9.
My day could not have gotten a worse start.
I woke up feeling like someone had taken a hammer to my head and left me to die. My mouth was dry like I hadn't had a taste of water in months. The light that peaked through my cream curtains physically hurt. Strike one.
"What the hell happened last night?" I mumbled and pulled one of my pillows over my face to block out the light. The last thing I remembered was sitting around the fire. I could remember the people there, but I couldn't remember what we had been doing.
I shot up, suddenly remembering that I had a meeting with Mark and Lance this morning. My hand flew to my head. Note to self, don't move too fast.
I squinted in the direction of the clock on my wall. 7:05. Crap, I was going to be late to the meeting. I had twenty-five minutes to get to the rink, and a twenty-minute car ride. That barely gave me time to throw on clothes. There was definitely no time for me to nurse my head.
There was no time to spare. By the time I made it to the rink and got inside, I was already fifteen minutes late for the meeting. And with my head, the queasy feeling in my stomach, and the fact that light was killing my head; I was not tuned into the meeting. I was hearing the words but not processing them. Strike two.
"Zoe?" Lance asked, pulling me from my daze. I looked up at him. "Are you feeling okay?"
I nodded faintly. Sure.
"Are you clear on everything? I already filled Aiden in this morning."
I definitely was not clear on a single thing. My head was too busy swirling to have been paying attention. Hockey...Mark said something about hockey. Maybe he wanted us to start with that.
"Yeah," I heard myself say.
Lance and Mark exchanged a look of concern. I don't think that either one of them believed that I was okay or that I was clear on their instructions.
"Okay then." Lance cleared his throat. He lifted his right, gestured in the direction of the door. "You are free to leave. Don't forget you have your first practice with Aiden at 10:00."
Practice with an arrogant hockey head? Strike three.
I felt myself nod like I was aware of everything they had said and rose to my feet. Once free of the office, I rubbed my hands over my eyes. The lights were killing me. The Advil I had taken before leaving had done nothing to help.
What had I done last night that made me feel like this? I just wanted to go home and curl up into a ball on my bed. Sleep away the pain.
My hand glued to my forehead as I started for the locker rooms. The pressure against my temple helped to soothe the pounding ever so slightly. Someone must have hit me over the head with a baseball bat.
"Don't take this the wrong way," Chris said coming up from the right of me. "But you look awful."
I snapped my head in his direction, then mentally cursed myself for the harsh movement. Ow. "Gee, thanks."
He chuckled. The smile on his face irritated me. Why was he so peppy? "How are you holding up?"
"I'm fine." Again with the lies. I was not fine.
"Really? Because you were in really rough shape last night when I left."
I lowered my hand, my eyes narrowed onto his. He was being nice to me again, acting all genuine – like we were good friends. "Why?"
He titled his head to the side like he was confused by my bitterness. "Why what?"
"Why do you care?" I snapped. Again, I cursed myself. Too loud. "We aren't friends."
Chris laughed off my hostility like it wasn't even there. "Like I said, you were in rough shape last night. I wanted to see if you were okay."
I sucked in my bottom lip. I still didn't understand why he cared. Aiden was there last night too but I didn't see him coming up to me asking how I was feeling.
Chris took a step closer to me. "Can we talk outside?"
I raised my eyebrows. For a long moment I contemplated it. A part of me was curious why he was so persistent in being nice to me when I had been nothing but bitter back.
"I think I'll pass." It was too bright outside in the sun for me to entertain the idea of talking to him. Chris was a hockey head, after all.
Rolling his eyes, Chris elected to ignore my rejection and instead grabbed me by the wrist. He began pulling me in the direction of the doors.
I mentally cursed as the pounding in my head grew stronger from the sudden movement. "Excuse me," I grumbled. I attempted to dig my feet into the ground and protest, but my muscles felt too weak to put up much of a fight.
"What do you want?" I hissed bitterly the second that we got outside into the summer heat. I yanked away my wrist, my hand instantly on my forehead once again. "I'm not in the mood to deal with you today. I have a pounding headache, my muscles are fatigued, the light is blinding, and all I want to do is go home and sleep. I cannot deal with a hockey head right now."
The corners of Chris's lips peeled upward. He thought this was funny.
"You're hungover."
I blinked. "What?"
"Zoe, you're hungover."
My eyes narrowed to his. This was not a time for jokes. "I've never even tried alcohol."
Chris chuckled. "Maybe not before last night."
"I've never taken a single sip," I insisted.
He shook his head, laughing off my attempt to tell him that I had not had any alcohol. Nor did I have any interest in trying it. I wanted to throttle him for laughing.
"Why are you laughing?"
"Out of curiosity," he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned backwards, "what do you think you were drinking last night?"
My eyebrows furrowed together, and I pouted. Last night was a blur. I didn't remember drinking anything at all. Although I could vaguely remember there being a punch bowl.
"Punch?" It was a question. If I had drank anything it probably would have been the punch.
Chris's eyes flashed with amusement. He pointed a finger in my direction as he said, "technically true." He refolded his arms over his chest. "That was jungle juice."
"Jungle juice?"
Never heard of it.
"Orange juice, fruit punch, pineapple juice, lemonade." Chris leaned down to my ear. "Vodka. Rum."
I gulped. "Vodka and rum?" I echoed, my voice merely a whisper.
Chris backed out of my space and nodded. He shoved his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. "Hard liquor."
The color drained from my face; I could feel it as my knees went weak. I staggered backwards. Chris was quick to move his hands to my waist, balancing me. Everything made sense. I was hungover.
"How much did I drink?" I was dumbfounded. How had I let this happen?
Chris removed his hands once I was stable and took a large step backward. He rubbed the back of his neck with a chuckle. "Two cups."
"Two cups?" I repeated.
"It doesn't take much hard liquor to get a young girl drunk. Especially if you had never had it before."
Touché.
I bit my lip. Heat rose to my face. "I can't remember anything. Why didn't my brother stop me? He should have known that I don't do alcohol."
Chris offered a small smile. "He tried. You cut him off."
My lips fell into an 'o'. That shouldn't have surprised me. I was probably mad at him for inviting hockey players when I had told him no hockey.
"Right..."
A silence fell between us.
I turned my back to avoid his stare. My fingers curled around my left bicep. I chewed my lip. "Please tell me I didn't do anything embarrassing last night."
Maybe I wouldn't have wanted to know the answer, but I felt that I should. I wasn't alone last night. The last thing I wanted was for everyone to know about something I did expect for me.
"Not really," Chris answered with a soft chuckle. "You and Aiden bickered with each other. You drank some punch. Then you got up to use the bathroom, but by that time all the alcohol you drank had kicked in. You ended up losing your balance on the way to the house and stumbled sideways. Aiden happened to have been getting a drink so he managed to catch you before you fell, and you uh..." Chris laughed. "You blacked out in his arms."
I froze. My body felt like I was on fire. I did what?
"Please tell me that you are joking."
"I'm not. You passed out in his arms, so Scott asked if he could carry you to your room."
My mouth forgot how to speak. Or maybe my brain malfunctioned and I just couldn't move. I didn't know what to do or how I was supposed to respond. My first time having alcohol and I got drunk and passed out in the guy I hate the most arms. The universe really did hate me.
I slowly turned to face Chris. He gave a sheepish smile. "If it makes you feel better, I think Aiden was worried about you too."
Now I knew Chris was lying.
I inhaled sharply. "I find that extremely hard to believe."
Chris let out a long, low sigh. "I know you hate all hockey players and all, but has it ever occurred to you that we weren't all bad?"
I wasn't sure how to respond. It felt like a trick question.
Chris Dayton was the first hockey player to make me question everything I stood for with my hatred against hockey. He seemed genuine. Nice. He made me believe that he actually cared about me. It was the exact opposite of how all the other hockey players made me feel.
A small smile forced its way to my face. "Maybe you're proving me wrong."
Chris grinned.
"But only time will tell," I added quickly.
He shook his head and started to walk back to the rink doors. "I should probably get back to my brother's practice." He paused in front of the doors and looked over his shoulder at me with a smile. "I hope you feel better."
Then he was gone, back into the rink. A million things swirled my still pounding head. The biggest one left me feeling bewildered.
Had I just befriended a hockey player?
--
Thank you for reading, I hope you all enjoyed the chapter. This is where the story starts to get interesting!
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