My ass was officially frozen to this seat.
With a heaviness in my body, I imagined myself looking up with my hands raised in the why me? position.
The whack of a hockey stick slapping ice drew my attention back to the oblong rink. A puck hit the boards, smack loud above the music playing over the stereo system.
I followed the progress of the game with a stony expression.
Why did I have to be such an idiot? From the way I bolted out of lit class, I could've given Wile E Coyote a run for his money.
The greasy scent of hot dogs cooking at the concession stand wafted over, but I ate back at the dorms. I wrapped my arms around myself, pulling my jacket tighter.
I didn't even give Alec the chance to get within five feet of me before I ran out the door. Who knows if he was coming over to talk to me? I was sitting in the general vicinity of the exit, so he probably just looked at me to be polite.
Plus, I had to leave to get ready for the hockey game. The game that I had two hours to get ready for, but that was still a reason why I had to leave.
Coaches shouting to their players overlapped with the voices of students laughing and talking. The stands around me were packed with fellow crimson-clad students. The group of guys next to me wore team jerseys and baseball caps while carrying plastic cups of beer.
Red wasn't really my colour of choice, so I had slim pickings in my closet. But, buried behind the swimsuit that I never used, I found the red shirt from my welcome package at the beginning of the year.
With a strategic knot tied at the front, it paired well with my pair of high-rise black jeans and a leather jacket. However, I didn't realize that the other team's colour was black, so I kinda stood out in the Summit student section. Oops.
I tracked the fast-moving blades of players racing around the rink, eyes drawn to the one with "SAWYER" lettered across his back. I couldn't fathom trying to balance on thin blades, let alone moving as gracefully as he did on the ice.
But, of course, he was the reason I had to be here at this godforsaken hockey game, sitting among this tiered seating littered with popcorn.
I glared at the thirteen on Tyler Sawyer's back. Weren't hockey players supposed to be superstitious? I rolled a crick in my neck and lost him in the shuffle.
The puck thumped into the other team's goalie's glove, giving rise to groans around me. It was the third quarter, or period, or whatever it's called, and we were tied up.
Even though the goalie grabbing the puck was about as important to me as the crushed peanut shells on the ground, I groaned too. Solidarity, sister. Or conformity, sister, but that didn't have the same ring to it.
The buzzer rang out, and the players left the rink, leaving two empty hockey nets and markings within the ice. The chatter increased.
A t-shirt gun catapulted shirts into the crowd. I traced the catapulter to the front of the section, where a student started up a cheer in the stands.
"Hey, hey, it's time to fight!" she called out. I squinted and leaned forward in my chair, shoes sticking to the floor. Layla!
She wore a cropped red jersey with blue jeans. A camera swung around her neck as she cheered. The ends of her box braids were red, matching the face paint smeared across her cheeks.
"Everybody yell red and white!" she said, voice clear and louder than I thought possible of her delicate frame.
"Red and white!" the crowd repeated. There was a certain level of drunk I needed to be to do that, and I had no plans to drink tonight. I had to stay sharp to interview Tyler Sawyer.
They went on, somehow devolving into a jumping mass that yelled, "Go, fight, win!" over and over.
Swallowed in the crowd with her group of friends, I lost sight of Layla. I pulled back and rubbed my hands down the front of my pants.
The Zamboni cruised around the rink and left a slick trail of smooth ice in its wake. The surrounding seats had emptied out as people went to the washroom or concessions. So, instead of having to partake in that awkward, forced camaraderie between strangers that cropped up at sporting events, I pulled my phone out.
An email with the subject line "URGENT:" caught my attention.
Sitting on the edge of my chair, I delved into the long email. With a gleam in my eye, I typed out a response. A supply chain issue I could deal with, no problem.
Halfway through the email, my phone dinged. New post from @alecitorussell. My mouth went dry. I may or may not have turned on his post notifications.
Someone tripping returning to their seat in the narrow aisles. He jabbed me with his elbow and splashed beer.
Tapping on the little banner, I opened Instagram.
Blades sliced across the fresh ice, then scraped to a stop. In my periphery, the puck dropped.
What in the world was I going to do the next time I saw Alec? I waited two weeks for him to notice me again, and I missed my freaking chance.
I swallowed the lump in my throat and stared down at the gross concrete floor. Spilled beer, crumpled up candy bags, and discarded frilly paper hot dog holders. How lovely. I guess that was why my shoes were sticky.
I could waltz up to Alec next lit class and go for it, be wild and crazy and ask him to go to coffee. Or for his notes. That was more reasonable. But, I didn't want to be permanently friend-zoned by becoming the study-buddy-who-wants-your-notes-friend. Coffee was friend-like too. What are you supposed to ask to do?
Who was I kidding? Asking him to do anything would involve me actually going up to him to talk to him.
Following him on Instagram, on the other hand, was easy. We vaguely knew each other and had a couple of mutuals. I followed all the boys I made pro/con lists for- Summit wasn't that huge of a school, so it wasn't weird. Or at least, I hoped it wasn't weird.
Oh god, what if they all think I'm the weird stalker girl that followed them on Instagram? I sunk back into the chair.
People burst up from their seats, all together, on cue like I imagined people did when the LAUGH light went off on talk shows. According to the scoreboard, Summit scored. It was 4-3 with six minutes left.
From the bodies tackling number thirteen, I took it that Ty scored. Cheers echoed, and cameras flashed.
I glanced behind me. Bad move. Half naked men with numbers painted on their chest jumped up and down, pennants and flags flying high.
With a pain in my jaw, I gave them a flat side-eye before poking my nose back into my phone.
Alec sat with a group of friends in a coffee shop, arms slung around their shoulders. The caption read, "Othello? More like oh hell no."
I gently bit my bottom lip, fighting a smile.
I scrolled through the rest of his feed, taking care not to accidentally like anything. That would be an awkward conversation.
It played out in my head. So, Nat, why did you like a photo from my vacation in Florida four years ago? Well, that's a great question, Alec. I'm a creepy stalker!
A sour taste filled my mouth as my eyes scanned the pictures.
How could I ever compare to his prom date? Or the other random girl who was on that Florida vacation? I tapped the image once, revealing her tag. Her last name was Ito. Cousin, perhaps. But still, my double chins could never photograph that well.
I tipped my head back, looking skyward. Those fans looked weird. Why did they spin so slowly? Was a badminton birdie stuck up there?
I blinked. I could never ask Alec out. I would never make the first move.
My future flashed before my eyes- the great aunt on Facebook posting nightly life updates.
I ran out of soaps on the DVR.
My dearest Fluffy coughed up a hairball.
#80YearOldVirgin #LiveLoveLaugh✌️
The final buzzer sounded, the finality of it ringing in my ears.
Tyler Sawyer's crisp white dress shirt came in a close second to the usual white towel. Adding a suit on top of that body should've been illegal. Now that I knew hot hockey players wore suits after games, I would figure out what channel showed NHL games.
After listening to the hum of the Zamboni moving across the ice for an inordinate amount of time, I finally made my way down to the locker room exit to find my interviewee.
Area swarming with people, I leaned against a concrete wall to wait. And I'd been here for half an hour. Waiting.
Surrounded by teammates and dare I say, fans, Tyler Sawyer talked to the never-ending stream of people. Monosyllabic, but patient, unlike me. There were so many items I could be checking off my to-do list right now.
I spotted Layla here too somewhere, flitting around the crowd.
My heart palpitations had devolved into a tapping foot by the twenty-minute mark. I checked and rechecked my phone for messages.
Crossing my arms, I fiddled with the leather cuff of my jacket. Most of the fans left, leaving just the guys and their friends. As much as I enjoyed the ozone-like cement scent, a girl could only take so much.
"Let's just get this over with," I complained under my breath and squared my shoulders.
I walked over to the group of tall guys and tapped Tyler on the shoulder. That was one broad shoulder.
"Well, you're a dick!" a girl said to him before walking off in the other direction. He turned to me. Guess I caught the tail-end of an awkward conversation.
"I'm guessing you didn't decide to change your name to Richard?" I gave a wry smile.
"Nope." He adjusted his baseball cap. Only he could pull off wearing a backwards cap with a suit and make it look not completely weird.
"Right," I said, strongly aware of my own heartbeat, "So are you ready for the interview? There's a couple places upstairs still open, or-"
"We're going to a bar, let's do the interview there." He picked up his bag and slung it over his shoulder.
My head jerked back. We? A bar?
"What? Where? Why?" I rushed out. "No."
"Yes," he said.
"A bar is not conducive for conducting a formal interview like this." I thought back to one I went to during orientation week with strobe lights and screaming into each other's ears to be heard. Fun when drunk, but not for an interview.
My gaze flicked upward to his eyes. Why did he always have to make such piercing eye contact?
When he didn't say anything, I continued on, "Plus, I don't even have a fake." That was a lie, Mia gave me her old health card and driver's license, but he didn't know that.
"Doesn't matter." He shrugged and started walking past me.
A flare of adrenaline rushed through me, firing my brain to act. I followed Tyler down the hallway, footsteps dragging.
"Yes, it does matter." I refrained from adding Richard to the end of that sentence.
"No, it really doesn't," he said.
I exhaled quickly through my nose, making what some might call a snort. Very ladylike.
"Well, you see, at establishments that serve alcohol, one must be nineteen years old. I'm eighteen, and so are you." I motioned between us, his bright eyes following. At least he was listening, maybe.
"Thus, even with a fake, our likelihood of getting into a bar is greatly diminished. Why don't we just cut out the effort of trying to get in, then failing, and go to a coffee shop? Or a diner? Or even back to the dorms?" I reasoned, quickening my steps to keep up with his long strides.
"Trust me," he said.
My nose wrinkled. Trust him? Mr. Bathroom Incident™️ Guy? Did he hit his head too hard on the sideboards?
Before I could get another word in, Layla bounced up next to Tyler.
"You ready to go?" she said. Tyler nodded. I stumbled mid-stride. Did they know each other?
"Beckett, let's go sometime this year, please," Layla called out over her shoulder, then she turned to me.
"Hey, Nat, right?"
Will, who somehow appeared next to me, replied, "Yeah, she's interviewing Sawyer for the paper."
Normally, I could function as a human and speak for myself, but my fuzzy thoughts couldn't keep up with the fast-paced conversation.
"I know, I'm on the paper too." Layla held up her camera and gave him a pointed look. Will ignored her, scrolling on his phone.
I followed with glazed eyes.
"So, we're going to Karma? Everyone's already over there," Will said, looking up from his screen.
The name left a bitter tang on my tongue.
"Ugh, Karma's always all packed and sweaty," Layla said, echoing my thoughts. The club didn't have the best reputation.
I scowled at Tyler. At this rate, he was going to give my gorgeous face premature eleven wrinkles.
Seemingly oblivious, he held open the door. A mumbled thanks fell out of my mouth as the crisp fall air hit me.
"We're going to The Brew," Tyler said.
I turned away, scratching my cheek. The Brew? Never heard of it.
Yet another boy in a suit burst out the doors and joined us, making us a group of five. He wrapped an arm around Layla's shoulder, their skin the same shade of rich brown.
"Did I hear you say we're going to Brew? I'm down," he said, keys jangling as he tossed them in the air.
"Well, of course, you'd say that, 'cause Brew is boring, and you have a girlfriend," Will said.
Layla smiled at me, shaking her head. I clamped my lips together.
"Nat, this is Beckett, my annoying cousin and our DD for the night." She pointed to the giant at her side.
"Don't try and hide it, I know you love me," Beckett said, and Layla promptly punched him in the stomach.
"Nice to meet you, Nat. I play hockey with these guys." He slipped his hand off Layla's shoulder to shake mine.
My hands were all warm and sweaty, but there was no time to wipe them on my jeans.
After hesitating for a split second, I gave him a firm handshake. If he noticed the sweatiness, he didn't say anything, thank God.
"Shotgun!" Will said as we approached a black Jeep. Layla rolled her eyes and went around to the other side of the car.
Tyler, Beckett, and Will dropped their bags off in the trunk. Where was I supposed to sit? I had two options since Layla went to the other side- the middle or behind the passenger seat. Both left me in an enclosed space smack dab next to You Know Who.
The middle was definitely worse. I mean, objectively speaking, it was always the most uncomfortable and never had a good headrest.
But, more importantly, it was slide-y. One sharp turn and bam, I'm basically in Tyler Sawyer's lap. For all I knew, Beckett was a sharp-turn-driver, so the middle was out of the question.
As Tyler came back around, I opened the door "After you."
"Ladies first," he said, shrugging off his suit jacket. I swallowed. Knowing exactly what was under that thin material didn't help my focus.
"I insist." I smiled, voice sickly sweet.
"No, I insist." He folded his jacket over one arm and started to roll up the sleeve of his other arm. Who knew forearms could look so good? Lord have mercy.
I snapped out of it. "Get in the car, Sawyer." I put a special emphasis on his name.
"No." He rolled up his other sleeve, stance wide.
"Why?" I said, raking a hand through my hair.
"I'm taller, and it would be tough for Beckett to see." He drummed his long fingers against the exterior of the car.
I gritted my teeth. Couldn't argue with that.
Climbing in next to Layla, I fumbled to buckle up before Tyler could put a foot in the car, avoiding the whole, scoot your butt over, oops touched your ass thing.
Well, he still had to buckle up, but it wouldn't be awkward for me because he'd be the one having to do the ass-touching. I coughed, choking on my saliva. Too much thought of ass-touching.
"Thanks for deciding to join us," said Will, who was scrolling through Spotify, phone plugged in.
I watched a flush creep across my cheeks in the rearview mirror, a green tree-shaped air freshener hanging on it. Although, from the not-so-forest-fresh smell of the car, the cardboard was likely older than me.
Tyler yanked the door closed, and the car let out a scraping whine as the starter tried to catch.
He buckled himself in, movements smooth and sure. His fingers barely grazed my side, but I froze anyways, nerve endings stirring. He stretched his long legs out in front of him and leaned back, leg brushing mine.
I examined the muddy floor mats.
With the squeak of the clutch being engaged, we were out of there.
Layla hummed along to the song Will chose, bobbing her head on the beat and Beckett tapped the steering wheel to the deep bass of the song.
I cleared my throat, wracking my brain to think of something to ask the person sitting to my right. The person I had a whole list of questions to ask but were nowhere to be found when I needed them.
He stared straight ahead, blue gaze clear.
Luckily, the car came to a quick, jerky stop. Huh. We'd gone in the opposite direction of the dorms, away from campus.
There was no long line of people waiting outside the establishment to be let in, or a girl to take cover fees and stamp hands with the club's logo.
However, a well-muscled bouncer was checking IDs. Which I said I didn't have. Doors creaked as everyone got out of the Jeep.
The thump of Tyler shouldering the door to get it open jolted me. I scrambled after him.
With dark windows, from the outside, I couldn't tell much about "The Brew," as the letters on the brick building read.
Tyler and I trailed behind the rest of them.
"Last chance to go do the interview somewhere normal, like a coffee shop. Tim Hortons is just over there." I waved to the red sign across the street. "I'll buy you a coffee, and who doesn't like coffee. My blood-caffeine level would be higher than the legal limit if one existed. More caffeine in me than a truckload of Red Bull. If I don't get my cup of Joe, I'll go into withdrawals. You wouldn't want that, would you?" I asked.
He shook his head, hair curled up under his cap, eyes gleaming.
However, we didn't stop, we kept going closer and closer to the bouncer dude.
Push come to shove, I'd cluck like a chicken and whip out Mia's ID.
"You're really annoying, you know that," I mumbled to him.
"Uh-huh," he grunted, nudging me forward.
The empty pit in my stomach was large enough to rival the library of books I had downloaded to my phone.
My fight or flight response from my prehistoric ancestors were gonna kick in at any second as I stared up at the dark eyes of the bouncer.
I gulped. Stupid, slow prehistoric instincts.
Tyler just stood there with that smug look on his face.
Screw you, stupid Tyler Sawyer.
My face while writing this chapter: *PURE EXCITEMENT*
What do you think of the book so far? Is anything confusing? Opinion on the characters? Who's your fave? What about the pacing? Are the chapters too long, too short? Just right, Goldilocks?
I'd also love to know how you're doing! What would you rate your day on a scale of 1-10? I'm a solid 10 'cause I'm SO excited to read your comments!
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