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I tap on the arm of the chair, debating if I want to continue this truthful path. BJ’s comment about divine intervention pops into my head. If we hadn’t met the way we did, and if he hadn’t been such a flirt, these new opportunities wouldn’t exist. “I was offered a full-tuition scholarship at Monarch College, but I don’t have a car, and I can’t afford housing or books.”
Coach Waters perks up. “Have you turned it down?”
“I have a few weeks before the offer expires.” Though I’ve already given up on being able to go.
“Okay. That’s good to know.” He props his elbows on his desk and leans in. “Now I have two questions; the first will inform the second. Are you interested in a spot on this team?”
I nod and croak out a quiet yes.
“I was hoping you’d say that.” He passes me a folder of information. “Second question, what jersey number would you like?”
I fill out a bunch of paperwork, including a contract with team rules and regulations, medical forms, and another with sizes for equipment and a jersey. Practice times rotate, but they’re mostly in the afternoon. I’m given two copies of the schedule for the rest of the month, plus all the games. Those are on the weekends. I can give one copy to Tracey Lynn and keep the other for myself. There’s also an online schedule for reference.
“We’re excited to have you on the team,” Coach Waters says.
“Me too. Thank you so much for the opportunity.” I shake both his and Coach Ballistic’s hand and leave the office, beyond elated.
The sun hangs low in the sky, pink threading through the clouds when I step outside. Parked to the right of the entrance is BJ’s Jeep. BJ is sprawled out on the bench across from it, one arm tucked behind his head, the other resting on his chest, legs crossed over each other. He’s wearing sunglasses, so I can’t tell if he’s just lying there or sleeping. I unlock my bike from the rack before I poke his shoulder, and he startles.
“I’m ready to roll!” He sits up in a rush, and his phone clatters to the ground.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were asleep.” I stoop to grab his phone and hand it to him. “I hope you haven’t been waiting a long time.”
“I can fall asleep anytime, anywhere. It’s a gift.” He removes his sunglasses and checks the time. “I picked up a skating lesson at seven with a player from the junior boys’ team. Then Mav and I hit the food truck.” He points across the parking lot. “Mav left about ten minutes ago, which is when I made myself comfortable. I assume I’ve been out for nine of those.” He pushes to a stand. “How’d practice go?”
“I said yes to joining the team.”
“Fuck yeah, you did. They’re so excited about you.” He clips my bike to his roof rack while I toss my bag in his trunk.
It’s considerably lighter since I left my pads behind for cleaning. “Thanks for sticking around and driving me home.”
“Totally self-serving since it means I get to hang with you.” He closes the trunk and follows me to the passenger side, opening the door and offering me his hand.
I don’t need the help but take it anyway because I like the contact. Once I’m settled, he rounds the hood and gets in on the driver’s side. We buckle up, and BJ drives toward the exit.
“Why does it feel like I’ve known you for way longer than two days?” I muse.
He looks at me for a moment before he refocuses on the road and turns right out of the parking lot. “I don’t know, but I feel the same way. We run on the same frequency, maybe? Like, even though I was shitting my pants because I almost hit you, the moment our eyes met I felt this…need to know you. Makes me think of Shakespeare and the humors and laser beams shooting out of our eyes.”
“You lost me at humors and laser beams.”
“Back in high school, I had this teacher who talked about the four humors and how people were connected. Like, you look at someone, and they look at you, and bam—the world aligns. Mostly I thought it was hilarious, hokey shit that only made sense in books, but now… I think I know what she meant.”
We pass through town and head for the road that leads to the cottages and homes that dot the lake. “It’s easy to forget myself with you,” I tell him.
“Is that good or bad?”
“Both maybe, but leaning strongly toward good.”
“What would make it bad?”
“It’s easy to turn me into a project.”
He taps the steering wheel, contemplating maybe. “Is that what you’re used to? Being someone’s project?”
“It’s something I strive to avoid.”
“Makes sense. I wouldn’t want to be anyone’s project either. I hope you don’t mind blatant honesty, but from the moment you gave me shit and called me an asshole—which I admittedly was when I almost took you out with my steel baby—my main goal has been to find ways to hang out with you. Getting on the ice together seemed like a natural way to make that happen. Hooking you up with the Hockey Academy means you’ll be at the arena a lot, and that will make it exceedingly easy to run into you.”
