Five minutes later, we step outside into the early morning chill and head off to our respective cars. Luckily I’ve got my gear in the back, so I don’t have to stop at the house first. And although it’s stupid as fuck, Fitz and I race to campus like a bunch of speed demons. He wins, because my truck is old and slower than molasses.
We make it to the arena with ten minutes to spare, which is good because my phone chooses that moment to ring. My pulse quickens at the thought that it might be Sabrina.
It’s not. I’m slightly disappointed when I see Mom’s number and then feel bad about it because I love my mom.
“I’ll see you in there,” I call out to Fitzy, who’s hopping out of his car. He nods and ambles off, while I answer the call. “Hey, Mom. Practice is about to start, so I don’t have a lotta time.”
“Aw, I won’t keep you then. I was just calling to check in and say hi.”
Her familiar voice causes something inside of me to soften. I swear, Mom always has that effect on me. I could be tense as shit, and one word from her loosens all my muscles. I guess I’m a mama’s boy, but it’s not like I could be anything else, seeing as how I don’t have a dad.
“You’re up early,” I remark. It’s only five o’clock in Texas, which is early even for her.
“Couldn’t sleep,” she admits. “I’m styling an entire bridal party this morning. I’m nervous.”
“Ah, there’s nothing to be nervous about. You’re the hair whisperer, remember?”
Mom laughs. “That I am. But makeup, not so much. Those courses I took last summer helped, but jeez, kiddo, I’m freaking out here! How could I ever live with myself if I was the woman who ruined a bride’s big day by painting her face like a clown!”
“You’ll do fine,” I assure her. “I guarantee it.”
“Oooh, a guarantee? Not even a simple ol’ promise? You’ve got a lot of confidence in your mama, John.”
“Of course I do. Because my mama’s a rock star.”
“I really raised a charmer, huh?”
“Yup.” I grin as I balance the phone on my shoulder and slide out of the pickup.
“Okay, give me a quick rundown of what you’ve been up to,” she orders.
I make my way to the massive front steps of Briar’s hockey facility. “Not much,” I confess. “Hockey, school, friends—the usual.”
“Still no girlfriend?” There’s a teasing note in her voice.
“Nope.” I hesitate. “I did meet someone, though.”
“Oooh! Tell me everything!”
Laughing, I reach into my pocket for my student ID to unlock the front doors. Security is tight here. “Nothing to tell yet. But when I’ve got more details, you’ll be the first to know. Anyway, I gotta go. Walking into the rink.”
“All right, call me when you’ve got more time to chat. Love you, baby.”
“Love you too.”
I hang up and swipe my ID in the keypad, then barrel into the sleek, air-conditioned lobby where framed jerseys hang on the walls and colorful championship pennants stream down from the ceiling.
I wish I’d had more time to talk to Mom, but when it comes to Briar hockey, there’s no such thing as slacking. Coach Jensen runs a top-notch program that prides itself on excellence and hard work. Just because we’re sucking balls these days doesn’t mean those fundamentals have been lost.
In a brisk stride, I head for the locker rooms. I still have my phone in hand, and after a moment of hesitation, I give in to the urge to text Sabrina.
Me: Mornin, darlin. Give any thought to what we talked about? I’ve got a first date offer here with ur name written all over it…
Then I put my phone away and go to practice.
*
Sabrina
I’m already late to meet the girls, but when I fly outside after my evening tutorial, I know instantly that I’m about to be even later.
Beau Maxwell and a few of his buddies are congregating at the bottom of the steps, surrounded by half a dozen football groupies. From where I’m standing, it’s obvious that the boys are enjoying the attention. Although Briar is primarily a hockey college, the football players get plenty of limelight around here too.
“S!”
Beau breaks away from the group when he spots me on the steps. His blue eyes light up, which brings ugly scowls to the faces of the girls around him. They clearly don’t appreciate my poaching their quarterback slash potential hookup for the night, but I don’t particularly care. I haven’t spoken to Beau in weeks, and I can’t deny that I’m happy to see him.
I descend the stairs while he ascends them and we meet halfway for a hug. Strong, muscular arms wrap around me and swing me right off my feet. I laugh, ignoring the groupies who are murdering me with their eyes.
“Hey,” I say when he sets me back on my feet. “How’ve you been?”
“Not great, actually. Not great at all. My bed is cold and lonely without you in it.”