Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 90768 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90768 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
“Sorry, Seth. Those two are a package. And I already told them you’d do it.”
“Of course you did.” I sigh, resigned to the fact there’s no saying no to Foster. “Fine. Tell them to meet me at four in the main parking lot. I’m not being late and missing your game.”
“Will do. Thanks.”
Not like I had much choice.
“Oh, and I’m also going to invite Cohen too because he doesn’t have anywhere else to go, so probably him as well.”
“What about the rest of your old teammates? Maybe I can rent a bus and drive all of them.”
He’s silent as if thinking about that for a moment.
“That was sarcasm, if you couldn’t tell.” A car full of hockey players. Fun. “Cohen’s fine, but that’s it. There’s no more room.”
“Promise.”
We end the call, and I can’t help thinking I’ve forgotten something. Something that Cohen’s name triggered.
Thanksgiving night is a sluggish memory, but the more I concentrate, the more I’m sure someone was with me. Someone who got me home safe.
Was it Cohen?
I puff out a breath and head for my dorm, giving up on trying to remember. If I did something embarrassing in front of him, I’d prefer not to know when I have to face him soon enough.
It’s pointless anyway, when Richie is taking up most of my brainpower.
This thing between us is getting complicated, and we haven’t even met yet.
12
Cohen
I’m starting to regret my choice to come on this trip to Montreal, but after spending Thanksgiving with a drunken Seth Grant and Christmas at the Rossis’ because my parents actually shut down the shop to go on vacation with Logan’s family for the first time in forever, I figured I shouldn’t be alone on New Year’s.
Especially because I haven’t heard from Einstein after our fight.
I messaged him a Merry Christmas even though I’m still pissed, but he never replied.
I probably don’t have a right to be mad because I did lie, but it’s not like he hasn’t kept shit from me.
He wanted no faces. He needed the emotional connection first.
“Montreal, bitches!” Beck bodychecks me, and I’m not expecting it, so I slam into Seth, who ends up flat against his car.
“Shit, sorry,” I say. Seth hasn’t so much as acknowledged me, so I’m not going to embarrass him by bringing up his drunken ramblings that were pretty hilarious.
He brushes himself off. “You have a habit of doing that.”
“Hey, I did that once. This time it was Beck.”
Beck rambles something sarcastic, and I tune out.
I really shouldn’t have come. I haven’t exactly been in the most social of moods lately.
We climb into Seth’s car with Jacobs and Beck fighting over who takes the middle seat.
Beck wins, so Jacobs climbs in first, and I’m thankful I don’t have to spend the next two hours with him in my ear.
Though, it turns out Jacobs isn’t much of a buffer.
“Hey, Cohen, maybe you should’ve sat in the middle and rubbed up against us. That’s normal, right? Not gay at all?”
Here we go. It’s been months, and they still won’t let it go.
Imagine what they’d think if they knew what I’ve been doing online.
“Ignoring that,” I sing.
“Did you ever get ahold of your best friend from back home? The non-gay one.”
I sigh. “He may or may not be happily engaged.” Do I want to say this next part? “To a dude.”
Beck laughs.
“God I hate you guys,” I mutter.
Seth stares at me in the rearview mirror. He’s probably trying to work out what Beck’s rambling about.
“Your best friend is getting married?” Seth asks.
“Yep.”
“To a dude,” Seth says.
“Yes, my best friend back home in Maine is gay, and we used to make out, okay? It’s no big deal, but these guys can’t seem to let it go.”
Seth makes a choking noise. “Maine? You’re from Maine?”
I don’t get a chance to answer him.
“I have so many questions,” Beck says. “Is holding hands gay or just friendly? What about blowjobs? Friendship anal. Is that a thing?”
Fuck this. “Va te faire fourrer,” I say.
The car swerves, and I have to grab onto the passenger headrest in front of me before I slam into Jacobs, and Beck makes more cracks about me hitting on his boyfriend or whatthefuckever.
“You speak French?” Seth asks.
“Only the bad words.”
“What did you even say?” Beck asks.
“Get fucked,” Seth answers for me.
I laugh. “Exactly.”
“I didn’t know you spoke French,” Zach says to Seth.
Seth shrugs.
“I want to learn French swearing.” Beck bounces in his seat.
The front is quiet now, but Seth keeps looking at me in the mirror, and I don’t know why.
He’s probably wondering if he’s the only straight dude on this trip with all the shit Beck’s giving me about Logan.
“Teach me,” Beck whines. “Teach me, teach me, teach me.”
“Fine. Say J’ai pas de …”
“J’ai pas de …”
“Couilles.”
“Couilles.”
“J’ai pas de couilles.”
“J’ai pas de couilles. What does it mean?”