I truly can’t figure out if this girl is delusional or—
Actually, there’s no “or.” I think she might be delusional, period.
“It’s been ages. We’re pretty much an old married couple now.” The freshman beams at me. “That’s why I don’t care about you guys hooking up. You weren’t serious about him, anyway.”
I needle her just because. “Maybe I was…”
“No.” Her confidence is astounding. “He’s not your type.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Because he’s a puppy dog.”
“Who’s a puppy dog?” asks a male voice, and then the puppy dog himself bounds into the room. He yelps when he notices our faces. “Why the fuck are your faces covered with glue?”
“Of all the things you could’ve picked, why glue?” Summer asks in exasperation. “Why the hell would it be glue?”
“I don’t know.” He scans the seating situation, as if he actually has a choice about where to sit.
Rupi pats the pillow next to her.
I swallow my laughter.
Hollis lowers his big body onto the floor. Puppy dog, indeed. He’s wearing basketball shorts and a blue T-shirt that brings out the blue of his eyes. The shirt also hugs his impressive muscles, a sight that’s always a bit jarring for me. Mike Hollis is like an obnoxious kid in a hot guy’s body.
He slings an arm around Rupi’s tiny shoulders. “Yo,” he says.
I hide a smile. I swear, he’s so into her.
“See, you’re a puppy dog,” she informs him. “So silly and lovable.”
“I’m not silly and lovable,” he argues.
“Yes, you are.”
“No, I’m not. You can’t compare me to a puppy. You gotta pick something good. Like a stallion.”
“You can’t be a stallion unless you’re super hung,” I crack.
Audrey snorts.
Rupi glances at me in horror. “Brenna! You can’t make disparaging comments about a boy’s penis. It’s damaging to the ego. Just because Mike doesn’t have a stallion penis doesn’t mean—”
“Why are you talking about my dong?” Hollis interrupts. “Which you haven’t even seen, by the way.”
“I’ve touched it,” she says smugly, before patting his knee. “I was just telling everyone that our anniversary is coming up.”
Confusion washes over his face. “We have an anniversary?”
“Yes. Our one-month anniversary.”
“It hasn’t been a month.”
“Well, it’s been almost a month—”
“Two weeks!”
“Twenty days! That’s almost three weeks.” Rupi studies his face. “When is our anniversary, Mike?”
“What?”
I lean back in my chair and enjoy the show.
“When was our first date?” she pushes.
“Why would I know that?”
“Because you were there!” Rupi flies up to her feet and plants both hands on her hips. “You didn’t write down the date? What’s wrong with you?”
“What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with you? Who writes down the date of a date?”
“It was our first date. Are you telling me it wasn’t worth remembering?”
Hollis stands too. At six-one, he towers over five-foot Rupi. And yet any bystander can see who really wields the power.
“You showed up here and dragged me to dinner,” he reminds her. “I didn’t even know who the fuck you were.”
“I really wish you wouldn’t curse at me.”
“Well, if wishes were horses we’d all be equestrians.”
“Ha!” Summer lets out a high-pitched laugh.
Daphne looks utterly fascinated. “What on earth does that mean?”
“That’s not a real saying,” I inform him.
“It’s a real saying,” Hollis growls. “My father uses it all the time.”
Summer grins broadly. “Oh my gosh, Mike, your father is as incomprehensible as you are.”
I glance over at her. “Where do you think he learned it from?”
Rupi doesn’t appreciate the digression. She takes an angry step toward him, and now the two of them are in each other’s faces. Hers is covered with that gunk, and his is bright red from frustration.
“I can’t believe you don’t care about our anniversary.” Rupi spins on her heel. “I need to reflect on this,” she declares over her shoulder. A moment later, we hear her stomping up the stairs.
Hollis turns to me and Summer. “Why did you do this to me?” he asks miserably.
“We like her,” Summer announces.
“Of course you do. Of course you fucking do.” He stalks out, too.
There’s a beat of silence.
“Do you think we can wash our faces now?” Daphne asks, grinning.
“Probably?” Audrey answers.
We pile into the hall bathroom where we take turns ridding ourselves of the mask. After I pat my face dry, I can’t deny that my skin feels insanely smooth.
“Rupi said you have to apply moisturizer immediately,” Daphne instructs.
“Lemme grab something.” As Summer disappears, the rest of us admire ourselves in the mirror.
“Oh my gosh, I really do have a pinkish hue,” Daphne raves.
“My skin feels amazing,” Audrey gushes. “We should package and sell this stuff.”
“We can call it Face Glue,” I suggest.
Daphne snickers.
Summer returns with moisturizer, and our skin routine is back in business. Even though they’re all the way upstairs, we can hear Rupi and Hollis yelling at each other. I really wish they’d come downstairs and do it in front of us. It’s such good entertainment.
Instead, we’re provided with entertainment in the form of Hunter arriving home. He looks sexier than usual. Maybe because his dark hair is rumpled and there’s a seductive gleam in his eyes.
He’s exuding so much swagger, I have to ask, “Got laid?”
“A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell.” He winks before heading for the kitchen.
“Could you grab the yellow pitcher from the fridge, please and thank you?” Summer calls after him. “We need refills!”
“Sure thing, Blondie.”
“Huh.” I look at Summer. “You two seem better.”
“We are,” she confirms. “I think it’s all the sex he’s having. The endorphins are making him warm and fuzzy.”
Hunter reappears and sets the plastic margarita pitcher on the coffee table.
“So who was the lucky lady tonight?” I tease.
“No one you know. Some girl at a bar in Boston.”
“Classy,” Audrey says.
He rolls his eyes. “We didn’t fuck in the bar.”
“Does bar girl have a name?” Summer asks as she tops off everyone’s glasses.
“Violet.” He shrugs. “Not to be a dick, but don’t bother remembering her name. She kicked me out like two minutes after the sex.”
I can’t help but laugh. “Cruel woman.”
“Nah. Made my life easier,” he admits. “I didn’t want more than one night, anyway.”
“Classy,” Audrey repeats.
Now he chuckles. “Right. I’m a horrible person for wanting a one-night stand, but she’s not a horrible person for wanting the same thing. Makes perfect sense to me.”
I change the subject, reaching for my margarita. “You ready for the game this weekend?” I ask him.
“Ready as we’re ever going to be. They’ll be tough to beat, though.” The intensity in his voice is promising. At least his head is in the game, and not on all the girls he’s hooking up with. “If we can find a way to contain Jake Connelly, stop him from wrecking us, then we’ve got a good shot.”
Ha. If they find a way to not be wrecked by Jake, I’d love to know it. God knows I haven’t found the solution.
29
Jake
Every player prepares differently for a game. Some guys are obsessive about their superstitions, like Dmitry, who got a paper cut once and went on to shut out the opposing team, so now he gives himself a paper cut before every game. Or Chilton, who needs his mom to say, “Break your leg, Coby!”—those exact words, because in high school it won his team a state championship.
Me, I just need my trusty beaded bracelet and some silence. I need to sit quietly and get my head ready, because hockey is as mental as it is physical. It requires laser focus, the ability to react mentally to any situation, any obstacle. And there’s no room for self-doubt on the ice. I have to trust my brain, my instincts, my muscle memory, to create opportunities and bring on a desired outcome.
This entire season, I haven’t given any pep talks. The guys don’t expect it of me. They know that when I’m hunched over on the bench, not looking at them, not saying a word, it’s because I’m mentally preparing.
Everyone stands to attention when Coach strides into the locker room. He sweeps his gaze over the uniformed bodies crowding the space. “Men,” he greets us.
We tap our sticks on the floor in a hockey salute. We need to get out there for our warmup skate, but Coach has a few words to say first.