring out the window as he refilled his water, he tried his hardest and couldn’t honestly remember the last time he took a girl out on a proper date.

  Back upstairs he made it a point to not jump on his phone right away. Curiosity got the best of him, though, and he reached for it almost as soon as he put his glass down.

  Layla: Thanks for jinxing me. I just got a rush. And to answer your question, maybe.

  Layla: It’s not a movie but I’m watching Shameless and it’s good. It’s on Netflix.

  There was a four minute time difference between both texts. The second came just as he walked through his door, actually. He thought about it for a second before flopping on his bed and booting up his Netflix. Fuck it. It wasn’t like he had anything else to do.

  Tyson: I’m starting the first episode. What time are you off?

  Layla: Four thirty.

  He nearly choked.

  Tyson: Seriously?!?

  Layla: Seriously. My boss is on vacation so naturally I’m the one who has to do the end of month inventory and get next week’s deliveries in order.

  He wanted to bring up the ‘maybe’. Wanted to tell her to block out a night for him and only him and he’d make it one she’d never forget. Getting a night with Layla seemed as impossible as getting a night with Jennifer Lawrence. Just knowing there was a possibility she’d say yes caused a new rift of excitement in his stomach. His dick twitched in his pants. It was inevitable whenever he thought of her. He ignored it the best he could and texted her back.

  Four episodes and dozens of texts back and forth later when he heard the front door open and a ruckus beneath him, Tyson realized just how late it was. The only time he moved from his bed was to take a piss. Otherwise, he’d spent the last four hours sprawled out on his bed in the same exact position.

  Texting Layla. He couldn’t fucking believe it. Overall, her texts were pretty consistent. Sometimes it would take her a while to respond. They talked about how dumb her job was and she gave him a few horror stories that made him want to tell her to quit. The neighborhood she worked in wasn’t a bad one, necessarily, but the more she told sketchy customer stories she told the more uneasy he became. So uneasy he switched the subject to hockey and the upcoming season. Layla had only been to one hockey game, he found out. Tyson planned to resolve that ASAP. He thought of her in his jersey on the other side of the glass and his cock went to concrete. This time he couldn’t ignore the urge to palm himself. He came to the image of fucking Layla from behind. After cleaning himself up it was a little harder to keep on texting her, like he hadn’t just come to the thought of her body – like he hadn’t jacked off to the fantasy for the last month. He enjoyed her company, genuinely, so even though he felt a tad bit guilty he kept peppering her with questions about random shit.

  Tyson found out she loved amusement parks and county fairs. She was convinced Bigfoot was real. Peach cobbler was her favorite dessert. She wanted to go skydiving by her thirtieth birthday. When she was stressed, she ate sour gummy worms. She didn’t understand the hype surrounding Game of Thrones. Her favorite vacation memory was spending an afternoon strolling the Coney Island boardwalk with her friends the summer she graduated. She had one tattoo, a compass on her ribcage, and refused to comment on whether or not she had any piercings other than her bellybutton. It only made him itch to get her undressed even more.

  It was a little past two and he was tired, but once the stomping in the hall stopped and the house fell quiet again, he made the decision to stay up a bit longer. They had afternoon practice and he was supposed to Facetime his mom at some point in the day so she could show him the work his dad did fixing up their basement into a legit media room. Staying up any later was a bad idea but he couldn’t help but think of Layla, who had class all day and went straight to work for a twelve hour shift on a Friday night.

  Tyson: Two hours left. How are you feeling?

  Layla: Trying not to think of how tired I am. I don’t want to get an energy drink or I won’t sleep at all.

  Tyson: I’ll keep you company. What do you want to talk about?

  Layla: Don’t you have practice in the morning?

  Tyson: Not until eleven. Don’t worry about me.

  Layla: I don’t worry about you.

  Tyson: Well I worry about you.

  He chalked his text up to the late hour… or was it early hour?... and a little bit of delirium. Okay, maybe some curiosity, too. This was the most they’d ever talked at once. The most they’d talked ever, period. Unless he was completely misreading her tone there were times when she was flirting with him, but it was hard to say via text message.

  Layla: Don’t.

  Harsh. Frustrated, he dropped his phone on his chest and groaned. Tyson had no idea why she was fighting him so much when there was an obvious attraction between them. The whole ‘not wanting to get serious when she was busy’ thing felt like a cop out. It’s exactly what you say to people, you fuckin’ prick. It was, though. He didn’t have time for a relationship. But he wasn’t really asking for one with Layla. He wasn’t sure what he was asking for with her, he just knew he hadn’t felt so drawn to someone… well, probably ever.

  His phone vibrated on his chest and he almost didn’t look at it. It buzzed again and he lifted it, annoyance morphing into something strange that made his insides flutter. A selfie of Layla in the ugliest orange and blue collared polo with a wall of cigarettes behind her waited for him. Even with the bags under her eyes she looked beautiful. Her smile was faint, but it was there and it looked genuine.

  Layla: See? Wide awake.

  Tyson propped himself up on an elbow and grinned at his camera, snapping his own picture. The light in his room was off, but there was enough glow from his TV to make out his torso and head. Without thinking too much about it he sent it to her.

  Tyson: Me too. This show is kind of addicting.

  Not that he’d tell anybody other than her that.

  Again, the dots bubbled the bottom of his screen and disappeared a few different times before she sent a smiley face emoji. He smirked at his screen. It wasn’t like he sent a dick pic, but he wanted to see if he could get a reaction from her.

  Layla: I told you it was good. What episode are you on?

  They talked about the show for a while, but the gap between their texts got longer and longer and his eyes grew heavier and heavier. When Netflix asked him if he was still watching he hit no and shut his Xbox off. He slipped under his comforter and stayed awake long enough to get a text from Layla saying she was home and showering before bed. As much as he loved the image of her wet and naked, he didn’t love it enough to stay up long enough to fantasize about her in the shower.

  He did, however, dream about it.

  There was something truly exhilarating about being on the ice. Tyson couldn’t remember the first time his dad helped him lace up his skates, but he remembered thinking he was a superhero the first few times he skated. Flying was his superpower. There was actually a picture at his parent’s house of him at probably five or six on Miller’s Pond with a red cape tied around his neck as he skated with his dad.

  He didn’t remember that day at Miller’s Pond, but he remembered a hell of a lot of other days there. It was where he learned to skate. It was where he played his first game of hockey. It was where he kissed his first girlfriend whe
n he was twelve. Tyson had a lot of emotions tied up at the little pond a few miles outside his neighborhood.

  Every time his skates touched the ice, wherever he was, he felt that twinge of flying. He felt the rush of nostalgia. He didn’t conjure up memories of being young and carefree, but the rush was a familiar one that warmed him completely. It was a cliché, but the ice felt like home.

  Tyson had to remind himself of this when he was pouring sweat as Coach barked out drill after drill. If he tried hard enough he felt a pinch of magic under all the strain.

  It wasn’t enough to think about the path to success. He fucking loved hockey. He lived it. He breathed it. It was his life. He’d play even if there was no chance at making a career out of it. There was absolutely no guarantee that the blood, sweat, and tears he’d put into the sport over nearly his entire damn life would get him a spot in the NHL. It was all part of the game. Part of the process. A path to the adrenaline he craved when he saw untouched ice, waiting to be marked.

  “Jesus fucking Christ,” Nate barked out while they slowed after a drill. He bent over and wheezed before starting to dry heave.

  “Matterhorn!” Coach yelled. “What the fuck are you doing?”

  “Sorry,” He called back between heaves. He skated over to the bench and grabbed his water bottle, all while trying not to puke. “Sorry. Give me a sec.”

  Heath, who didn’t look much better, came up beside Tyson. “God, he’s gonna make me puke.”

  “Don’t be a pussy,” Tyson muttered. He lifted his practice jersey and wiped the sweat off his forehead. “I told you fuckers not to go out last night.”

  “Not all of us want to be emo and sit in our rooms whining because some chick doesn’t want us.”

  “Fuck off,” Tyson hissed.

  He was too tired and physically exhausted to put up with Heath’s bullshit. They were almost late to practice because the garbage disposal somehow managed to get piss drunk and spent the morning sharing the bathroom with Nate. Steven was the only one in the lot that didn’t look hungover. Tyson felt like a soccer mom trying to herd her toddlers into her minivan getting everyone to practice. He almost wanted to call his mom and apologize for his entire childhood.

  Heath rarely drank too much, but when he did he turned into an insufferable prick. That alone was enough to put Tyson in a bad mood. Paired with practice and Coach shouting out they all had to do another set of suicide runs because Nate couldn’t stop heaving, he was at his limit for the day. Instead of working on his footwork he was tied up in an endless punishment with Nate’s random dry heaves as a soundtrack.

  He took a deep breath and tried to touch that bit of magic in his chest.

  chapter eight

  “You’re so cute it’s painful sometimes, you know that right?”

  Layla scowled as she peered inside her fridge, awkwardly cradling her phone against her shoulder. She swiped a pop from the shelf and mocked, “You’re so annoying it’s painful sometimes, you know that right?”

  Emma cackled on the other end. “I just don’t know why it’s so hard for you to admit you want to sleep with him.”

  “I’m not denying that –”

  “Okay,” She said. Layla could picture her waving her hands in front of her in defeat. She was so predictable. “Okay, you want to sleep with him. We can agree on this now, yes? And that he obviously wants to see you naked. So why is this still an issue?”

  “Because,” Layla sputtered. Anxiously, she looked around her little studio making sure everything was in order. She wasn’t messy by nature, but she wasn’t a perfectionist. Still, she wanted to make sure nothing revealing was hanging out and there wasn’t a stinky sock hanging out under her bed. It bought her time while she tried to come up with a new answer for Emma. “I just don’t think it would work out in the long run.”

  “You’re not asking him to marry you.”

  “Heath said –”

  “Back it up,” Layla interrupted, eyebrows jumping up to her hairline. “You’re talking to Heath? Since when? Why is this the first time I’m hearing about this?”

  “We exchanged numbers at that party. I don’t know. He’s kind of funny.”

  “Have you slept with him?” Layla gawked. It wasn’t like Heath was ugly. He was hot. Arrogant. A total jock. Completely the opposite of what Emma tended to go for. “Oh my God, Emma!”

  “I haven’t slept with him. I mean, not saying I wouldn’t. He has been trying to get me to send him naked pictures, but honestly who does that anymore?”

  “I can’t believe you haven’t told me about this. What happened with Elias?”

  “I think I’ll always harbor the tiniest crush on him because he is gorgeous and is so goddamn smart, but he is totally not into me. Like painfully so. It makes it a lot easier to pay attention in that class now that I’m not trying to shove my cleavage in his face, though. Plus side.”

  “The silver lining,” Layla teased.

  “Right. Anyway, Heath and I are just texting. I haven’t seen him since the party. I really didn’t think to tell you about it.”

  “The real question is, are you going to let him see your tits?”

  “It would be an utter waste not to, I think. I mean, I do have a great rack.”

  The knock at Layla’s door made her swear. Despite still being alone in her apartment, Layla half whispered half screamed into her phone, “He’s here. I gotta go.”

  “Call me later!” Emma shouted.

  Layla tossed her phone on her bed as she rushed over to the front door, giving a cautionary peek through the peep hole before taking a breath and opening the door. And there he was.

  Tyson.

  Tyson in jeans and a fitted graphic tee, bag slung over his shoulder while he wore an easy grin. After seeing him mostly in athletic shorts and sweats the jeans seemed oddly dressy. It only made her nerves pulse even more. The way his eyes traveled down her body didn’t help. She was glad she decided to switch from her leggings to a pair of skinny jeans and swap out her oversized Cleveland Indians shirt for a striped off the shoulder top. Normally she wouldn’t lounge around the house fully dressed unless she had someplace to go. Normally Tyson Briggs wasn’t standing in her doorway.

  She shouldn’t have been nervous in the slightest. Classmates had been to her apartment before to work on projects. She hadn’t fantasized about riding those classmates into the floorboard. Hadn’t spent nearly six hours texting them while she struggled to stay awake at work. She definitely didn’t receive dimly lit pictures of them in bed and fight off a wave of arousal.

  That was only three days ago, and this was the first time she’d seen him since then. It felt awkward inviting him in. Not even because her bed was just feet away and she was imaging him in it but because she was still trying to come to terms with the real Tyson versus the one she created to keep distance between them. That Tyson, the perpetual playboy jock who strolled into class with his hat on backwards cracking jokes and going over hockey statistics, seemed completely foreign to the Tyson that linked pinkies with her at a backyard party and talked about life. The Tyson who wrote stories about snowmen and pizza delivery guys. The Tyson that watched her favorite TV show and sent her updates while telling her about his day.

  It was all too weird. Too fast. It was giving her a headache. She ignored it.

  “Sorry, I know it’s tiny,” She prefaced sheepishly. She motioned to the thrifted mid-century modern wingback chair tucked neatly to the side of her small TV stand. “You can put your stuff there. Or wherever, really.”

  “It’s cute,” He said, one side of his mouth curved up as he took in the apartment. “Cozy.”

  “That’s a nice way to say small,” She countered.

  He laughed as he dropped his bag next to her bed. He started to toe off his shoes. “Yeah but it’s nice. It’s very… you.”

  “Thanks, I think.”

  “You’re welcome, I think,” He grinned. Nose twitching, he added, “Something smells delicious, too.”
>
  “Oh. I um, made a roast.”

  This only kicked up his grin into megawatt status. “You made a roast for me?”

  “No,” She scoffed, regretting cooking completely. She should’ve just picked up some pizza or had something delivered. “For me. I usually make one or two meals and eat on them all week. I hate wasting food, and it’s hard to cook for just one person.”

  Tyson made his way over to her tiny little kitchen area, crowding beside her as he peeked inside her crockpot. He groaned a little and she had to take a step back to keep from touching him. When he turned to her, the gleam in his eyes told Layla he knew exactly what he was doing to her.

  “Lucky me, huh?”

  “I guess so. Help yourself to whatever is in the fridge. I have some seltzer water and some pop. There might be some beer in there.”

  Feeling like she had to do something other than just stare at Tyson looking so damn natural in her personal space. If she wasn’t so warm she’d be annoyed. Actually, she was annoyed. So goddamn annoyed he affected her like this. Turned on and angry. If she ever wrote a book, that’s what it would be called.

  Pulling two bowls out she started to plate their meal. She grabbed the rolls from the oven, putting two on top of Tyson’s bowl and one on top of hers. By the time she turned back around he was sitting on the loveseat pushed up at the foot of her bed, watching her. Layla felt weird so she took him his bowl then grabbed hers and sat down.

  “What episode of Shameless are you on? We can watch while we eat,” She suggested, if only for a distraction. Sitting so close to him feeling as domestic as she did wasn’t a good headspace.

  He told her and they watched, the show being the only noise while they ate. He went back for seconds while she scrolled through Twitter and Instagram.

  Suddenly everything felt wrong. Sitting with him in silence, distancing herself while their thighs touched, felt like a disservice. To what? To whom? Hell if she knew. Layla wanted to soak up every second with Tyson. She wanted to find out what made him tick. She wanted to latch onto him, sink her teeth into him, and rid herself of the nonstop thoughts that circled around him. She felt crazy. Completely bat shit crazy.