Stone’s usual stoic expression cracks for a split second. “We’re gonna have to call campus security if you keep harassing women.”
“Fuck off,” Moose scoffs. “You make me sound like a horny freak or some shit.”
“Are you not?” I slip off my jersey and arch my eyebrow in Moose’s direction.
He throws his hands up in exasperation, adding to my own amusement. I reach over Stone to flick Moose’s forehead but I immediately regret doing so when I feel how sweaty he is. “We’re just fucking with you, man.” I wipe my hand on my boxers. “We know your undying love for Allie Holmes.”
Stone snorts. “And Emily States. Carly Jones. Anica Rodriguez—”
I join in. “Oh, don’t forget Parker Abramczyk.”
Moose holds his arms out wide, puffing his chest in the same way he does on the ice. “Mock me all you want but don’t hate me for having all this love to give.”
I throw my other sock at him. “Alright, lover boy.”
As I’m slipping on my sweats and shirt, I look over a few cubbies to see that Preston’s shit is still lazily thrown in there or sitting on the bench. I know that Coach’s little excursion of finding the defenseman was to get me out of his sight but the guy does pay the rent on our apartment. It’d be a shame if he ended up going missing.
“You seen Nole?” I wiggle my feet into my slides.
Moose shakes his head, clearly not too caught up in our conversation anymore as he’s now yapping Killer’s ear off. He’s lucky the guy just looks like he wants to strangle you.
Stone zips up his bag, shrugging. “Think I saw him heading toward the weight room. Want me to head over with you?”
“Nah, man.” I shake my head, knowing the last thing Preston would want is for anyone witnessing him at a low. Shit, I think he even has a hard time with me seeing him like that. Too bad for him that he got stuck with me as a friend.
“I’ll catch you guys later?”
Stone nods with silent understanding. Moose gives me a half-assed wave before I walk back out of the locker room. I can’t help but sneak a peek to my right at Coach’s door. It’s dark in there now, confirming my suspicions of Coach just trying to get rid of me.
The smile Denise tried to hide when I blew her a kiss makes my stomach warm and fluttery. The way her seafoam green eyes sparkled when I stepped a little too close, makes me believe that maybe this isn’t all in my head.
Maybe there’s a chance that her heart races a little too fast for her own good just like mine whenever she’s around.
I remain standing in the hallway as the hum of the Zamboni lingers from the rink, tangled with Joshey and Steven’s voices. Their voices echo from the team ice entrance down to me, but Imanage to make out Joshey explaining yet again to Steven that he’s the assistant coach, not Steven’s babysitter.
Steven’s a pretty cool dude to goof off or even smoke with but I don’t think the guy has ever successfully managed anything in his entire life. I’ve asked Joshey how he even got the job but apparently that’s some top secret shit because two years later his lips are still sealed.
With an unfortunate lack of Denise, I begin heading in the opposite direction of Joshey and Steven, instead walking a little further down the hallway and taking a loose left turn. I know I’m walking in the right direction because the closer I get to the weight room, the harsher my ears are assaulted by the rattling of rap music coming from a little further down the hallway.
I turn the knob and push the door open with my shoulder. My eyes scan the room to find Preston lying on the bench press, the room otherwise completely empty. Just how I know he likes it. Or at least of recent.
Boy am I about to ruin his night.
The guy gives me whiplash.
One moment he’s telling everyone to fuck off, creating a sense of dread to be near the guy, then in the same breath he’s asking me to come along to parties just so he can feel something.
Okay, I added that last part but I feel like it’s implied.
The door clicks shut behind me. There’s no hesitation in my steps as I walk closer to Preston. The rest of the guys may try to avoid him out of fear of probably getting punched for breathing too loud, but I thrive in pissing Preston off.
It’s one of my favorite pastimes, really.
That and finding ways to make Denise Stryker look at me for at least half a second.
Preston doesn’t stop his movements of lifting what I’m sure is pushing past one-fifty in weights. He doesn’t sit up or even care to acknowledge me at all.
“You good, drama queen?” I shout over the music.