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I stifle a sigh. At least Brett gave me the courtesy of intel before I actually have to face the music.
“I see my friend calling me,” I lie through my teeth. “But I’ll catch you in class maybe?”
“Sure! Nice to meet you, Luz.” He smiles as if he won something.
I walk away back to my brutes.
Pendejo.
CHAPTER 5
MAX
My roommate’s a dick.
“Do you have to be up so stinking early?” Brett mumbles from underneath his blankets.
It’s already been two hours since I left the dorm the first time. In that time, I caught morning training, showered, changed, and was on my way to my first lecture when I realized I left my iPad and a book behind.
I throw the things into my backpack, making as much noise as humanly possible. As far as I know, this shithead is also in this class. He’s going to be late if he keeps yapping about how I disturb his sleep.
Not my problem. I slam the door shut on the way out without saying a peep.
Just a week of rooming with him tells me this semester is going to be miserable. Every damn day, he grouches about the fact that I have to get up at five for training. I’m this close to jamming his own pillow into his ears so he can have all the silence he wants.
The worst—or best?—part is that Brett took his scrawny self to the student affairs office to ask for a roommate change. I admit I’d been contemplating it and was pleased as punch that I didn’t have to put in that effort, especially because training hell week turned my legs into Jell-O every day. Unfortunately, his request got denied. We’re stuck together for a whole semester.
If they’d put us athletes in the same dorm rooms, all of this suffering would’ve been avoided. A-freaking-las.
On the bright side, the preseason starts in a few days, and between hockey and school, I don’t expect to spend much time in my dorm room.
I hop on my bike. The campus is pretty walkable, not to mention it’s scenic, like something straight out of a movie. Buildings made out of red bricks, old architecture type of columns, trees so old that some paths look like a forest. With the air still warm from the late summer, I don’t expect to need my truck until the winter. And it’s also a good way to keep my legs moving.
For a college so few can afford to attend, there are people in every corner. And all of them look at me, pedaling my way through, as if I’m some anomaly. I must have hockey scholarship tattooed on my forehead. Or maybe it’s my size what gives me away. According to Brett and the hostile stares I’m getting, no one here gives a flying turd about sports.
I thought he was bullshitting, but then I approach the building and people outright point and stare. Like some high-school type of pettiness I never imagined from people in higher education. I guess the scene might change, but the characters remain the same.
After tying my bike to the rack, I walk in like I’m a trust-fund baby and own the place.
A trust-fund baby who is not above using a map to find his way around. I check my phone to make my way through the maze of hallways. Bending my pride over to look at a map isn’t any worse than asking directions from people openly hostile to me, so here we are.
There are already a few guys in the classroom. I thought I was gonna be the most hype nerd here, but my chronic problem of never making it to the place first continues.
Their eyes follow me like hawks as I climb all the way to the back of the room and take a seat. My legs are crammed under the too-small table, and the chair’s armrests are too low, adding to my annoyance. In this moment, I sort of admire Boucher for having no reservations about opening his mouth, even if what’s going to spew out is garbage. But I’m just a lowly student athlete. I can’t step out of line. Which is exactly how telling them to get the hell out of my sight would be seen as.
Whatever, this isn’t the first time I’ve been forced to interact with people who don’t like me, and it won’t be the last. Soon enough, they’ll forget I’m here.
Not even two minutes later, Tinker Bell walks in, and I forget where I am.
My brain short-circuits. She has her hair down like at the bar the other night. Without the hockey gear or the gym clothes, she looks like someone who belongs here. The group of guys turn their attention on her, but either she doesn’t notice or she doesn’t care.
She gets to the middle of the room and takes off the biggest backpack I’ve ever seen. In the process, she looks back and spots me. And freezes.
My eyebrows go up. It’s fun to see she’s still annoyed by my presence. One corner of my lips goes up, and she responds by turning around and sitting down.
Well, well, well. Maybe this class won’t be such a bore after all.
“Phew,” someone says as they slide into the room. Brett rushes in, taking a look around. He doesn’t see me, but he zeroes in on Tinker Bell right away and heads her way.
