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“Right. Of course. Silly me.” Jeremy shakes his head, and Paul shows up, looking between us, then comes inside.
“Your puck bunny gone then?” He nods to me and drops his backpack on the floor.
I throw an empty water bottle from the floor at him. “She’s not my anything.”
“The way she was making googly eyes at you says differently.” Paul toes off his shoes and sits on his bed.
“Pretty sure she thinks he’s fucking me,” Preston deadpans.
“Wait, what?” I turn to Preston, extremely confused. “Why?”
Paul and Jeremy crack up while I wait for an explanation.
“The way she looked between us then said ‘oh’ was a dead giveaway.”
Well shit.
“I guess it could be worse. Maybe this means she’ll leave me alone.” I shrug and hope that’s the case.
My phone pings with a Snapchat notification, and I groan as I see her name.
* * *
I’m still awake when the alarm goes off at five a.m. Today is going to suck ass.
Am I the only one of us who can’t stop thinking about what it felt like to have Paul against me? How badly I wanted him to kiss me? Once he got back from the library, he acted like everything was normal. What the fuck is that? He didn’t ask if I wanted to watch something before bed. Didn’t touch me at all. Does he regret it?
I sit up and swing my legs over to stand up. Turning off the blaring dive alarm of a submarine that Paul sleeps through every morning, I shake my head at him and pull the blanket off him. I swear he could sleep through a nuclear war.
“Fuck off,” he grumbles into his pillow.
At least one of us slept, I guess.
“Time for the gym. Let’s go.” I flick the lights on because I’m a dick and find workout clothes. Working out is the last thing I want to do right now. Eat. I want to eat. Bury my uncertainty in carbs.
Paul bitches and moans but gets up and stumbles into the bathroom for a piss, then gets dressed.
“Why the fuck are you so awake?” He rubs his eyes and glares at me.
I shrug and grab a water bottle, seriously thinking about filling it with vodka. “I dunno. Couldn’t sleep, I guess.”
“Hmph” is the only response I get from him before we head out into the hallway with the rest of the team.
When we get to the gym, someone is already there on the treadmill. Since there are so many sports teams that need to use the space, we have scheduled times. But this big bastard is here anyway, like he is every damn day.
Jeremy sighs behind me, muttering “Show off” as he pushes past me to start stretching. Carmichael has obviously been here a while, which we’re all used to at this point. The dude is fucking crazy about his workouts and never hesitates to tell each and every one of us how we’re failing. Daily.
We all stretch while thethump-thumpof Carmichael’s feet on the treadmill hangs in the air. Everyone ignores him since no one wants to be his first victim of the day. Some guys joke, some put earbuds in, whatever we need to do to focus.
The team moves toward the treadmills and ellipticals for warmup when Coach comes in. The gruff, former NHL player is new this year, and while he’s definitely a hardass, he’s fair.
For the entire hour and a half we spend in the gym, Carmichael says nothing, but a few times I saw him look toward Jeremy and me and smirk before turning back to whatever he was doing. It’s making me nervous.
We leave sweaty and red-faced, Jeremy and Paul with me as we head to the dining hall for breakfast.
“I hope there’s cinnamon rolls. I’m fucking starving.” I push past Paul to hit the line first.
“Less carbs, sugar, and butter would make you a better player,” Carmichael says behind us.
