Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 95559 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95559 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
The drive back to my off-campus house takes about ten minutes. The University of Northport sits along the coast, but the house I share with my teammates is on the backside of campus, and there isn’t a direct route due to some random one-way streets, which I’ll never ever get the hang of navigating. Whoever invented these sucks. There’s nothing worse than missing your turn and having to go blocks out of your way to turn around.
As soon as I pull in front of my house and see the light on in the attic bedroom, I remember Jude’s sister moved in earlier today. When he came to us a month ago and asked what we thought about her living with us, none of us really cared as long as she understood we’re hockey players who party after a win, who drink beer, and we stink. Hockey gear is not easy to clean, no matter how many times we hose it down.
Jude reminded us she grew up with him and wouldn’t give a rat’s ass about our horrific seasonal odor. He’s protective of her, much like I am of Ally, and didn’t want her living on campus due to some incidents last year. I can’t say I blame him. If this were my sister transferring, I’d feel the same way.
I’m pleasantly surprised to find the door locked when I turn the knob. “Well, shit,” I mutter as I thumb through my keys until I find the one for the house. I suppose it’s not a bad thing, locking the front door, but something I’ll have to get used to. The other guys on the team who live a few houses down from us won’t like the fact they can’t come and raid our refrigerator whenever they see fit, which is definitely something I can get used to.
Something smells amazing when I step into the entryway. “Damn,” I mutter as I place my hand over my stomach. Someone cooked, and I missed it. I slip my keys back into my pocket and head to the kitchen, hoping whatever was made is sitting on the community shelf in the fridge. That’s how we know it’s a shareable item. Much like when we get pizzas on sale or the bar owner has catered something, I can bring home the extras. We have a free-for-all shelf we all contribute to.
I open the fridge and find a plate on my shelf with a note:
Kyler,
My thank you for letting me move in.
Thea.
Thea.
My heart skips a beat at her kindness. She doesn’t even know me, yet was kind enough to put a plate away for me. Who does stuff like this? I don’t even bother to look at what’s under the plastic wrap and set the plate in the microwave. I already know I’m going to like it because of the lingering aroma. I watch the time tick down, stopping the clock before the machine beeps and wakes people in the house. The plate is hot, but I don’t care. I’m starving. I don’t even know the last time I had a home-cooked meal.
As soon as I sit down at the small table in the kitchen, the stairs creak. One of the guys is awake, and I can for sure as shit bet they want some of what I have. They can all fuck off. This is mine. I’m about to cover my food protectively when I glance toward the doorway. It’s not one of my roommates . . . well, it is, but the new one.
“Hi,” she says. “I’m Thea. You must be Kyler.”
I’ve never been a fan of my name, yet the way she says it makes me come alive. Thea stands in the doorway between the dining room and kitchen in sweatpants and a Northport hockey T-shirt with her hair piled on top of her head, staring at me, waiting for me to say something.
“Di . . .” I pause and reset. “Did you make this?” My fork points to the heaping pile of lasagna.
She nods and comes into the kitchen. “I did. It’s the least I can do since you guys allowed me to move in.” Thea goes to the cabinet and grabs two glasses. She fills them both with water and then carries them over to where I’m sitting, placing one in front of me.
“Thanks.” I’m not sure what I’m thanking her for, the food or the water.
“I hope you like it.”
“I’m sure I’m going to love it.” And I probably would if I could muster a bite, but I’m afraid to take my eyes off of her. I’ve seen Thea at games and even in pictures, but we’ve never met. Honestly, I wish we had because then maybe I wouldn’t feel like my tongue is swollen or my heart is trying to run its own marathon. This woman—no, Jude’s sister—has me tongue-tied and searching for coherent words. I shouldn’t feel this way, because again, she’s my buddy's sister, but if Thea were the one hitting on me at the bar, I’d still be there, fucking her six ways to Sunday.