For now.
When Mickey accidentally set fire to our couch last week, it left most of us stranded for a place to go. Who knew a plaid nightmare of a sofa from the 1980s would go up in flames so quickly. One minute my best friend was making S’mores using a candle, and the next, we had half the fire department at our place.
We were each given ten minutes to gather what we could and get out so the investigators and cleanup crews could do their thing. Coach was on the scene by then, micromanaging every detail. He and Booker and Santos put their heads together and within half an hour, Santos had a spreadsheet with all the players and their temporary housing.
Mickey and I are staying with Coach until we’re cleared to go back to the hockey house.
It makes sense, really. Mickey’s folks live close by, but too far for a daily commute. And since I haven’t stepped foot in Grand Plains in more than a year, I’ve always spent breaks either at Coach’s place or Mickey’s. The first few days were fine. Coach is fun to be around when he isn’t super stressed, and Jules is cool as shit. Those two seem to have the perfect relationship. They balance each other out, and I’ve always admired them for it. I never really thought a long-term relationship was in the cards for me. I’m only nineteen, so maybe that was short-sighted of me. I’ve just seen so many couples that are toxic as hell, people who bring out the worst in each other and go the extra mile just to make the other person miserable. Before Coach and Jules, the only role models of healthy relationships I saw were the ones on TV.
We all co-existed pretty easily for a couple days. But nowJules is back on the West Coast for some fancy TV gig. She’s organizing celebrities’ closets or something and getting paid a shit-ton to do it, too. She’s happy as hell helping rich people declutter and Coach is moody as shit because he’s wife’s gone again.
I can handle that.
I can even handle Mickey getting on Coach’s last nerve. I’m the Mickey-whisperer. It’s funny because Ollie drives me batshit crazy, but Mickey doesn’t bug me at all.
I can deal with the fact that our team’s hit some road bumps. Will’s hearing is in a couple days, which only adds to Coach’s pissy mood. Unless a damn miracle happens, Will’s about to get booted from the team and maybe even the university.
Van’s in a crappy mood because things between Josie and him are at a standstill.
And Rosco’s bitching at anyone who comes within five feet of him. His hand is starting to heal, but he bruised the other one when he punched a hole in the wall after finding his girlfriend in bed with another guy.
So, yeah. It’s been tough.
But I can handle tough.
What I can’t handle is sneaking around.
Maggie’s been away for the last few days. Her Statistical Analysis class took a trip to the American Academy of Actuaries. Sounds like a snore fest to me, but she was pretty excited for the trip.
She got back this afternoon and I had to physically stop myself from hauling her into my arms and kissing her the way I wanted to after being apart for four days.
I also had to refrain from hauling her suitcase upstairs.
If we’d been alone, I’d have done both. Hell, I’d knock on Coach’s bedroom door right now and come clean.
But half the team was in Coach’s kitchen, so I had to pretend like I had no idea who Maggie is. I gave her anupnod like the rest of the guys and sighed silently in relief when Van grabbed her bag and offered to take it upstairs.
He’s a do-gooder like that. A schmoozer. No one batted an eye when he went all suave and smooth and helpful. Van’s natural charm gets us upgraded hotel rooms and free desserts at restaurants. He doesn’t even try. He just turns on that dimple and people fall all over themselves to please him.
Maggie thanked him, of course, and they chatted for a couple minutes about her train ride and all the thrilling sites she saw on her trip. I nearly ground my back molars to dust watching them talk like old friends.
It’s dumb, I know. Not to mention hypocritical. Maggie wasn’t flirting with Van, and he wasn’t hitting on her. In fact, he was doing me a favor. He’s the only guy on the team who knows that Maggie and I are together, so he was giving her a hand when I wanted to but couldn’t.
I promised Maggie I’d keep our relationship quiet, and I’ve kept that promise. I haven’t even told Mickey, and he’s my best friend. He also has the impulse control of the average five-year-old, so it’s probably for the best that he’s in the dark.
I am also in the dark.
The dark hallway of Coach’s house.
I really shouldn’t be here.
I should go for a run or hit up the gym or even go for a round of wings at Wolfie’s. I should not be creeping up the steps and checking that the coast is clear so I can sneak into Maggie’s room like some horny teenager.
Okay, technically speaking, I am a horny teenager, but I’m almost twenty. And wise beyond my years. And horny as hell.
I’m not even here for a booty call. I can’t do that with Coach fifteen feet down the hall.
Maggie texted a couple minutes ago and asked if I was still awake. It’s past midnight, but I can’t sleep, so I said yes. She asked if I could talk, but then she never responded whenI answered. I guarantee she’s asleep, no doubt in tiny little shorts and an oversized sweatshirt. She’s probably tucked into her blankets, all warm and cozy. I want to fucking bust through that door just to lie next to her.
