He knows me too well.
He sighs as we pass through the double doors that lead to the locker room. “It’s admirable as hell, but you can't do it all, man. We've got shit to figure out. And we're not getting it done. And it goes beyond Koz and Shuler and all their drama. Yeah, that doesn't help, but it's not the whole problem. We're not gelling.”
“Is that why you're here?”
“Nah. I'm here ‘cause I saw you booking it down the path and wondered what the hell was on fire. I was on my way to Drip for caffeine, but I figured whatever had your ass in a dead sprint was more important.”
* * *
We changeand head over to the weight room to warm up. Ollie cranks the music and we both just sort of zone out. Eventually, other guys start filtering in. Eli Shuler, a senior, steps in and the mood instantly changes.
Shuler’s…an arrogant jerk. And true, cockiness is a pretty common trait among athletes, but most keep it on the ice. We’re confident in our skill, and that’s part of what helps us excel. But off the ice and with our teammates?
Shuler acts like he’s hockey royalty because he pretty much is. His dad and uncle are legends in the game, and his older brother is on his way to being one too.The thing is, in a locker room of college guys—some who are headed for the pros and more who aren’t—that kind of attitude wears thin after a while. Especially because he’s the type of player who will skate around the minors for a couple years, but probably never get called up. Shuler’s good, but he’s not great. And in his family, that’s gotta be tough.
But it still doesn’t justify the fact that he’s an obnoxious jerk most of the time.
Shuler and Trevor Friedline are the same age, but Friedline earned the Captain’s C because he’s a leader. Shuler didn’t because he’s a showboater.
Shuler approaches and looks straight at Ollie. “What’s up,Jablowski?”
Ollie’s unfazed by the nickname. “Super original, Shuler.”
He shrugs. “Heard you had fun the other night, that's all.”
“I did,” Ollie confirms without apology.
Shuler and his two cronies, Keefe, a junior, and Roskowitz, a freshman, laugh like there’s some inside joke the rest of us are missing. I have no idea what happened the other night, but knowing Ollie, it could be anything. There’s a reason he and Whit get along so well. They’re two peas in a pod.
“Heard you got up to some crazy shit,” Shuler goads.
“Yeah, some crazy gay shit,” Keefe adds.
Ollie doesn’t even flinch. “Are you referring to this past Sunday at Kappa? Where Aidan's mouth was on my dick and my mouth was on Lauren's pussy? Cause, yeah. That was fucking hot. Don't talk about shit you don't know about. And don't talk shit on what's none of your fucking business.”
Keefe's got his hands up. "Whoa. Chill. Not judging. I just didn't know you were bi."
Ollie’s clearly irritated now. He puts down the kettlebell and faces Keefe. “What I ‘am’ is none of your business. The name I put to it is pansexual, but until you can show some fucking respect instead of gossiping like a little bitch, you should keep my name and my labels out of your goddamn mouth.”
“Jesus. For someone so open-minded, you’re fucking sensitive.” Keefe rolls his eyes, and that’s all it takes.
Ollie steps forward, shoving Keefe into the wall. “Open-minded? I don’t think you know what that big word means, asshole.”
Whoa. I’m blindsided by what’s happening. Instead of reacting, I freeze. Friedline enters the gym and pulls them apart, and that's when I realize I was so tuned in to what Ollie was saying that I failed to be alert to the explosive situation around me. Finally, instinct kicks in, and I lead Ollie in the hallway with me.
Ollie’s breathing heavily as he slumps against the wall. “Fuck, Book. I thought you were gonna let me take a swing at the asshole.”
I'm silent. If Friedline hadn’t intervened, Ollie could have easily gotten a couple hits in. Crap. Some alt-captain I am.
“The hell, Booker? Say something. Don't tell me you agree with that douchecanoe.”
“No. Of course not. No,” I say, shaking my head. “No. Look, my dad might be a zealot and a bigot, but I'm not. I just…” I shake my head, words escaping me. That’s how it seems lately. I have all these thoughts. These feelings. But I can’t put words to them. I can’t name them.
“What? You just wanted to see me rip Keefe's face off?” Ollie asks, pulling his shirt off to wipe his face.
Finally, the words come. “I just want to know how you do it.”
Ollie blinks. “You want to know how I let a guy suck my dick? Easy. He's a goddamn pro. But that's not what you're asking, is it?”
