Funny how that worked.
Needless to say, Liam didn’t pull his weight at the paper. He should have been pulled off the sports section long ago. But our faculty advisor, Professor Johnson, was fairly hands-off—which in most cases was a good thing—and tended to avoid intervening. As a student-run group, unless we really wanted to raise hell with administration, there wasn’t a whole lot we could do other than tolerate him and count down until he left.
“On the bright side,” she said, “he’ll be gone next year. Then all the sports coverage can be your baby.”
I sighed wistfully. “Can’t wait.”
Hockey had been a religion in our household when I was growing up. Derek and I learned to skate shortly after learning to walk. Dad poured a backyard rink every winter, and we spent every waking hour on it. We both played hockey when we got older. Unfortunately, hockey was an expensive activity, and our family could only afford for one of us to play. Since Derek was better, he won, and I had to stop in middle school.
But I still loved it, which meant I was a total hockey nerd to this day. Stats, awards, records, rookies, and scores. I followed all of it. Points, goals, assists, you name it. I was a sports nerd in general. I could, and often did, school Liam on stats any day of the week.
I thoroughly resented that Liam had the sports beat simply because he happened on the scene a year before me. If it had been merit-based, it would have been mine by now.
Zara stretched out, propping her feet up on a spare chair beside me. “Are you done with that scholarship application?”
“Not yet. They want my entire life story. I’m surprised they didn’t ask for a DNA sample too.”
“I’m rooting for you. I think you have a good shot.” She gathered up her long curtain of auburn hair, twisting it and securing it with two yellow pencils. On her, it was messy chic. When I attempted it, I looked like the nutty professor.
I gave her a half smile. “I hope so.”
It was hard to gauge what my chances were, really, when the entire process was so complicated. I met the minimum GPA requirement, but that was one of a zillion factors. The application package included a lengthy form, personal essay, academic and personal references, resume, biography, and full transcript submission.
And that was only the initial round, where they narrowed it down to five finalists. If I made it to the next round, I’d be interviewed by a panel of journalism faculty members, several of whom had received prestigious awards at various points in their careers.
Intimidating would be putting that mildly.
To be fair, the amount of work was warranted given the scholarship amount. It was hefty, the kind of scholarship that would keep me from having to worry about money next year at all—I might even have some breathing room financially, as hard as that was to imagine. And it would definitely help ease my student loan burden once I graduated.
I desperately wanted the scholarship. Desperately needed it. Hoped I would be the lucky one of countless applicants who landed it. But I knew it was a long shot, so I was trying to temper my expectations.
As it drew nearer to dinnertime, the other students began to file out of the office. Eventually, the three of us were the only ones left. Noelle was working on an English paper, Zara was doing research for a psychology project, and I was trying to focus on my Video and Audio Production textbook. But my mind kept circling back to the weekend—and not because of Luke.
“So?” Zara checked to make sure the coast was clear, then leaned over the table. She waggled her perfectly sculpted eyebrows. “How was he?”
“Who?” I played dumb, fighting the telltale rush of warmth crawling up my neck.
“The super hot guy you went home with, silly. Chase?”
“I wouldn’t know. We didn’t sleep together,” I said. “Thank god.”
“Why not?” She gestured dramatically. “He was the perfect rebound. Tall, dark, and horny.”
“I was too drunk, for one. I threw up on the way home. Several times, according to him. I can’t say, as I don’t recall much from that window of time.” Specifically, I had no idea what I’d said, and I had a strong hunch I’d aired some dirty laundry. The only question was what.
Zara cringed and sucked in a breath. “Oh no.”
“Sorry, B.” Noelle winced.
“The last two drinks were my idea, so I have no one to blame but myself.”
“Do you think you’ll see him again?” Zara asked.
With my luck, I probably would. But I planned to avoid hockey games as much as possible going forward. I was already thinking up excuses to bail on Saturday’s rematch against the Falcons on home ice. I was debating between fabricating a twenty-four-hour stomach bug or group project emergency. Because the idea of seeing Luke and Chase in one place was, frankly, horrifying.
“No way.” I shook my head. “He’s an asshole.”
“Are you sure about that?” Zara asked, tipping her chin thoughtfully. “It sounds like he helped you get home and he didn’t take advantage of you.”
“Low bar there, don’t you think?” I asked.
She shrugged. “Maybe, but it’s still more than I could say for half the guys I know.”
“Fine,” I said. “So, he’s not a creep, but he’s still an asshole. And a player.”
Emphasis on that last part.
“That’s a shame,” Noelle mused, tapping her glossy lips with her purple pen. “He had total BDE.”
“BDE?” I repeated, confused.
“Big dick energy.”
“Ugh, gross.” I hid my face in my hands. “Sorry I asked.”
Zara poked me with her pencil. “You know you thought about it too.”
Snippets of our airport terminal conversation came flooding back to me. Specifically, the Airbus part. My face heated against my fingers.
“Definitely not.”
OceanofPDF.com
CHAPTER 9
OceanofPDF.com
THAT TOOK A TURN
Bailey
Saturday afternoon rolled around before I knew it, hitting me smack in the face. I tried to back out of attending the three o’clock rematch on home ice against the Falcons. I really, really tried. I did not want to see Luke, and I wasn’t sure I could face Chase after last weekend, either. Unfortunately, despite my best efforts, Derek guilt-tripped me into attending. Just like always.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” I had told him.
“You have to come,” he’d said. “You’re good luck, Bails.”
No pressure there.
Why, if I was such good luck, had the Bulldogs lost the last three games I attended? I kept that question to myself, not wanting to mess with Derek’s head before the game.
Pathetically, I didn’t have any other plans anyway. If I didn’t go, I’d be doing laundry or sitting in my room surfing Netflix. Watching my brother play for a few hours wasn’t asking much. I would pretend it was freshman year all over again—before Luke and I ever met.
I wished it was.
This time, at least, I would cut loose immediately after to avoid the awkwardness. I’d start with that, then maybe I could leave earlier and earlier as the season went on, eventually not coming at all. If I eased into it gradually, maybe Derek wouldn’t notice or care as much.
Or maybe things would magically get less awkward with Luke. But probably not.
To say our season was off to a rough start would be an understatement. By the start of the third period, the Falcons were leading again with a score of four to two. Not great, but at least we were on the board.
Dallas Ward stole the puck from Paul, flying into our end zone like a streak of lightning. He dodged Derek’s defensive efforts, leaving him in the dust, and passed to Carter, who was perfectly positioned, as usual. The guy had the hockey IQ of a genius. It was infuriating.