Shut Out (Bayard Hockey #1)(4)
I meet Victoria’s gaze. “Don’t worry.” I flash a smile. “This is fun for me. I can handle the pizza fundraiser if someone else can tackle the benefit concert.”
“I can do that,” Grace says.
“And I’ll do the research into getting best prices on T-shirts,” Leah says.
“Okay, that would be great.”
“Now let’s talk about how the new training program is going,” Victoria says.
The other thing I’ve volunteered to do is assist with the pilot program we’re doing for all freshmen and transfer students, to educate them on healthy relationships, nonviolence and equality, and affirmative consent. We developed this program last year and started rolling out the sessions when classes started. Next week is the third group to go through it, which I’ll be doing along with Victoria, Grace, and another volunteer, Chad.
We get an update on how things are going and some of the feedback we’ve received, which is mostly positive, then I pack up my laptop and drive my tiny little Chevy Cruse home. It’s Friday afternoon, I’m done with classes, and now I have not only a lengthy list of tasks to do by our next meeting, but also reading for Human Physiology and Organic Chemistry. Fun times.
I walk into the house to the pounding beat of Pitbull. Natalie’s amazing Bose speakers in the kitchen and living room are usually rocking with some kind of tunes, and truthfully, I love it. I love music, and my cheap little docking station for my phone doesn’t have nearly the same quality of sound. Luckily, I like almost any kind of music—Luke Bryan or Rihanna or Kanye, but I really like a lot of indie music, like Arcade Fire and Boy Kill Boy. Actually, there are times I like to chill out to Enya. Brendan used to bug me about listening to music his grandma liked.
I sigh at the pang in my chest remembering Brendan and that he’ll never tease me again about music.
“Hey, Skylar!” Ella calls to me from the kitchen. “We’re making sangria. Gonna order pizza. You in?”
“Sure.” Pizza sounds good, better than cooking, and we get it from a great place that’s not expensive. We order our agreed-upon favorite—the Santorelli special with bacon, no anchovies.
“We’re going to a party tonight,” Ella continues. “You’re coming, right?”
Of course she’s going to a party. I swallow my first reaction, which is, Hell no, I have no time to party. I tip my head back and gaze at the ceiling. It’s cracked, because this is an old rental house that nobody takes care of.
Victoria’s comment about having fun sticks with me. I can say all I want that my idea of fun is different than others’, that I have no time to party and turn my nose up at that frivolity…but the truth? I’m a little envious of my housemates, who go out and have fun all the time. Not only do they party, they go for lunch, have coffee, even get mani/pedis together.
Sometimes I wonder if I’m really worried about Ella or…jealous. Or maybe both.
I’m not jealous of her being so hungover she can’t get out of bed. I can’t afford to waste a whole day like that. She knows how hard I have to work to earn half-decent grades though, so I do get a little resentful that my best friend isn’t staying home studying with me. Which is completely unreasonable, but there you have it. I’m not perfect, much as I try to be.
So right now I want to push aside that awful resentment and envy, and just go have fun.
“Okay,” I say. “I’ll come.”
Chapter 3
Jacob
I have to go to this big off-campus party tonight. I keep saying no to the party invites, but not only is it making me f*cking lonely, the guys I live with think I’m some kind of * or stuck-up asshat. I’ve had the occasional beer, but I don’t go out and get shitfaced or stoned like they do every weekend since school started. I like to have fun, but a drunken party is what got me here, living in a house with three other hockey players off campus at Bayard College, trying to keep my ass out of trouble. They don’t know why I turn down invitations in order to stay home and play Xbox. Or jerk off to Internet porn, which is sadly what my sex life has become. Or study.
Fuck me, I’ve never studied so much in my life.
But when you’re sitting at home alone in a town where you know nobody, what the f*ck else are you going to do? There’s only so much porn you can watch before you become numb to it.
I can do this. I can go to a party, have a beer or two, maybe meet some new people, and have a few laughs and leave sober and alone. If I don’t, these guys are never going to accept me as their buddy and teammate.
The guys I live with are all Bayard Bears players—Ben Buckingham, known as Buck; Grady Rockwell, aka Rocket; and Hunter Campbell, who is called Soupy for cheesy, obvious reasons. I’m known as Flash, partly because my last name is Flass, but also because people think I’m flashy on the ice. I say this in all modesty.
Rocket grabs a beer from the fridge and slams the door shut. As he slides onto a stool at the kitchen island, Buck glares at him. “Thanks, bud. You could’ve brought me one too.”
“Nu-uh.” Rocket shakes his head and lifts the bottle to his lips. “This is your level one infraction punishment. You have to get your own beer.”
I eyeball them both. “Level one punishment? For what?”
“He hid beer.” Rocket shakes his head in disapproval. “That’s a level one infraction.”