Shut Out (5 page)

We all dissolve into laughter, falling back in our chairs. I'm picturing Soupy naked in bed covered with powdered chicken soup. My eyes actually tear up, I'm laughing so hard.

“Oh, man, that is priceless.” Rocket slaps Soupy's shoulder. “No wonder you didn't score.”

“Most embarrassing night of my life,” Soupy mumbles.

“You didn't realize it wasn't a condom?” Buck grins. “How could you not?”

“I was riding the buzz train, if you'll recall.”

“Riding the buzz train to Pussytown,” Buck adds.

Still chuckling, we pick up our stuff to go work out. I drive to the arena myself, though I offer the guys a ride, but they all came together in Buck's Mustang. The DeWitt Center is a huge gym and rink facility, state of the art and pretty damn cool.

My new coach has impressed me so far. Coach Klausen is in his early forties and has a great track record. The guys told me there are rumors the NHL is interested in stealing him away from Bayard, but he's still here. He's tough but has a way of knowing exactly what each player needs from him. We had a one-on-one meeting last spring before they'd even started the process of trying to get the rules bent so I could play NCAA hockey, and although he was serious, I felt like we clicked. That's important.

In the locker room, I change into a pair of shorts and a T-shirt and make my way into the weight room.

I love lifting. It makes me feel strong. Plus, after sitting in classes all morning, I really need to burn off some energy. Sitting still for a few hours isn't easy for me and I'm ready to get physical.

I pair up with Buck and we alternate sets of clean and jerks, deadlifts, and various other tortures while the music of DJ Rapture blasts around us, accompanied by the clangs of dropped weights and grunts of effort.

Dripping sweat, I grab my towel and swipe my face, loving the heat in my muscles, which means I'm getting stronger.

“You pressed one-ninety,” Buck notes as I pick up some dumbbells to do biceps curls. “Impressive.”

Hey. A compliment. “Thanks.” I shrug. “I worked really hard over the summer. Still aiming to bench-press my weight.” Since I hadn't even been able to play in the playoffs, it was a long summer for me. I'd taken out my frustrations in the gym in the spring, then did a high-performance training camp in the summer. I'm in the best shape I've ever been in. My new strength and conditioning coach, Jaegar, who's across the gym watching Soupy lift, has given me a workout schedule that will build on it.

I'm determined I'm going to kick ass here this year.

“Ten reps at one-ninety is great.”

Warmth spreads through my chest at Buck's approval.

As I lift the dumbbells, my mind goes back to Skylar. I'm going to be seeing a lot of her this week. That's not a bad thing—she's hot and I really like her. But it's uncomfortable after how things ended Friday night, and I don't know how to make it right.

The idea of being honest with her floats through my brain as my biceps burn with another rep. Nah. She'd hate me even more if she knew the truth about me.

I can't believe Jacob ended up in one of my training groups. It's a pretty big freshman class this year, along with students transferring in, so we split everyone up into smaller groups.

Which means I'll be seeing him every evening this week. Screaming Jesus on a Ferris wheel.

When I saw him sitting at that table this evening, my heart leaped in my chest and my belly did a flip. Damn, he's gorgeous. And charming.

I was hyperaware of him all through that hour. I felt his gaze on me a lot. At times, I sensed his discomfort, which made me curious.

I walk into the house to find Ella, Nat, and Brooklyn sitting in the living room doing Limoncello shots, music blasting. They all have laptops open on their laps and are laughing like crazy about something.

“Whoa, guys, it's Monday night.” I drop my purse on the coffee table and sink into an armchair. I kick off my shoes so I can wiggle my toes on the cool, bare wood floor.

“So what?” Ella gives me a tipsy smile.

I'll admit that last year, my first year living away from home, I was quick to get a fake ID so I could go to bars and buy booze. I loved the freedom of cracking open a bottle of Moscato anytime I wanted without parental supervision. We partied a lot our freshman year. I'm not turning all teetotaler, but Ella's drinking every night bothers me.

“You have class in the morning,” I remind her.

“You sound like my mom.”

Yeah. I hate sounding all parental. I don't want to nag her; I'm just worried about her. But my attempts to bring this up are always met with defiance and denial.

“Chill, Skylar,” she adds. “At least I don't have FOGO.”

I grit my teeth. While I think she goes out too much and is using alcohol and sex as unhealthy coping mechanisms, she has accused me of having “fear of going out,” or FOGO, because of what happened with Brendan. Of course I deny that. I'm not
afraid
to go out. I just don't want to.

Really.

“Here.” Nat hands me a shot glass full of yellow liquid.

After the day I've had, I accept it and toss it back. Does that make me a hypocrite? Very possibly, yes.

When Ella and I are alone moments later, I lean forward. “You sure you're okay, El?”

She frowns and blinks. “Of course I'm okay.”

I tuck some hair behind my ear, not sure what to say. “You seem different…since Brendan died.”

Her lips push out and she nods slowly. “I'm still sad. I still miss him. But I'm okay. Really.”

I nod, though I'm not completely convinced. “I'm still sad too.”

There's a distance between us that never used to be there and I hate it.

Nat and Brooklyn return with a bowl of chips. “Hey, Skylar. We were talking before you got home about having a party here this weekend.”

“Here?” Inwardly, I cringe. There's no avoiding a party held in my own house. But I'm one out of four, so voting against the idea probably isn't going to work. I gave in and went to that party last weekend, and look how that turned out.

“Yeah! It'll be fun. I'm going to put it on Facebook now.”

“Do you think that's a good idea?” I heard about a party that was posted on Facebook, people kept sharing it, and like two hundred people turned up and totally trashed the place.

Nat pulls her laptop close and starts tapping on the keyboard. “Don't worry, it'll be fine.”

In the morning I force myself to pay attention in my Physics class and Organic Chem lab. Then I rush home to change into my uniform for an afternoon shift at the Taste of Heaven Diner. Now that I'm done with my counseling appointments, it makes my schedule a little easier to manage.

My uniform is cheesy but kind of fun to wear—a tight pink dress with a flared skirt and puffed sleeves, and a black apron. I guess it's supposed to be sort of fifties-retro. I also wear white ankle socks and tennis shoes.

It's Tuesday afternoon, so it's not super busy at the diner. I'm nearly done with my shift and keeping myself occupied by refilling ketchup bottles when a bunch of guys storm the place. I mean, they just walk in, but it feels like a storm, because they're big and loud.

Hockey players. They're instantly recognizable, some of them wearing sweatpants or athletic shorts and Bears hoodies. I can't stop myself from scanning the bunch as they pile into a big booth, and yeppers, there's Jacob.

I nibble briefly on my bottom lip and glance at my coworker Taisha. I consider asking her to take care of their table even though it's in my section, but she's busy with another big group in her own section. With a sigh, I start toward my table.

“Hi, guys.” I smile brightly. “Welcome to Taste of Heaven. Can I start you off with something to drink?”

“I'd like to taste your heaven.” One of the guys gives me an up-and-down inspection.

I'm used to smart-ass customers so I'm not really fazed by this, but I am startled when Jacob lunges across the table and grips the guy's hoodie in a fist. “Dude,” he snarls. “That was inappropriate.”

Silence descends around us. My body goes on alert while thoughts speed through my brain, like…
Wow, we've barely even started our training and Jacob's already got harassment down,
and
he's really pissed,
and
Dear Lord, please don't let a fight break out.

“What the fuck, man?” The guy knocks Jacob's arm away. “She your girlfriend?”

Jacob subsides back into his seat.

My gaze snaps back and forth between him and his teammate, and I'm happy to see the dude he grabbed looks a little shamefaced. He glances at Jacob, then at me, and mutters, “Meant it as a compliment.”

One corner of my mouth lifts. I believe him. “You think I haven't heard that line before?” I shake my head. “Come on, at least be original.”

“I didn't know you work here, Skylar,” Jacob says.

“Yeppers, I do. Drinks?” I remind them, still smiling.

“Chocolate milk, please,” Jacob says.

I take their beverage orders and turn toward the kitchen to fill them. I guess none of Jacob's friends recognizes me as the girl he was making out with in the kitchen Friday night. Probably just as well. I still don't know what came over me that night.

Okay, yes, I do know. Jacob came over me.

Even seeing him now has my girl parts warming up. So this is going to be a challenge, running into him on campus, and seeing him every evening in the training. I'm not sure what to do about it. His vehement defense confuses me after he rejected my lust-drunk offer to take our make-out session to a bed.

I'm so distracted I overflow his glass of chocolate milk all over the counter. “Shit!”

“What the hell, Skylar?” Edrick, one of the cooks, calls out.

“Sorry, sorry.” I hastily mop it up. I pour the milk into a clean glass and add it to my tray. Damn.

It's kind of cute that he drinks chocolate milk, like a little boy, and yet he's all man, so big and muscled. I suck in a breath, square my shoulders, and hoist my tray to go serve them.

I'm prepared for knowing smirks or something like that, imagining Jacob has told them how he knows me. But there's nothing, only polite smiles as I set their drinks in front of them.

I start to turn away, but Jacob says, “Hey, Skylar.”

I turn. “Are you ready to order?”

“Um, yeah, but I was going to introduce you. These are my housemates—Ben, Grady, and Hunter.”

“Hi, guys. Nice to meet you. So you all live off campus somewhere?”

“Yeah. Oak Street.”

I nod. That's only two streets over from where I live, the neighborhood full of big, old houses that mostly house college students since it's so close to campus. So great—we're neighbors.

The guys give me their orders, and back to the kitchen I go, stopping on my way as another customer flags me down to request coffee refills. “You bet!”

A few more people come in and sit in my section, and I have to hustle, which is good, as it doesn't let me be obsessed with Jacob. Waitressing is hard but this is a good place to work, near to campus and home and it closes at ten, so I don't ever have to work super late.

In a bit of a lull, I pour myself a glass of lemonade and lean against the long counter for a minute.

“Hey.”

I turn to see Jacob. Greeeeaaat. “Hi.”

Compared to his cocky assurance the other night, he now seems hesitant, hands in the pockets of his jeans, rocking back and forth on his feet, forehead wrinkled. His Bears sweatshirt hangs from his broad shoulders, the hood making him look super cute.

No. I refuse to succumb to his charm again. He's an asshat. I keep my expression distant and wait for him to speak.

“I was surprised to see you at SAPAP last night,” he says.

“Yeah, I was surprised to see you too. Although I guess I should have known there was a chance you'd be in my group, since you're a new student here.”

“Uh. Look. I feel like I should apologize or something.”

My eyebrows rise. “Apologize? For what?”

“Uh…Shit. There's no good way to handle this, is there?”

“Nope. If you're apologizing for leading me on and then rejecting me, that's just insulting and humiliating all over again. If you're apologizing for not being interested, ditto. If you're apologizing for how you handled things…nope, still not good.” I shake my head. “Look, forget it, okay? I have.”

“No you haven't. You keep giving me looks that could slice me open.”

“Phhht. You're imagining it.” I wave a hand. “You're not that important, hockey boy.”

Now
his
eyes narrow and his gorgeous lips tighten. “Fine. It's forgotten.” He lifts his chin, and my eyes catch on that adorable cleft in the middle of it, almost like a fingerprint. It makes me want to touch my own fingertip to it…as I lean in and…

Heat rises inside me, and as our eyes meet again, those sparks that flared up the first night shimmer around us. Damn.

Friday night I was so attracted to him, and I was so surprised and happy to be feeling that way about a boy, I let it override my good sense. I'm not doing that again.

I step back abruptly and knock over a sugar container on the counter. It rolls and crashes to the black-and-white tiled floor. Everyone in the place turns to look.

Heat washes up into my face. Jacob moves to pick up the container, which didn't break but the lid came off it and there's sugar all over the floor.

“I better clean that up.” I take the container from him and rush away to find a broom.

He's back in the booth with his friends when I return. One of the busboys offers to sweep up the sugar, which is good, as I have customers to look after. The hockey guys have finished their meals and I need to clear their table and get them their checks. But I'm all hot and flustered, and this isn't how I want to be around a guy who rejected me, which annoys me even more.

Then, moments later when I turn to observe their table to see how they're doing, there are literally five girls crowded around them. All of them have perfect wavy hair, tight jeans, and shiny lips, and they're giggling and fluttering their eyelashes at the hockey players. I roll my eyes at them.

Finally I give them their checks and they leave. When I start clearing their table, I find a couple dollar tips and then as I remove Jacob's plate, I find a twenty.

What. The. Fuck.

I stare at it. Rage builds in my chest, a hot pressure. My head whips around, but they are gone.

I scoop it up and shove it into my apron along with the other bills. I finish my shift on fire, whirling, serving, clearing, and cleaning, ready to stomp into that training session and stuff the twenty-dollar bill into Jacob's mouth with my fist.

After going home to change out of my uniform, I get to the training room early enough to quickly review our materials. Soon people are entering and my nerves heighten as I check out each arrival to see if it's Jacob.

When he walks in, his presence is like flicking a switch—everyone turns to look at him, and the air in the room becomes vibrant.

“Is that coffee?” His eyes brighten as he spots the cardboard boxes that Luda's Deli uses for take-out coffees, and the smile he flashes as he strides across the room is brilliant.

“Here, let me pour you one.” One of the freshman girls jumps toward the box and grabs a cup.

I resist the eye roll.

“Hey, thanks.” His eyes crinkle up all attractively when he directs his smile at her. He takes the cup and turns his attention to me. His smile fades. “Hey, Skylar.”

“Hi.” I pull the twenty-dollar bill out of my pocket and edge closer to him. I shove it into his front pocket.

His eyes go wide and I realize how close I am to his groin. Now I know he dresses left, and by pushing the bill into his left pocket I am within inches of touching his junk.

I jerk my hand away and stammer, “That's the tip you left me. I don't know what you were thinking, but that was ridiculous.”

He blinks slowly at me. “I was thinking you deserved a tip for putting up with our assholish comments to you.”

My mouth falls open. “You weren't assholes. You think I haven't heard worse lines than that? And your friend Hunter actually looked ashamed of himself, so I think he doesn't quite qualify as an asshole.”

Our eyes meet. Once again, heat burns through me from his gaze, a feeling of being trapped, caught in a web of warmth that pulls me to him.

“Okay, it was a bit over the top,” he admits. “But I don't know why you're so pissed about it.”

I gaze back at him for a long moment. Finally I admit, “Neither do I.”

“You hate me.” He makes a face. “That's why. I get it.” His mouth tightens and his voice takes on a bitter edge. “I guess I deserve it. Like I deserve all of this.” He slashes a hand out, then turns and walks away to find a seat.