Spencer
It’s funny, but I never get nervous before a game. I’m the guy who could barely string a sentence together in front of Paige when we met, and I still do not love getting up in front of my class to give speeches. But pre-game jitters? Nah, not so much. Some guys in the locker room pace a little (I’m looking at you, Herrera), and most of the guys go about their routines while listening to whatever music pumps them up or chills them out.
I tend to hang out and watch the madness. I’m an observer at my core. I guess that’s why I love being a goalie. It’s a unique perspective. From my post, I can watch the action, anticipate the moves, and see each play unfold. And, at any given moment, that fast moving puck could be coming my way, so I need to be prepared at all times.
Watchful and prepared. Yeah, that about sums me up.
And for some reason, tonight, I’m also nervous. And it has absolutely nothing to do with the game. Like I told Paige, it’ll be good to see my mom and Ted, and I won’t even see my dad, but he’ll check in with a thousand texts right after the ending buzzer sounds.
None of that causes me any worry. It’s all typical stuff. I’m used to it.
And I’m not worried about the game against UMass, either. They’re good, but we’re better. And, what’s more, we’re prepared. I trust that every guy in this room is going to leave it all on the ice tonight, so the impending game doesn’t stress me out.
It’s Paige.
Something’s bothering her, and that’s bothering me. I know she gets pressure from her parents about the LSATs, but I feel like there’s more to the story.
And that’s not usually how I roll. I mean, I’m not a total asshole, but other people’s emotions are not always on my radar. Anticipating a forward’s next move as he comes barreling down the ice? Yep. Figuring out how someone is feeling and why they’re feeling that way? Not so much.
But I can read Paige like an open book, which is strange since we haven’t been together that long. But she matters to me...her feelings matter to me...and something seems off and I’m not sure how to make it right.
Even last night, after the game, she wasn’t herself. She came over and we hung out with the guys, shot the shit as usual, but she seemed out of sorts, as my mom would say. I figured she was just tired, or maybe stressed about school, but there’s more to it.
The upcoming LSAT has her nervous as hell. But it’s more than that, too.
I know she’s excited to see her family, especially her brother Jake, this weekend, and I know it’s my home-opener, but I wish I could be there with her. I feel like she needs a buffer and I’d happily volunteer as tribute.
But not right now. Coach just called us all on the ice for warm-ups, but I make a mental note to check in with Paige right after the game. We should be finishing up just as she’s sitting down to dinner.
15
Paige
My midnight blue one-shoulder dress skims a few inches above my knees, and thanks to my four-inch heels, I won’t feel miniature next to the rest of my family, especially because my mom and Sophie will be in flats. I took extra care with my hair and makeup tonight— and I filmed my routine, of course. I’m wearing my hair (with extensions, obvs) in a deliberately messy updo and these curls took time.
But, I feel pretty. And it’s no surprise that pretty is my armor. And that protective shield is necessary tonight. Everyone in this room—my family, my sister’s soon-to-be in-laws, and her friends—have direction. They have a purpose. They know what they want to do and they’re good at doing it.
Like my mom said earlier, all I’m good at doing is painting my face. Ok, that’s not exactly what she said, but it’s close enough.
And I can’t make a career out of that. I mean, people do, but my parents would kill me. And I love vlogging, but I want to do more with it.
I just don’t have any clue what “more” means. And that is my problem. Spencer mentioned marketing a while back, and that does sound like something I’d enjoy, but it’s way too late to change my major. I’m already a junior. And I’m pretty sure my parents would freak out.
I hear a wolf whistle as I exit my room, and I know it’s Trevor and my brother before I even turn in their direction.
“Yessss,” Trevor nods as I walk toward them. “You’re killing it, as always, Princess P. Hate to break it to you, Jake, but your sister is a stunner.”
“I’m aware.” He smiles wryly. “You do look beautiful, Paige.”
“Thanks. And you guys look handsome,” I say, taking in their evening attire. Trevor is wearing the hell out of a bow-tie and my brother looks cover-ready with no tie, a jacket, and his dress shirt unbuttoned at the collar. Jake wears I-don’t-give-a-fuck like a second skin. “When did you get all dressed up? I didn’t even hear you come in to change,” I say.
Jake’s face blanches for a second until Trevor says, “I grabbed his stuff while you were in the shower. He changed in my room, for times’ sake. Not for nothin, pretty girl, but you are a bathroom hog.”
“This is accurate.” I laugh as we head toward the elevator.
“So, are we taking bets on how long it’ll take Dr. Dickhead to hit on the waitstaff?” Jake asks, and Trevor elbows him.
“Jesus, Underwood. Show some class. Bets should be placed before we enter the event venue. And also, ten bucks on the first ten minutes.” He presses the button for the main lobby. The party is being held in the ballroom and the terrace, and as we exit the elevator, I see that the staid decor has been transformed. Warm, soft lights add a gentle glow to the space and the linens are an array of warm, neutral tones. Sophie does have incredible taste.
