Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 89535 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89535 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
Like I always do, I play it off like I don’t care. “Eh. Shit happens.”
His eyes narrow. “Okay. Umm, about those mnemonic devices.”
I sigh. “Thanks for helping, but I don’t know how much good it’ll do. Do you think if I take a puck to the head repeatedly, I could get information to stick that way?”
“Uh, no. I highly don’t recommend you try that.”
I slump.
“Tell you what. I’ll room with you at away games, and we can work on it together.”
My gaze flies to his. “What?”
“You need help. I have to be at away games because I’m your bag bitch—”
“Don’t use that term. It’s offensive.”
He rolls his eyes. “I don’t have much time outside of my required hours at the rink, but I can help you. If you want. What are friends for?”
I want to take him up on his offer, I do. But it’s becoming more apparent he’s a really nice guy, and I’m … not.
“Come on. It’s impossible to turn down a hot guy offering to tutor you.”
I know. That’s the problem. Us. Alone. In a hotel room. I can’t bank on me not doing something Asher-like.
“I’ll take your lack of response as a yes. Besides, even if you said no, I’m the one who controls the rooming assignments anyway. You’re stuck with me.”
I like the sound of that. I shouldn’t, but I do.
“Ooh, and speaking of games, are you ready for the pre-preseason game against UVM?”
“You’ve seen us on the ice. What do you think?”
“Things with Simms aren’t any better?”
“Yeah. He came over for a sleepover, and we braided each other’s hair and sang Carly Rae Jepsen. Fun times.”
“You’re not going to win if you guys can’t gel.”
“I know that, but he’s a dick.”
“Oh, and you’re a pure ray of sunshine?”
“Exactly.”
Kole pats my shoulder. “Keep thinking that, buddy.”
8
Kole
When it comes to Colchester U, there isn’t a huge divide between the jocks and the rest of us mere mortals like at some other colleges my high school friends went to. For the most part. The hockey team is a totally different story.
Over the years, they’ve steadily grown in popularity and fan base, and then along came Foster Grant. Insanely talented, yes, but also out and proud and completely confident in who he is.
I remember the first time Dad mentioned him. Foster was only a freshman, and I was still in my ugly-duckling phase. I maybe, sort of, developed a crush, but Foster had no idea I even existed. It was around then I quit hockey and started to work out who I was beyond Coach’s kid.
It wasn’t until Foster’s senior year, when CU made it to the Frozen Four, that campus literally exploded in support. More queer players came out. Beck and his boyfriend, Jacobs. Richie Cohen. The campus magazine went wild with it.
The hockey team has had more articles written about them than the football and swim teams combined.
I hated that I had to go to a hockey school. I hated how proud Foster made Dad. I hated his team and their popularity and the overall arrogance that came from a dude bro wearing a Mountain Lions hockey jersey.
I thought they had it made.
But now, grudgingly, I’m starting to understand a little better.
With notoriety comes pressure.
And damn, this year’s team is under pressure. The closer we get to actual preseason, the more Dad’s stress levels spike.
Katey cringes from beside me as we watch the last team practice before the UVM game tomorrow. “You’re right. They kinda suck.”
“I didn’t say suck. They just …”
“No, no. They suck. And at this point, you wouldn’t even be mean to say it—it’s fact. Are they planning to play together against UVM, or do they think if they confuse the other side enough, they’ll be handed the win?”
I drop my head forward onto my folded arms. Katey finished classes early today, so decided to come and hang out at the arena so we could go to dinner once practice was done. She didn’t believe me that the team was a mess.
Well, exhibit A.
“Oh shit. Did he actually bodycheck his own line mate?”
I don’t even need to look up to know who she’s talking about. Asher or Simms is my guess, and when Dad blows his whistle, screams so loud people across campus can probably hear him, and sends them both to the team box while he reorganizes the lines, my suspicion is confirmed.
“I know I probably shouldn’t say this …” Katey starts, “but that Asher Dalton is hot as fuck. I mean, his brother is more my taste, because his authoritative tone does things to my lady bits—”
I cringe. She doesn’t stop.
“But there’s something about the badass big-dick energy Asher’s radiating that makes me want to break my look-and-don’t-touch rule.”
I laugh at her. “He’s hot but going through a lot. Trust me when I say it’s better to steer clear.”