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I glance to his reflection in the rearview. “Sorry, what was that?”
“This the right place?”
I look out the window as he approaches the parking lot of the apartment complex Leo, Evan, and Bass lived. Hell, all the top players are housed here. It’s the newest athlete housing complex at Lincoln.
I smile because this was always the goal. “Yeah, this is it.”
“You play basketball for Lincoln?” He asks, turning in.
His words scratch across all that pride I’m feeling, like a needle scratching across a record. “No.”
“You’re tall, so I fig’erd,” he says instead offigured, “livin’ here, you must play basketball.”
“I play hockey.”
“Seriously?” he asks, surprised, which is annoying as hell.
“Yeah,” I answer.
“Oh, wow.”
This grates on my nerves because even though it doesn’t come up a lot, it comes up. Today alone, even after I’ve packed on weight, it’s come up twice.
He pulls to a stop in front of the building.
“I play center, and now that Leo Stone’s playing for the Bears, you’ll see me on the ice. Number thirteen, Rivera.”
“Should be playing basketball,” he mumbles as I open the door and step out.
I force myself to thank him for the ride instead of telling him to eat shit then shut the door a little more aggressively than I normally would. But in my defense, I’m shutting the door on the whole day.
I pull out my phone and see the time is eleven fifty p.m. Sixteen hours of doing nothing but sitting on my ass and waiting has me more exhausted than I’d be if I just played an entire game.
I tap the screen, hoping the WIFI still picks up because the service from the airport to here was weak as hell and maneuver my way to my email to see if the apartment information has been updated and the doors newly installed keypad codes have been sent.
When the email opens, I’m not going to say I’m not a little disappointed that we didn’t get the same floor as Leo, Evan, and Bass’s old place, but we’re in the same building and one floor above their apartment.
“Floor four,” I say then smile. “Apartment 4013. Lucky number thirteen.”
I hear a loud whistle and look around.
“Up here, Rivera.”
I look up and see Dash Sterling, or Sterling Dash—I have no clue which is his first name, and which is his last. All I know is that he was Hayward U’s center, and when they closed the ice hockey program down, he and Koa Olu Kelekolio, aka The Cock, were recruited to play here at Lincoln. They’re my roommates, and they weren’t supposed to be in until tomorrow night. Jason Taylor’s our fourth.
Dash calls down, “Koa just texted you the code.”
I shoot him a thumbs-up as I hit the keypad, and then make my way up to apartment 4013.
When I walk in, I see all three of them standing around the island.
“Welcome back, man.” JT, Jason Taylor, walks over and gives me a bro hug. “The hell happened? You were supposed to be here hours ago.”
I let my backpack slide off my shoulder and drop my duffle onto the ground. Then I bend down to unlace my sneakers. “It’s a new day now, thank God.”
“Um, Rivera.” JT coughs out a laugh. “You have a huge wad of gum in your hair.”
You have got to be fucking kidding me.
