Stolen Jerseys / ✓

0.03: chapter two

I mentally laughed at how much of a kiss-up I sounded like, but I didn't really mind. If kissing-up improved my chances of making the team, then I'd volunter to wash the coaches car, if need be.

Coach Monroe beamed at that, and I grinned back, realizing that it was the absolute perfect thing to say. Playing on hockey teams since I could walk helped me learn how to handle coaches, "Good to hear. How was it? Get anything good done while you were here?"

No. It would've been fun but your annoying daughter came in and ruined it for me and now I wish she would get deported out of the fucking country. Instead of saying what I thought (considering that might have gotten me kicked off the team), I just shrugged and mumbled, "Yeah, it was all right. Good without all the other players."

Monroe nodded, "Good. Hey - have you seen my daughter? I asked her to get me a coffee and haven't seen her since."

I blanched slightly at that, realizing that when I said she wasn't supposed to be here, I was completely and utterly wrong. And then I frowned, because looking back, I seemed like a complete idiot in that argument. All the points I made - especially the ones about her not belonging at the stadium - completely fell through. Damn it.

I scratched the back of my head and gave him an apologetic look, "No, sir. Sorry."

Truth be told: I wished I didn't see her.

I pulled my keys out of my pocket and stood in front of my apartment door. The apartments in a big city like Toronto were big, but damn expensive. I wouldn't have been able to afford the apartment by myself, but I lived there with my best friend, Connor. (Who worked at a manuscript company, and thankfully, made good money).

I had known Connor since I was a kid, considering we both grew up in Saskatoon. But when Con turned eighteen, he moved to Toronto. And when he found out about me playing for the Marlies - he didn't hesitate to let me crash at his place.

I twisted the lock and pushed the door open. Heaving a sigh, I dropped my bag by the door and kicked off my shoes. Peeling off my hoodie, I made my way to the couch and dropped down onto it. Despite the fact that I was a bit messy, Connor was an absolute neat-freak. The pillows on the couch were arranged neatly, and I grinned, feeling them all squish against my back comfortably.

I folded my hands behind my head, well-prepared to take a nap, only to hear Connor's slightly high voice shouting my name. I sighed and swung my legs off the couch, quirking an eyebrow when Connor busted into the room, an excited grin on his face.

Despite being twenty, Con still looked stuck at seventeen. His brown hair was wild and pushed up, and he had light brown eyes, always filled with excitement. There was only a few times Connor wasn't grinning, and even in arguments, he couldn't help but smirk slightly. And now - with an extremely wide grin, and his hair wild - he looked younger than ever.

"Wait - didn't you have work today?" despite the childish looks and immature behavior, Connor was actually a fucking genuis, and at only twenty, had managed to land himself the position at the manuscipt company.

Connor waved that off, "Called in sick today."

"You aren't sick."

"Tell that to the thermometer," Connor shot back, light brown eyes narrowing. His lips twitched up slightly, and I smirked.

I leaned forward, seeing the thermometer sitting in a cup on the kitchen. It was so like Connor - no one would ask his temperature (his work didnt care that much), but he'd still do that, "You mean the thermometer that's sitting in the steaming cup? You're an idiot, man. They aren't going to come here and make sure you're actually sick."

"Like I was saying," Con snapped, pulling a kitchen stool into the living room and dropping down onto it, "I did some research while you were out at practice."

I quirked my eyebrows, prepared to listen to whatever story Connor was going to tell me. Con was my best friend, and yet he had an act of exaggerating things and making up stories. Usually they were hilarious, and back in high school, he had messed with the teachers. But I always fell for his stories, and he ended up making me feel like an idiot. I had just learned to be skeptical whenever he opened his mouth.

"All right, so I was on this medical website and it said that playing hockey gives you a firmer ass," Connor's grin was so wide now, I was surprise his face didn't split, "so you know, I was like, 'no way. Not possible.' But then someone said it was test and proven. But come on - who tested that?"

I shrugged, "No one?"

"No one - exactly!" Connor agreed, bouncing his head up and down in excitement. I rolled my eyes and motioned with my hand for him to go on, "I was like, 'all right, then. I'll prove it.' And here you are - my hockey player friend." I shook my head, already knowing where Connor was going. "So stand up and let's see if you have a firm ass."

"Absolutely not." I grounded out, glaring at my best friend, "Find someone else to do it."

Connor shook his head, "Asking someone else to do it would just be awkward. I'd get punched in the face or something."

"You're lucky I'm not punching you in the face, dumbass," I shot back at him, "sometimes, I don't even know why I agreed to share an apartment with you."

"Because you can't afford one."

"Shut up."

Connor tossed his head back in laughter and held up his hands in surrender. I laughed and dropped back onto the couch, ready to get back and take a nap. I was exhausted; my body completely ached from practice. I was sure my ribs were bruised from the amount of times I had gotten checked into the wall.

I closed my eyes, remembering the conversation I had with Elle earlier. I shot up, knowing I had to tell Connor about that. I couldn't not tell him a story about how annoying she had been; I knew he'd get a kick out of it. Plus, he told me to tell him everything that happened at practice. (He felt like my mom sometimes).

"You won't believe who I ran into at practice today."

"Claude Giroux?" Connor asked instantly, not missing a beat. He smirked at me and I rolled my eyes - something I did too much with him.

"No - why the fuck would a Flyers player be in Canada, at the Marlies' stadium?" I shook my head and pinched the bridge of my nose. I closed my eyes for a second and opened them again, "Elle Monroe. She just walked in and started criticizing me; saying all the stuff I did bad. She sucks, dude."

Connor's eyes widened slightly, "Wait - Elle Monroe? Like the girl who used to always be in the newspaper for hockey?"

"Yeah, why?"

"She's hot," Connor said, giving me a disapproving gaze, "you saw Elle Monroe - a babe and a hockey player - and you - what? Argued with her? You're an idiot, man. You should've used those hockey skills to impress her or something! I heard she's like a super genius, too. She's taking a year off from school before going to study sports medicine."

I frowned, "How do you know that?"

Connor grinned back at me.

I scoffed and shook my head. Elle might've been extremely gorgeous (and playing hockey was a plus), but she wasn't tolerable. Not in the least bit. She had just came in, insulted my skills, and then gave me a somewhat-apology. And then, she even had the nerve to tell me I shouldn't be too much of a prick to accept help.

I explained that all to Connor, all the while he just bit his fist to try and contain his laughter. I finished and he busted out in laughter, light eyes filling with tears as he laughed. He told me how much of an idiot I was for, not only arguing with the coach's daughter, but arguing with someone as 'amazing' as her. He was wrong. On the second one, at least.

"Do you think you can introduce me?" Connor asked, words muffled by the fact that he was still laughing.

I crossed my arms over my chest in annoyance, "I hate you."

"Love you too, buddy."