Page 7 of Blueline Baby

“That’s what you said about⁠—”

“I’ll remember her.”

He holds his hands up. Nothing’s ever held my attention the way hockey does. He’s not wrong to point that out. But he's wrong about this.

“She watches, though,” I say. “Her roommate said she watches the games.”

“So?”

“So she’ll come to a game.” I can feel myself grinning. “I’ll give her something to watch.”

He drags a hand down his face. “You’re gonna get benched making eyes at the stands.”

“I don’t make eyes. I make plays.” I finish his toast for him. “I’ve got a game plan.”

“You’ve got practice. That you missed.”

“That too.”

4

CHLOE

IT’S DEFINITELY NOT A DATE

A week later I’m laying across my bed on my stomach with my head hanging off the side reading a textbook I left open on the floor because my arms went numb from holding it up. I’m on my fourth pass of this particular chapter when Britt walks in and kicks the book clean under the bed.

“Get up, loser, we’re going to a party.”

“I’m studying.”

“Not anymore you’re not. Put this on.”

She throws one of her shirts at me and I hold it up by two fingers.

“I’m definitely not wearing this, and I’m not going to a party.”

She drops onto her knees next to my bed. “Please, Chloe. Please. Please. Please. I never do anything out of control if you’re there. You’re like my guardian angel.”

“Ugh, fine.” I roll off the bed and head for my bathroom.

“Wear the shirt!” she calls after me.

I have a quiz Monday and forty pages of lecture slides I haven’t even looked at yet. Britt doesn’t care about any of that so I put on the shirt. It's entirely too tight across my chest and I internally debate the argument I can have with her now about it, or suck it up and leave the party as quickly as I can.

The party is in the exact same apartment as last weekend, which means it’s essentially the exact same party. There’s a game on the TV in the corner. The sound is off. Nobody is watching it. Britt vanishes before I even find a safe place to stand, immediately climbing into the lap of the winger she’s been seeing. I still can't remember his name.

A girl I recognize from last week is standing by the drinks. We spend two minutes talking about the weather. Then her boyfriend shows up, so I go back to staring at the muted TV.

It’s about four minutes before I hear my name. Sort of my name.

“BACKCHECK GIRL!”

I don’t turn around. But I can see his reflection on the dark edge of the TV screen. He's a full head taller than everyone else in the room, physically moving people out of his way to get to me.

“You came,” he says as he reaches me.

“I came with Britt.”