Sasquatch to the Moon

16: A Little Intoxicated

YETI 

Stupid fucking wink. Stupid fucking crinkle in the corner of his eye as he did it. Stupid fucking sleep talking. Stupid fucking boxer line. Stupid everything. 

It haunts me as we finish up the day at Candle Lake, it haunts me all the way back down to Regina on the bus, it haunts me into the night, over the next day, it haunts me as I watch him pull his gear off after the last practice before the two days off we get for Christmas.

We scrimmaged all day, three on three, the goalies staying in the whole time, every other shift I was defending him and every other shift I was offending against him. I thought about him the entire day, every twitch of his muscles under his gear hit me straight in the spine like blow after blow of a fight, every stunning loud laugh that ripped from his throat on the benches made me ache like an idiot. 

I was so relieved by the time we got to the locker rooms that I almost forgot about tonight being Casey's night. 

Which means I have about three hours to get home, get my shit in control, and then get back out there, near him, near him, a newly crippling force in my life. 

I manage to sit still for only a few minutes of the three hours, spending longer than I would like to admit choosing something to wear, longer than I'd like to admit convincing myself that I need to eat something, and longer than I'd like to admit realizing that I've been neck deep in Rocket for a lot longer than just the night before last. 

By the time I park a block down the road from Casey's, I'm jittery and confused, not thinking straight about anything and not liking any of it. 

Tonight is not going to go well. 

At all. 

I find Paxy in the back and get a glass of water, not at all anticipating it when he slips me a bingo sheet. 

I study it like my life depends on it while people gather in the back near the two of us. Finnican is in all black, hair tied back and shirt sleeves cut off, showing off his arms. I don't have a reaction to it. 

Paxy has trimmed his goatee, pulling out the cut of his facial structure. His shirt is unbuttoned down over his chest and his hair is mousy brown and tousled just like normal. I don't react. 

Fenrir shows up and looks like he fell off the cover of Vogue or some shit, dazzling smile and perfect hair all put together above a black collared shirt and jeans that look a bit too good on him. My mind and body don't even bat an eye in his direction. 

Nico looks her usual, neutral but scary expression, a quirk in her lips as she watches her boyfriend bounce around and goof off, everything is the same with her and it's just Nico. 

Ukko and Hiro show up somewhat together, looking hot off a frat house but fifteen times more athletic. To my frustration, my unconscious knows it's prohibited from them, too. 

It's only Rocket, who shows up fifteen minutes past our organized time, stupid off-kilter grin, tight black jeans, floral shirt unbuttoned just above halfway showing off his collarbones and tan skin, all of it. Dark curly hair, darker eyelashes, long limber frame, and fingers that notch and crook at every perfect angle. He's disarming. He makes my blood turn to fire and my insides melt to nothing. If he so much as brushes me I'll crumble to dust. 

I keep to my little corner, checking things off my sheet, watching Rocket's lips around the mouth of a beer bottle, watching his hand brush down a girl's hip, aimlessly, like he's not really all that engaged with her, half in conversation with Steph by his side. 

I understand why the guys like Casey's nights, they get to talk and people -girls- give them more attention than they could possibly need. I think it's draining, Rocket's hand is keeping me from slipping out the back door.