Stolen Jerseys / ✓

0.09: chapter eight

S C O T T

I rushed to practice that morning.

I woke up late that morning, remembering I had practice when my alarm went off late. I quickly shoved everything into my bag, and quickly hoped in a shower. When I went to grab my practice jersey out of my bag, it wasn't in there. I scoured the apartment up and down, and even searched through Connor's drawers. But it was nowhere.

And then I remembered that Elle still had it from the practice last week.

I rushed quickly through the halls of the rink, trying to get there quickly and praying Elle would be there. Coach Monroe had said we had to wear our practice jersey for every single practice; and if I showed up without mine, that would look terrible.

I pushed the door open to the rink and walked in, noticing that barely anyone was there yet. I had grown to remember the entire arena like the back of my hand from the amount of times I had been in and out.

I threw my bag onto the bench and looked around for Elle. Coach Monroe was sitting on the other side, looking through a clipboard. A couple of the guys were sitting on the benches, and some were even getting ready for practice. I cursed and bit my lip, nervous that Elle had decided to skip coming to this one practice.

I turned and grinned when I saw her talking to one of the players I didn't recognize. She looked kind of annoyed, with one hip on her hand and a scowl on her face. I had noticed that a lot of the players tried to flirt with them - and she turned down every single one.

I walked over slowly, trying to hear what they were saying. I paused on the bench below them and scratched the back of my neck, waiting to see if Elle would notice me. But she didn't.

The lad was attempting to flirt with her. He was asking her why she kept coming to practices and he said she was distracting. (Of course she was - she shouted during practice and made me bust my nose. But I kept that comment to myself).

Elle glared at him, her light eyes narrowed and she sighed, clearly not interested in the conversation. Every time she made a move to walk away from him, or try to end the conversation, he held out his hand to stop her or striked up a completely new topic. I felt bad for Elle; even if she was typically obnoxious and rude, she didn't deserve to endure the bloke's terrible flirting.

"Hey - hey. That's really interesting," I said, putting my hand on the guy's shoulder. I stepped up onto the bleacher and pulled him lightly towards me, "but I have to talk to Elle about something important, so if you don't mind."

He glared at me, "No, man. Hold up - "

"Sweet," I grinned, putting my hand on Elle's shoulder. She grinned back at me and I steered her away from the guy. I looked back over my shoulder and winked at him, "thanks for being so understanding, bud."

I led Elle towards the other side of the bleachers, away from the other players and her dad. No one knew about the practices (we had two total, so far) I had with Elle, and I intended to keep it that way. I didn't want anyone to see her giving me my practice jersey - especially Coach Monroe. I didn't even know what he would say.

Elle smirked at me, "You know, if you keep being an ass to everyone, you're not gonna make a lot of friends."

I leaned back on my heels and smirked at her, "But you're my friend, eh?"

"Well," Elle said, smirk still prominent as she dragged out the word. I rolled my eyes and she laughed, bumping her shoulders with me. She shook her head and ran a hand through her light hair, "but really, why'd you drag me over here?"

"Oh - yeah," I said and ran a hand through my wavy, still-wet hair, "can I have my jersey back? I forgot to get it back from you last practice."

Elle had a thing about taking my jersey every practice. Whilst she had me running a mad amount of laps, she would sneak into my practice bag, pull out my jersey, and wear it all practice. I didn't really mind; honestly, it didn't look that bad on her. And it was kind of funny, considering how she had to tie half the shirt to make it not look so ridiculous.