“Two? How do you figure?” Van asks as he digs through the bag of takeout we brought over. He figured the contents of his fridge would be questionable, so we stopped for sustenance before coming home. Well, not home. Not my home anyway, but his.
Ollie scoffs before stealing a fry from the aluminum container. “Franconetti and Mel were my first foray into matchmaking, and those two are madly in love?—”
“They just broke up two weeks ago,” Rosco interjects.
Ollie glares. “And they got back together. And they are happier than ever.”
“And one of us is right fucking here,” Will says, waving his hand.
As though he’s a shark lawyer on a courtroom TV show, Ollie turns his attention to his star witness. “Do you or do you not love Melanie Cohen?”
“Why does it sound like you’re officiating our wedding?” Will asks.
Ollie’s not deterred. “So you’re not planning to marry her?”
Will laughs. “Dude. She’s not even in the room! And I’ll ask her before I tell you or my mom. And I think I’ll finish college first. But, also, yes, of course I love Mel. But if you love your balls, you’ll never call her Melanie again.”
“See? He’s a lovesick fool. That’s what I call success. And you two,” Ollie continues, pointing to Van and me, “are only my second match and look—you’re practically glued together. So fucking cute it makes me a little sick.”
Van laughs. “Is that a compliment? Also, you can’t take credit for this, Olls. Josie and I got together years ago. We didn’t evenknow you. Hell, you were just starting your senior year in high school out in fucking California when I first asked Josie out.”
“Exactly,” he says, shrugging. “I wasn’t here and you guys didn’t last. Now I’m here, and you’re happy as pigs in shit. See? Great matchmaker,” he declares, pointing his thumbs back at himself. “Ooooh, I should start a website. Or maybe they’d give me a column inThe Howler. I could take requests from the lovelorn and make the whole campus fall in love, one couple at a time. Or throuple. Or whatever. I’m an equal opportunity love specialist. Who’s the girl who writes the ‘Am I the Dumbass’ column? I need to talk to her about getting some space in the paper.”
“Claire Fowler,” I say her name at the same time Pete does. We both know her because she’s a Legacy Scholar recipient, too. “She’s really nice,” I tell Ollie. “I’m sure she’d be happy to talk to you.” Ollie beams and Santos glares. I’m not sure what that’s all about, but Van tugs on my arm, so I turn to him before I can puzzle out what has my friend’s face in a scowl.
“Don’t encourage him, Jos,” Van says, handing me my grilled cheese.
“Wouldn’t matter anyway,” Norris says, looking up from the video game he’s playing against Dean. “Once Jablonski gets an idea, there’s no stopping him. If you doubt me, go look at the giant dick on the kitchen floor.”
My eyes go wide, but everyone else just nods.
“Oh, shit! Did anybody paint the dick last week? Mickey!” Dean yells toward the stairs, “Get down here and bring the silver paint.” He hops up from his spot on the floor, and Santos shakes his head before scooping up the abandoned controller and picking up where his teammate left off.
I look to Van for an explanation, but he just shakes his head and offers me a fry. I take it and pop it into my mouth.
Seconds later, I hear footsteps and turn to see the man formerly known as Bouncy Guy descend the stairs. And he’s still bouncing. He’s got at least as much energy as my brother Milo after polishing off three chocolate bunnies on Easter morning.
“Hey, Van, you’re back. You missed optional skate for, like, the first time ever. What the hell? Plus, you said we’d run passing drills after.”
“Sorry, Mickey, I had a busy day. A really, really good busy day,” Van says, pressing a kiss to my temple. “You’ve met my girlfriend, Josie, right?”
I’m a little overwhelmed by all the physical attention, but not in a bad way. It’s not what I’m used to, but it feels good and I don’t want it to stop.
Mickey smiles and it’s easy to see why girls on campus swoon over him. He’s lean but strong, with dark auburn hair and a boyish grin. “Hey, Josie.”
I wave and smile and then blush becauseoh my godwho waves at people? Should I have shaken his hand? Should I sit on my hands so I don’t do anything else with them, like spontaneously offer him a high five? Ugh. Why was I cursed with awkwardness?
But Mickey just waves back, like that’s a totally normal thing people do when they’re three feet away from each other.
“So…yeah. Do you wanna hit the ice later? Norris said he’s in if you are, and?—”
“I’ll run drills with you,” Rosco volunteers. “Van can stay here.”
This suggestion does not go over well. “No way. Van has to come—he’s the best. He always sees exactly what I’m fucking up and he knows how to fix it. But I mean, yeah. You can come, too, Rosco. I gotta go paint the dick, but we’ll leave in like, twenty minutes?”
Rosco clears his throat and Ollie makes wide eyes at Mickey, then at Van and me. These guys think they’re being subtle, so I hold back a giggle.
Norris, the goalie, is a little more direct. “Let Van and his girl have a little more time together, huh? You go paint the dick and then we’ll head out.”
