Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 84114 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84114 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
We fall silent again, and I look up at the smear of color brushing the sky. Today has been weird to say the least, yet all I can focus on is freezing water, and smiles, and the burning red sunset lighting up Foster’s cheeks.
He shifts beside me, moving closer, sending shivers over my skin. The hand he’s leaning on brushes me and then his fingertips slip between mine.
Which of course sends my heart up into my throat.
Foster doesn’t do anything else, and I’m not sure if it was an accident or intentional. Is it a friendly action? Has he even noticed?
How could he not when I feel like my hand is literally vibrating?
I hope he doesn’t expect me to know what’s going on because I’m completely lost.
“You know,” he says when it’s finally dark. “It’s a pity first kisses are more of a high school thing. That would have been a fun experience to have with you.”
Ah … my brain is stuck. First kisses? He’d actually kiss me? Does he want to?
God, what am I thinking? This is Foster. He’s probably only saying that as a hypothetical. Besides, the only thing more embarrassing than telling him I haven’t actually had that life experience yet, not properly anyway, would be having a bird drop excrement on my head.
And oh yes, I’ve already had that happen, so my virgin status—kisses and otherwise—will forever remain my secret.
He has two beers, but I’m good with just one. We sit there watching the sky and talking about everything and nothing. Even though I have no idea about hockey, I like the way Foster lights up when he mentions it. He speaks about his team with warmth and his future with hope.
I can’t help being disappointed when Foster says it’s time to go.
“You’ve yawned five times in the last ten minutes.” He holds out his hand and helps pull me to my feet. “We should get going.”
“But I don’t wanna …”
Foster squeezes me in a quick side hug that I lean into for as long as he lets me. It’s nowhere near long enough. “Other than you being dead on your feet, I have early practice, and Coach will kill me if I’m too tired to skate.”
“I’ll have you know, this is your fault.”
“Too much excitement for one day?” he asks as he packs up.
“Something like that.”
We drop everything off in his room before he insists on walking me back to my dorm, and I laugh silently as I remember his nonsense about the architecture.
“I want to make a bet with you,” Foster says when we arrive at Albany Hall.
“A bet …”
“I think I know how to get you to understand team dynamics in a practical setting with one word.”
I roll my eyes. “Back on that, are we? It’s not possible. I’ve been studying the course material, but there is no theory that cohesively demonstrates real-life situations where selfishness doesn’t outweigh teamwork. I need to understand it on a theoretical level to relate to it in person—”
“One word. And if I get it, you have to come to the CU versus UVM preseason game next weekend.”
“I don’t do hockey games.”
“You will. And you’ll also be wearing my jersey.”
My head falls back as I laugh. This may be the most ridiculous thing he’s ever said. “I know you hockey players have a bit of an ego, so I’ll try to be gentle when I say, I don’t own a jersey with your number on it.”
Foster’s not deterred. “Seth does. You can borrow his.”
“There’s no way you could—”
“Then you should have no trouble saying yes to the bet.” The challenging look in his eyes gives me pause.
“You’ve got one word.”
Foster smiles. “Symbiosis.”
Symbi … oh no.
“I’ll wait …” Foster folds his arms, looking entirely too smug.
“Two different organisms with a mutually beneficial relationship.”
“They complement each other. So, even though they’re different, and might have different ways of achieving a goal, they work together to make each other better. That’s the team.”
I hang my head. “Shit. It’s so simple.”
Foster starts to back up. “I can’t wait to see what you look like in my jersey.”
Then he turns and leaves before I can protest.
11
Foster
Coach Hogan’s whistle blows so fucking loud it echoes around the rink, but that’s nowhere near as loud as his yelling.
The whole team has been out of sync this practice. I know a few guys went to McIntyre’s last night while I was with Zach, but they know better than to get shitfaced the night before practice.
It’s not that we’re playing badly, but we’re not gelling. Even Jacobs and I, the highest scorers on the ice, aren’t connecting today like we usually do.
We’re all sweaty, tired, and just plain defeated.
This happens sometimes, and it’s better to happen during a practice than a real game.
Especially a game as important as the one coming up.