Shut Out (Bayard Hockey #1)(13)
I pick up my messenger bag and lift the strap over my head, my gaze going to Skylar. She’s talking to a couple other people but, as if she feels my gaze on her, like she did that night at the party, she meets mine.
Her gaze is cool. Hell, I don’t blame her. I should apologize. But maybe that would make it worse. I can’t really explain to her why I turned her down, but I want her to know that it wasn’t her, it was me.
Fuck, that sounds lame.
—
The next day, I’ve sat through three classes by noon. I make my way across the Quad to the dining hall, hungry enough to eat my shoulder pads. Although we live off campus, my housemates and I have meal plans so we can eat on campus if we want. It’s actually good because the dining hall has buffets with tons of choices and we all eat a lot. And none of us are great cooks.
But that’s okay. Despite these guys still not totally accepting me, living with them is kind of cool. Last year I was billeted with a family who had a seventeen-year-old son who played hockey on my team. We ended up driving back and forth to the arena together. He was a good kid, and the family was awesome, but I have to say living on my own with a bunch of guys my age is a lot more fun. Or it could be.
I spot Buck, Rocket, and Soupy at a table and I stride over to them and drop my bag onto an empty chair. They look up. “Hey, Flash. What up?”
Their greeting is cordial but not warm. Tightness squeezes my chest. Everyone is supposed to like me.
“I’m starving,” I answer. “Gonna load up. Be right back.”
I fill a plate with chicken, pasta, salad, and a couple rolls, plus I add a piece of pie and a brownie for dessert to my tray. I have a sweet tooth. I’m supposed to avoid too much sugar, but it’s not like I’ll get fat. I have a hard time keeping weight on, in fact, with the way I’m built and how much I work out. When I was under two hundred pounds, I was scrawny by NHL standards, so I worked hard over the summer and put on fourteen pounds—but that was muscle, as it’s supposed to be.
Back at the table, Soupy and Rocket are ragging on Buck about his clothes. He’s wearing a pair of narrow beige pants, argyle socks, and a pink T-shirt.
“Do I look like a f*cking girl?” he asks mildly in response to Soupy’s comment about the shirt.
He does not. His shoulders are wider than mine and his dark beard stubble takes him about two hours to grow. If anyone can pull off a pink shirt without his masculinity being questioned, it’s Buck. But what are friends for if not to bug you about your fashion choices.
“That shade of pink is good with your skin tone,” I say helpfully.
Buck meets my eyes and I lift one eyebrow. His lips twitch. “Thanks,” he drawls. “I thought so.”
Not only is the shirt pink, it probably cost a hundred bucks. Buck likes nice shit, including expensive clothes.
“Wait till he wears one of his hats,” Rocket says. “You’ll want to walk a few paces behind him.”
“Fuck you. My hats are cool.”
“Uh-huh.”
These guys all know one another and are comfortable enough to trash talk, and I try not to feel like an outsider as I eat my meal.
A girl passes by our table and shoots Soupy a disgusted scowl that none of us miss. She continues on and sits with some friends.
“Dude,” Buck says in a low voice. “Isn’t that the chick you left with Friday night?”
I’d been the designated driver, but only Rocket had come home with me that night. Buck and Soupy had both left with girls, which had depressed the hell out of me since I’d actually turned down an offer, for f*ck’s sake.
“Yeah.” Soupy drops his gaze to his empty plate.
“Apparently she’s not too impressed with your mad sex skillz.”
“Fuck off.”
“Oooh.” We all exchange glances. “It must be good. Come on, bro, tell us all.”
Soupy rolls his eyes. “Okay, fine, I didn’t get laid.”
“Couldn’t get it up?” Buck’s eyebrows shoot up. “It was probably just whiskey dick—”
“That wasn’t it.” Soupy frowns and picks up his paper napkin. He sighs. “Fine, here’s what went down. We went back to her dorm. I didn’t have a condom, so she told me to go get one from this box her RA has on the wall outside his room. I grab one, jump into the sack with her, and things are going great. Then I get ready to glove up. I open up the package, and bam, powder everywhere.”
We all frown.
“The whole bed smelled like chicken. I know, what the f*ck? I turn on the light and discover it was a packet of soup mix from some goddamn ramen noodles.” Soupy scowls. “Needless to say, that kinda killed the mood.”
We all dissolve into laughter, falling back in our chairs. I’m picturing Soupy naked in bed covered with powdered chicken soup. My eyes actually tear up, I’m laughing so hard.
“Oh, man, that is priceless.” Rocket slaps Soupy’s shoulder. “No wonder you didn’t score.”
“Most embarrassing night of my life,” Soupy mumbles.
“You didn’t realize it wasn’t a condom?” Buck grins. “How could you not?”
“I was riding the buzz train, if you’ll recall.”
“Riding the buzz train to *town,” Buck adds.