Shut Out (11 page)

“I assume you go out and party all the time. Tomorrow's Saturday night.”

He doesn't respond right away, just plays with my hair. “I don't actually go out that much. The guys were bugging me because I don't hang out with them and I felt I needed to.”

My gaze skims over his face. “Why?”

“They think I'm a stuck-up douche or something.” He shrugs. “They kinda hate me.”

His words shock me. “They do not.”

One corner of his mouth lifts. “Okay. We just don't know each other that well yet.”

“You didn't know any of them before you came here?”

“Nope. The team arranged the housing situation for me so I had somewhere to live. Anyway, like I said, I've been trying to stay out of trouble, so I haven't been going out much. I've been studying lots to keep my marks up. I have to have a C average to stay on the team. And I
have
to stay on the team.”

I know hockey's important to him, but the fierceness in his voice strikes me. “I understand.”

“We can talk tomorrow. Figure out where we should go.”

“Okay, yeah.”

He gives me a soft kiss. We both pause and our eyes meet again, and then we're kissing, deeper, mouths open, tongues sliding. My blood heats all over again and then Jacob stands, lifting me to my feet. His grin is crooked as I open my eyes.

“We better not get carried away.”

I sigh my reluctant agreement and we find our clothes and dress. I see him to the door and he gives me a chaste kiss on the cheek. “See you tomorrow, gorgeous.”

When he's gone, I look around, blinking, kind of lost and dazed, then float across the room to turn off the lamp before climbing the stairs to my room.

I get ready for bed and then, between the cool sheets, I curl up on my side.

My body is still humming from the orgasm and my mind is spinning. I'm amazed by what just happened. It was both innocent and sexy. Risky but safe. It felt amazing and I'm not sure whether I'm relieved or still turned on or…I don't even know what I feel.

Other than I feel good.

Jacob. He confuses me and makes me curious. He's big and strong and yet gentle and considerate of me, not pushy and macho. He's confident and cocky, and yet I keep getting glimpses of a vulnerability that looks like fear. Why's he so afraid of failing? Despite his bravado, I think he's a decent guy. He told me I was in charge, and that almost brings tears to my eyes as I think about it.

I want to get to know Jacob Flass so much better.

I call Skylar the next day, later in the afternoon when I know she's off work. “Guess what I did today.”

“What?”

“I told the guys about your goal of getting affirmative consent pledges signed and mentioned the pizza fundraiser.”

“Really?”

She sounds like she doubted I would really do that. I frown. “Really. Did you think I wouldn't?”

After a short pause, she says, “I wasn't sure. But are they really going to come?”

“Honestly? I'm not sure about all of them.” My jaw clenches thinking about Black Jack's reaction to the suggestion. But he's an asshat. “We'll see. I'll do my best. We have a deal and I never back out of a deal.” I pause. “Unless
you
want out?”

She doesn't answer right away. My gut clenches at the thought that she's regretting what we did last night and she doesn't want to go through with this anymore. “No,” she says, her voice neutral. “We made a deal.”

I speak in a low voice. “Are you sorry about what we did?” I hesitate. “Did I read things wrong? Did you not consent to that?”

She laughs softly. “Oh, I consented. Jacob, you…you were perfect last night.”

Huh. My chest expands. “Of course I was.” Then I smile. “Although, I could have been better.”

I hear her chuckle.

But I'm not as confident as I try to make out. I'm full of self-doubts and memories about the night that nearly flushed my hockey career down the toilet. “So tonight.”

“Mmm, yeah?”

“I think we should go to the library.”

“Okay.”

I'm suggesting this because I know if I take her back to my place, we'll have to go to my room to get any peace and quiet, and I also know what that could lead to. I have no idea what's happening at her place, but regardless, the library seems safest.

“Sure. If you still want to do that.”

I grimace and rub the back of my neck. “Not that I want to, but I need to.”

“I can meet you there…around seven?”

I want more than that, but I nod. “Sounds good. See you at seven.”

At home I make myself a sandwich in the kitchen, using the last of the turkey. I add a little mayo, some tomatoes, a bunch of lettuce, then, what the hell, I layer some sliced dill pickles in there. I take a big bite and chew. Huh. Not bad.

Buck enters the kitchen. I survey his dark jeans and pristine white shirt. He's a laundry master. “Going out tonight?”

“Yeah.” He makes a face. “Got a date.”

“Shut the fuck up. Seriously?”

He flips me off for sounding so shocked. I grin.

“Where are
you
going?”

“Library.”

“What the fuck? On a Saturday night? Are you sure the library's even open?”

I am, because I already went online to check, since I wasn't sure before. “Yeah. I'm meeting Skylar there.”

“Ah.”

This makes my plans acceptable. I have to grin. This is working great. Win goddamn win.

She's sitting on the big stone steps of the library in the near-dusk when I arrive there, her blond and pink hair waving down over her shoulders. Her skinny jeans, black Converse, and black Bayard hoodie make her look about twelve years old. But I know she's not. I've seen every inch of her sexy body and she is all woman, and hot as hell.

Christ. I can't be thinking things like that.

I walk toward her and she looks up. Her golden eyes and wide smile beam at me, and she pushes up to stand, lifting her bag.

“Hey.”

“Hey, you.”

We walk in together and find a table in the not surprisingly empty reading room. It's quiet and it makes my skin itch. I'm way more comfortable on the ice with guys yelling as we practice drills or play a game. I'm buzzing with restless energy. How the hell am I going to sit here for a few hours and actually read something? And retain it?

We get our books out from our bookbags. Skylar retrieves a hot-pink highlighter and a sticky note, which she smoothes out and studies.

“What's that?”

“My to-do list.”

Huh.

“I like lists,” she adds. “They keep me focused.”

“Sure.”

She bends her head to her textbook, highlighter in hand. I stare at her, mesmerized by her hair yet again, my mind drifting into fantasies…damn.

I shake my head and open my own textbook. I read the words. Nothing sinks in.

Someone who's under the influence of drugs or alcohol can't consent. Her judgment is impaired.

Christ. I'm remembering stuff from the training. I've been thinking about it a lot, actually. I shake my head and try to focus.

“Are you okay?”

I look up at Skylar's whispered question. “Yeah. Why?”

“You seem…antsy.”

I grimace. Damn. “I'm okay.”

She eyes me, but nods and bends her head again.

I remember the discussion about rape culture.
Situations where sexual assault, rape, and general violence are ignored, trivialized, normalized, or made into jokes.

I'm reliving that night. Now that I've heard the four steps of the Step In program, I'm thinking of what I could have done differently. Shitdamnfuck.

Skylar's head snaps up and her eyes lock on me in a frown. “Now what?”

“What?” I gaze back in confusion.

“Why are you swearing? Is there something you don't understand?”

Hell, I cursed out loud. I close my eyes. “No. It's Mechanics of Solids. I understand it fine.”

“Well, good, because I sure can't help you. In fact, I'm having a hard time with this.”

“What?”

“Quantum mechanics.”

“Ah, that's easy.”

She gives a delicate snort. “For Einstein, maybe.”

“Ha. I'm no Einstein, but maybe I can explain.”

I read over what she's studying and paraphrase it for her, finishing with, “So, to change the color of a radiating body, you have to change its temperature.”

She peers at me with a crease between her eyes.

“Increasing the temperature of a body allows it to emit more energy overall, and means that a larger proportion of the energy is toward the violet end of the spectrum.” I lift an eyebrow at her. “Red hot, baby.”

She laughs. “Okay, yeah, I get it.” She tilts her head. “Thank you, Jacob.”

“You're welcome. I'm not just a pretty face, you know.”

“Or a hot body.”

I frown.

“I mean, you do have a pretty face and a hot body,” she hastens to assure me. “Well, not pretty.” Her cheeks turn pink. “Never mind. Thank you. I still think this is the stupidest subject on the planet.”

“Anytime, gorgeous.” I squint at her. “But why are you doing something you hate?”

“I told you before. I have to get into med school.”

I don't get it. I mean, I get having a goal and being dedicated to it.
Totally
get that. But it has to be something you love. “I don't think this is making you happy.”

She sighs. “How can physics ever make someone happy?”

“Well, when I shoot the puck into the boards and I know the angle it's going to come off and where it's going to be and—”

She holds up a hand. “Okay, it makes you happy. It gives me a headache.”

I gaze at her sadly. “Really?”

She has a furrow between her eyebrows and her lips are tight. I don't like this look on her. She gives a short nod. “Sometimes it seems so impossible.” She bites her lip. “I know I'm not the smartest person in the world, but it shouldn't be this hard.”

“Fuck that.” Oops. I glance around as heads lift. I lower my voice. “You are
so
smart.”

“No, I'm not. I mean, I'm not stupid. I just have to work at it.”

Dismay makes my insides tighten. “No. It shouldn't be that hard.”

Her eyes flash and her lips tighten even more. “Sometimes things are hard, Jacob. Sometimes you have to work for what you want.”

I feel like I've been smacked. She doesn't know how hard I've worked for what I want. But for me, it doesn't feel like work—because I love it. It's what I want to do more than anything. So yeah, I don't totally get where she's coming from. “I guess I see it differently.” I try not to sound stiff.

She sighs again. “I know. You're a hockey player. Your passion is a
game.
But med school is serious.”

Now I frown. “Hockey is serious too.”

She laughs. “It's not quite the same.”

Fuck this. I think she's awesome, but right now I'm getting pissed off. I wasn't in the best of moods when we arrived. I've been processing the stuff I heard during that orientation training, trying to make sense of it, especially in the context of the shit that happened to me. And now I'm being insulted?

“Okay.” I flip my book shut. I'm getting fuck all done here, anyway. “Glad to know your opinion.” I glance around. “A few people saw us here together, so that's good. People know we're together. Probably no need to see each other until next weekend.”

Her eyes widen and her lower lip parts from the top one.

“If I'm going out somewhere, I'll let you know. It'll be good to have a fake girlfriend to keep the puck bunnies away. Thanks, babe.”

I shove my things into my messenger bag. I round the table, bend down to give her cheek a kiss for the benefit of anyone watching us, then stride out of the library.

After Jacob leaves, I have to fight back tears. I'm not sure why. He was angry. I didn't mean to insult him or his sport. But he doesn't get why I need to do this. Why I make my head hurt trying to understand physics. And chemistry. Why I have to work my ass off to keep up with my sister.

He thinks life should be easy. Well, it's not.

Maybe for him everything is easy. He has loads of talent. One day he'll be a superstar professional athlete making millions of dollars. It's not fucking fair that physics is easy for him too. One guy shouldn't get that much luck.

I stare blindly at my textbook. Dammit, I need to concentrate. I can't let myself be distracted again this year. Last year it was Brendan. I can't let Jacob destroy another school year.

A small voice inside reminds me that Jacob isn't doing anything to destroy my school year; it's me who's in control of that. I have to be strong enough and disciplined enough not to be distracted by him.

I can do it.

I stay at the library until it closes at ten. Then I go home. Ella has gone to visit her parents because tonight is their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary party. Natalie and Brooklyn are out. The house is empty. Just like it was last night when Jacob brought me home and when we had that hot non-sex on the couch.

I ignore the living room and walk into the kitchen. I open the fridge. I don't know what I'm looking for. I'm not really hungry or thirsty. Okay, I'm looking for comfort food. I close the door and open the freezer. Pretty barren. Just as well.

I mix up a jug of strawberry Kool-Aid and pour myself a glass. Then I remember Jacob teasing me about drinking Kool-Aid.

Ugh.
Stop thinking about him!

You'd think we were really dating and had broken up or something, I feel so down. I'll see him again, if he needs my fake girlfriend services. That thought doesn't really cheer me up. Maybe he's so mad he'll decide he doesn't
want
my fake girlfriend services anymore.

Whatever.

I'm not doing a good job of dealing with whatever I'm feeling. Going to bed and getting a good night's sleep is probably a smart idea. So that's what I do.

I have an early shift at the diner Sunday morning, which is good because I'm running low on spending money and I could use some tips. It's busy today and I bring in a pretty good haul; plus, being busy keeps me from thinking about Jacob.

This would be a good day to cook something healthy for dinner, so during my break I go to my Pinterest app on my phone and search through recipes. I find a healthy and easy one for braised balsamic chicken, and I write the ingredients on a list. I love lists.

I stop at a grocery store on my way home. In front of the balsamic vinegar selections on the shelf, I pause. Holy crap, this stuff is expensive. I vacillate over brands. Couldn't I use red wine vinegar? It's probably the same, and way cheaper. I grab a bottle and add it to the cart.

At home, I set about preparing the meal. Nat and Brooklyn are in the living room with their laptops, supposedly doing homework but mostly talking and laughing. Ella arrives just as I'm covering the chicken to simmer. Now I need to cook the pasta.

“Hey,” I call out. “How was your weekend?”

I haven't even seen her since the party after the hockey game. She disappeared with Eric, then left to go home Saturday while I was at work.

She drops her backpack and wanders into the kitchen. “It was okay. What are you doing?”

“I made dinner for us. Braised balsamic chicken.”

“Huh. Cool. I'm kind of hungry.”

“Was your parents' party nice?”

She shrugs. “Sure.” Then she makes a face. “Brendan's parents were there.”

“Oh.” I pause with a box of pasta in my hands. “How are they doing?”

“They're…I don't know. They said they're doing okay, but I think his mom is a bit of a mess.”

“Shit.” It was hard for us to lose our friend; I can't imagine how his parents feel and what they're going through. It's been nine months so it must be getting easier. Or maybe it never does.

“Yeah.”

We chat more about the party as I cook, then I ask, “So who's this Eric guy?”

“Just a guy.”

“Are you going to see him again?”

“Nah.” She doesn't meet my eyes. Random hookups are all she does lately. She doesn't seem interested in actually dating or getting to know a guy. I try to tell myself that's totally fine. Guys do it all the time. There's nothing wrong with a girl doing it. “How about you? You left with Jacob?”

I sigh. That seems like a lifetime ago. “Yeah.” I haven't told her about our deal. In fact, I haven't told her much, because it seems we hardly see each other and we don't talk like we used to. That night at the game, she thought I was there because I really like him.

I
do
really like him.

“So what's up with him?” she asks. “You two are seeing each other?”

“Yeah. Sort of.” I give the pasta in the boiling water a stir. “Last night we went to the library to study.”

“Oooh, fun times.”

I know she's teasing, but it kind of bugs me. Or maybe I'm overly sensitive. “Whatever. Anyway, we kind of had a disagreement, and I haven't talked to him since.”

“Oh.” She pauses. “Are you upset?”

She does sound like she cares, like my old Ella, and my heart squeezes. “A little.”

“What happened?”

Since she's prompting me, I spill it all. “I think I insulted him,” I finish. “I feel bad.”

“So call him and apologize.”

I nod slowly. That would be the right thing to do. Yesterday I'd been trying to convince myself that because I hadn't intended to hurt him, he was the one who'd overreacted. But hearing Ella say this makes me realize I probably do owe him an apology. Even if it doesn't make things better, I should still do that. “You're right. I will after dinner.”

I serve up the pasta and chicken and all four of us sit down at the kitchen table to eat. The first bite of chicken is…interesting.

“Your aura is very brown tonight,” Natalie tells Ella, a wrinkle between her eyebrows.

Ella's eyebrows lift and I smile at my plate. “Oh yeah? What does that mean?”

“It means you're confused. Or…discouraged.”

Ella shrugs. “Well, I was home with my parents, which is often confusing.”

We all laugh. I think Natalie's talk about auras is kind of funny. I'm skeptical, but she told me my blue aura meant I was an excellent communicator and a very good organizer and I could motivate and inspire others. I'd like to believe that.

“Hmm,” Nat says. “This chicken is…very tangy.”

I wrinkle my nose at my plate. “It definitely is.”

We keep eating. It's…not great. “It's the vinegar,” I decide. “Balsamic vinegar was so expensive, I used something else.”

Nat and Brooklyn aren't my best friends like Ella is, but just then, I love them as they valiantly keep eating, and then thank me for cooking.

“That chicken was atrocious,” I say as we do the dishes.

“Yeah, it was.” Nat meets my eyes and we burst out laughing. “But you tried. Live and learn, right? We should do this every Sunday night. We could take turns cooking.”

“I like that idea.”

We agree that Natalie will go next week, then Brooklyn, then Ella. Hopefully their meals will be better than mine.

Up in my room, first I go online and reread the recipe I just made. Damn. I could've added a little sugar to the vinegar, instead of using balsamic vinegar. I sigh. Ah well.

Then I pick up my cellphone and pull up Jacob's number. Should I text or call? Probably an apology should be delivered via phone call, if not in person. So I call him.

I get his voicemail.
You've got the Flash. Leave a message.

I roll my eyes. The Flash. “Hi, Flash. It's me, Rapunzel. I…” I pull a quick breath in and out. “I just called to say I'm sorry.” Crap, I think that's the name of some old song. “I think I inadvertently insulted you last night. I didn't mean to. You're a talented hockey player and I'm sure you've worked super hard to get where you are. I wasn't demeaning your…your sport. Or career. I was frustrated.” I pause. “That's all. So, anyway…yeah. Bye.”

I end the call and drop my phone on my bed. Okay. There. Done. I can feel better now.

Except I don't.

I spend the evening with Intro to Research Methods (psychology) and by ten o'clock I'm in bed. Wide awake.

My phone warbles.

It's a weird sound because I get so few actual phone calls. I blink into the darkness, then toss back the covers and scramble out of bed. I dash over to the dresser, where my phone is plugged in.

The screen tells me it's Jacob.

My hands tremble a little as I quickly tap the screen to answer. “Hello.”

“Rapunzel.”

I huff out a laugh. “Yeah.”

“I got your message.”

“Okay, good.”

“Thanks for that. And I'm sorry too.”

I press my lips together, my heart beating fast.

“I was a dick,” he says quietly. “I was in a bad mood. I wasn't listening to you.”

I unplug the phone and take the three steps to my bed to sink down onto the edge. “Why were you in a bad mood?”

“Long story.” He pauses. “D'you think your hair has magical healing properties?”

I choke. “What?”

“Like in the movie
Tangled.
”

“You've seen
Tangled
?” Then I shake my head. “Are you drunk?”

He gives a low laugh that slides into my ear. “Maybe a little.”

“Jacob.”

“Sunday's our day off. I did laundry. With only minimal supervision.”

A smile tugs at my lips. “Good for you.”

“It's an important skill. Sadly, I never really learned it.”

“Who was supervising?”

“Buck. He's pretty good at it. I guess you have to be when you spend as much on clothes as he does. His jeans cost a hundred bucks.”

“Holy crap.”

“Yeah. So you have to separate the whites from the darks.”

My smile broadens. “Yes. Yes, you do.”

“And not everything goes in the dryer.”

“Why are we talking about laundry?”

“Hey, it's a significant accomplishment.”

“Okay, true.”

There's a silence that stretches out and isn't weird. Finally, Jacob says, “I'll see you Wednesday.”

At the fundraiser planning meeting. “Right.”

“You forgive me for being a dick?”

“Yes. If you forgive me for being a bitch.”

“You're not a bitch. You're Rapunzel. And I love your hair.”

“Thank you.” My heart swells up.

“Night, gorgeous.”

“Good night, Flash.”

I plug my phone back in and climb into bed. And now I can go to sleep.

I know the minute Jacob enters the meeting room on Wednesday afternoon. The air changes, becomes energized. He rushes in as if he's running late, commanding attention with just his presence and an easy smile. But he focuses on me. “Hi, Skylar.”

“Hi.”

His hair's a little damp, as if he just got out of the shower, and his high cheekbones wear a healthy flush.

I introduce Jacob to the others and we get to work planning the pizza fundraiser. After the meeting ends, Jacob hangs back while everyone else leaves. I shut down my laptop, then slide it into the padded case. Then we're alone.

“Thanks for helping with the fundraiser.”

“No problem. My schedule's crazy but I'll fit it in.”

He stands near me and I can smell his body wash, the spicy fragrance familiar to me. I want to press my nose against the side of his neck and breathe in the scent of his skin.

“I have a night class at seven,” he says. “Want to get something to eat with me?”

“Do you need a fake girlfriend for that?”

One corner of his mouth deepens. “Yeah.”

I look at him through my eyelashes, my head tilted.

“I was pissed,” he says quietly.

“I insulted you. I know hockey is serious.”

“It bugged me that you think I'm just fooling around playing a game.”

I eye him. “Does it matter what I think of you?”

He's silent.

“I mean, I'm only your fake girlfriend.”

He nods, still quiet. “Right.”

“Well. Let's go. I'm hungry.”

“Skylar?”

“Yeah?”

“It matters.”

Warmth fills my chest.

We walk across the Quad to the dining hall. It's busy there but we find an empty table and dump our stuff. Then we take turns going through the buffet line. I get a chicken breast, which is thankfully much better than the ones I made the other night, some veggies, and a salad. Jacob comes back with a plate loaded with spaghetti and meatballs, a salad, a bun, and three desserts.

“Tell me more about hockey.”

He stabs a meatball with his fork. “Like what?”

“Tell me how you got started. Tell me why you love it.”

“Well, I started skating when I was two.”

“Holy crap.”

“And playing hockey when I was four. It was fun. I was obsessed with it. I used to play hockey in the dining room, much to my mom's dismay.”

“Somehow I'm picturing her not able to stay angry at you.”

He laughs. “Yeah, maybe so. I was a cute kid.”

I shake my head, smiling.

“They moved all the furniture out and turned it into a rink for me.”

My mouth drops open. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. The walls and baseboards got pretty beat up over the years.”

“So your parents obviously supported you playing hockey.”

“Sure. But they actually encouraged me to play a lot of sports. Baseball and soccer in the summer. And golf.”