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“Hey, you ever get shit from the women’s teams for us having this space?” I ask Chuck, hanging my towel on one of the metal hooks before drowning my head and shoulders under steaming hot water.
“Nah. I don’t think they really care anymore.”
“Huh.” I chew at my lower lip and nod. “Maybe not the team, but Laney Price still sure fucking cares.” That look on her face last night flashes through my mind—the way her lips scrunch up with disgust when she talks to me. The little roll of her eyes.
“Dude, Laney Price hates you. That’s all,” Chuck laughs out.
“She doesn’t hate me,” I protest. Even I know that’s a bullshit statement.
“Yeah, okay. You hold on to that fantasy if it makes you happy,” he teases.
I breathe out a heavy sigh and turn to let the water pound against my face.
“Laney’s opinion is the least of my problems. I still need to find a place to live.”
I’ve been in the condo my parents bought as an investment for three years. Since Flynn and Todd took off, it’s been just me. After our dad passed, things have gotten tight financially. Selling the condo makes sense to help with Mom’s bills.
“Dude, still no leads? That sucks, man.” If he could, Chuck would take me in. But he’s already sharing a room with one of the guys, sleeping on an air mattress and living out of his suitcase. Half of our team is in the dorms, but I couldn’t go back into campus living even if I wanted to. The dorms are full this year thanks to record enrollment. The irony is it’s the success and popularity of our hockey team that’s led to the attendance surge.Doesn’t seem to earn any of us more housing funds, though.
I finish showering and get dressed at my locker. I still have a few days before I need to be out of the condo completely, but classes start Monday. This is the last weekend I’m going to have before regular season games start.
My gear tucked in my bag, I zip it up and drop it at my feet, then grab my phone and wallet from my locker. I slide open my messages and scroll back to the one that Matt dude who runs our social media sent me last week when I put out a plea for anyone seeking a roommate. He seems cool enough, I guess, and he did say he had a room. I was hoping to find someone I knew better, but I’m not in a position to be picky. I press CALL and sling my bag over my shoulder as it starts to ring.
“This is Matt. What up?”
I cringe at his greeting and contemplate ending the call right now. I could just live in my Jeep.
“Hello?”
Ugh.
“Yeah, sorry. Hi . . . this is Cutter. You responded to my message in the group chat? About needing a place to stay?” I close one eye and hold my breath, not sure whether I want him to tell me the room is mine or it’s taken.
“Cutter! Yeah, man. Of course! Sorry, I’ve been in Hollywood for this influencer gig. Lots of rooftop bars and celebrities and all that shiz, ya know?” He sounds like my brothers after they’ve mainlined Redbulls. He’s a bit intense, but I’m homeless so what the hell.
“Yeah, cool. That all sounds . . . cool. Anyhow, about the room?”
I toss my bag in the back of the Jeep then slide into the driver’s seat and sync my phone to my speaker.
“It’s yours, Cut. All yours. This is great!” My speaker only makes Matt louder. Also, I’m not a fan of being called Cut. But we’ll get to all that, I’m sure. Or maybe I won’t see him much. Or maybe I’ll become a reality show on his social feed. Shit, this is a bad idea.
“Utilities included, or rather, kindly picked up by my parents every month,” he tosses in before I nearly back out.
I’m not going to find a deal better than this.
Fuck it.
“Okay. Should we set up a time to meet? I hate to sound desperate but . . .I’m kind of desperate. I really need to get out of my place asap. When can I move in?”
“Sure, Cut. I get it.”
“I don’t really go by Cu?—”
“If you’ve got time, you can move in today. So, listen, bud . . .”
Bud?
I pinch the bridge of my nose and fend off regret. I hate being calledBudmore thanCut.
