S C O T T
Monroe. I bit my lip as her last name registered in my mind.
Monroe. Had to be fucking Monroe.
I knew who Elle was instantly; the second she said her last name was Monroe. When every player had to go to Coach Monroe's office and fill out paperwork, he had taken fifteen minutes out to blabber on and on about the pictures on his desk. He had spent like ten minutes talking about his daughter Elle. How great of a hockey player she was, great academic student. She didn't seem too bad.
But I was wrong.
I opened my mouth to say something - a retort that my turns weren't that awful - but, for once, I didn't have anything to say. All I could think was how furious I was; since she was Coach's daughter, I couldn't escort her out of Canada. And she just stood there - smirking at me, waiting for a reply that I couldn't come up with.
I narrowed my eyes at Elle, holding her gaze despite the awkward tension. Now I had absolutely no initiative to stay and practice, especially not when she insinuated that I needed it. I just wanted to go back to my apartment, shut off the lights, and forget that Coach Monroe had a rude daughter who thought she had the right to judge my skills.
"Now you have nothing to say?" she mused, a small grin on her face. I tried to ignore the fact that she was attractive, "I figured you'd want to, like, defend your skills. Say that your turns weren't sharp at all."
Instead of agreeing and saying that's exactly what I would've said, I shook my head and narrowed my eyes at her again. I ran my fingers through my wavy hair, pushing it back from my face as I thought of something to say. Usually I was good with arguments; good at having a rebutel. But - aside from coach's advice - I'd never really had someone blatantly call me out with things I lacked. I never really had to defend my skills to a girl I'd never met before.
I gave her a small smirk, a bit forced, but still there, "I don't need to defend myself to you, Elle. Thanks for the advice though."
"Not advice," she shot back, holding up a finger. I glared, and took a step back, making an extreme point not to slip on the ice again, "if I was giving you advice, I would've told you to take your turns a bit slower. But I didn't say that. I was just telling you that your turns aren't the best."
My jaw went slack in surprise, and I didn't make a move to stop it. I had absolutely nothing to say to what Elle had said. And the thing was - she didn't even say it in a rude way. She was smiling sheepishly, a bit of an apolegetic smile on her face. But she had just admitted to blatantly calling me out on something I messed up, and that was.. surprising.
Also awful because I didn't have anything to say.
I huffed and turned, taking quick, careful steps back over to the bench. Angrily, I shoved my Marlies jersey into my bag along with my skates and padding. I picked it up with me and plopped down, ducking my head to keep the blush on my cheeks hidden. I heard Elle shout out my name, but I ignored her, focused on getting everything in my bag set.
I zipped my bag closed, shoved my feet into a pair of sneakers, and stood back up. I was surprised when I saw Elle standing against the door of the rink. She gave me another small smile and I scoffed, standing up and shouldering my bag. She stood up too, the wall separating us, and I was thankful for that.
"I wasn't trying to be rude," she said, and I quirked my eyebrows, crossing my arms over my chest as I stared at her, "just - yeah, let's call it advice. You can't get better if you don't know what you're doing wrong."
I paused for a minute, turning her words over in my head. While what she said was somewhat sincere, it was the furthest thing from an apology. The worst part was; she acted as if I needed her to tell me what I was doing wrong. I knew her for a total of about fifteen minutes. I didn't need her 'advice', nor did I want to be bothered by her.
I scoffed again, this time louder, "I really don't need you to tell me what I'm doing wrong. Quite capable of figuring that out."
"Yeah?" she snapped back, and I could practically see her temper rising. I couldn't help but smirk at that, "Because you kept doing the same exact thing all game. After the first ten times you almost fell, one would think you'd learn from that. Apparently not, huh?"
I rolled my eyes, ignoring what she said, "And this is coming from a girl who only knows about hockey because her dad's the coach, right?"
I felt bad after saying that. I knew Elle knew about hockey. I had heard about her before; she played for another school and she was, apparently, absolutely amazing. But the words were already out there, and I had no intentions of taking them back. Even if she looked like she was about to explode on me.
I scratched the back of my neck, waiting for the snap that was sure to come. But instead, Elle just took a deep breath and gave me a small smile that, if anything, was more unnerving than the look she had when she looked close to snapping. I frowned now, unsure if I should wait, or turn the other way and sprint the hell out of the stadium.
"All right," she said slowly, eyeing me, "all the players are like you, Scott. Cocky and so sure about themselves. But hey - time will tell, huh? We'll know if you're worth anything when the cuts come out."
I shifted from foot-to-foot and nodded, "We'll see, won't we?"
She didn't say anything; instead, just turned and started walking across the rink. I glared, because of how damn easily she could walk across the ice. Grunting under my breath, I shouldered my bag again and started walking towards the door. I didn't even want to think about Elle, honestly. From the few minutes I had talked to her, I learned she was pretty damn annoying.
I was about to step out the door when the sound of someone calling my name made me turn around. I sighed and spun, leaning my bag-less side against the side of the door. Elle stood half-way across the rink, head held high as she looked at me. I raised one eyebrow, even though I doubted she could see it and waited to see what she wanted.
"Don't be too much of a prick to ask for help!" she called, and before I could respond, she was back to speed-walking across the ice.
I rolled my eyes and slipped through the door, brushing her comment off. She really couldn't have just said I should ask for assistance. She had to add in the fact that I shouldn't be 'too much of a prick' to ask for it.
I shook my head, trying to get the conversation I had with her out of my mind. I didn't want to think about someone so infuriating. I blinked in an attempt to clear my mind and looked at the two hallways; one to the left, one to the right, and I had absolutely no idea where I was supposed to be going. I bit my lip and decided on right. Right's always right.
My feet echoed down the hallway, and before I could turn around and go the opposite way, I bumped into someone.
I stumbled backwards, the weight of my bag almost taking me to the ground. Balancing myself out, I dropped my bag to the floor and rolled my shoulders. I blinked and looked in front of me, seeing Coach Monroe straightening out his dress shirt. He gave me a small smile, but I could see the annoyance in his eyes. I frowned and shot him an apologetic smile.
Coach Monroe raised his eyebrows, one hand holding onto a briefcase by his side, "You stayed after for some practice, eh?"
"Yeah," I said, because I did intend to stay for practice. But an annoying person had come and disrupted my plan, "I figured mine as well, y'know? Getting some extra practice will be good for when tryouts come up."
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."