Breakaway (Beyond the Play, #2)(22)
I hope that when I see him next week, we can put any lingering weirdness aside and teach the class as well as we did before I went around throwing in complications. Or who knows, maybe he’ll have a pair of incredible games this weekend and my dad will just name him the captain. I don’t know who else is in the running, but there’s no doubt, after watching Cooper on the ice, that hockey is the chief love in his life.
“Cooper Callahan, a secret sweetheart,” Mia muses. “Who would have guessed?”
I pull out my phone to check the time and see a text waiting from my dad, asking about how the class went. Honestly, he could have mentioned to Cooper that I was going to be there.
“I’ll see you later,” I say. “I just couldn’t wait until you came home to tell you.”
“Wait,” she says. “This is great. There’s a party tomorrow at Haverhill. You can scope out your next hookup.”
I’ve only gone to a couple of parties in my time at McKee. When I was with Preston, I went to them all the time, but they lost their luster—if it ever existed—after the one at Jordan Feinstein’s. “You know I don’t really do parties.”
Mia clasps her hands together. “Come on, it’ll be fun. Haverhill parties have cocktails, not just cheap beer. It’s way better than a frat party. Those are always disasters.”
Haverhill House is the best off-campus housing option for seniors. It’s a couple of houses grouped together around a sprawling lawn north of campus, so I guess it should be called Haverhill Houses, but Haverhill was the first one built, and even though the other houses have names, none of them stuck. It’s relatively new—built in the ‘90s instead of the ‘60s, or even older—so it’s not a crumbling relic. It’s the best chance a McKee student has of experiencing a big party that’s not attached to a fraternity or sorority, and thanks to the people who snag rooms there—take this as a hint at their income bracket—the alcohol is top-shelf. One of Mia’s hookups invited her last year, and if she shows up looking like eye candy, she gets in without fuss.
The next item on the list isn’t anything especially crazy—I want to experience giving a blowjob. I have no idea if I’ll feel ready to try that with a guy who catches my eye, but it can’t hurt to put on one of my nice dresses and dance before it gets so cold, I resent the idea of stepping out to a party in anything less than jeans and a thick sweater. At the very least, it’ll be a way to get Cooper out of my mind. The faster I move on, the faster I’ll forget about him.
“Okay, fine. But we’re not doing anything weird that might get back to my dad. You know he’d flip out.”
Mia kisses my cheek. “Hell. Yes. Let’s keep getting you laid.”
12
COOPER
The referee’s whistle cuts through the air, stopping play. I glance at Evan, who gestures to the other end of the rink; Mickey’s getting to his feet with help from Brandon.
“Two-minute penalty for tripping,” the referee says. The player from the Boston College side, a forward, skates to the penalty box, and we set up for the power play, the first of the game. It’s the third period, and our defense has been flawless, but unfortunately, so has Boston’s. With only a couple minutes left, I have a feeling that whichever team gets a goal will end up winning. A power play is a perfect chance to make that goal belong to us.
A home victory for the first game of the season would be sweet.
With Boston down a defender, we’re able to penetrate their territory and stay there. Brandon and Mickey and the other forward, Jean, pass the puck back and forth as they look for an opening, and Evan and I shore up the line. All game, I’ve been sharp. Focused. When Brandon shoots and the Boston goalie sends it right back, I stop it from heading into our zone, passing it back to him between the legs of the remaining Boston defender. The goalie denies his second try too. Mickey tries to send in the rebound, but the goalie slaps it all the way to our end. I chase after it, protecting it against the Boston forwards as I look for an opening. I finally see one and send it to Jean, who slaps it to Evan, who loops back around and passes it off to me again. I’m back in Boston’s territory now—and the goalie isn’t protecting his right side well enough.
I take the shot. It squeaks by the goalie into the back of the net. The crowd erupts with cheers as the band starts up the McKee victory song.
Evan practically skates into me as he pulls me into a hug. Mickey and Jean crowd around me, patting my helmet and congratulating me. The first goal of the season? Mine, with an assist from Evan. I’m a defenseman and don’t get many scoring chances, thanks to my position, so each goal means even more. I can’t control my grin as we resume play. I can’t wait to hear what Coach has to say when the game ends.
We hold on to the defensive end of things after the power play ends, and the crowd—the stands absolutely filled with students and fans from Moorbridge and other nearby towns alike—cheer so loudly we can barely hear the buzzer when time runs out. I pull Evan into another hug, breathing in the cold air and the sweat on our skin. The team skates onto the ice, raising our sticks, bellowing the lyrics to the victory song. The lyrics aren’t actually “Go McFucking McKee,” of course, but no one cares. When we finally make our way over to the bench, I look for Coach Ryder, but something else catches my eye. A flash of orange hair.