“Jablonski,” Coach B says by way of greeting. “This won’t take long. There are just a few things we want to discuss. I’ll let Coach Novotny start.”
I turn my attention to Josh Novotny. He’s about a decade older than I am, and he’s been on the coaching staff since before I arrived at BU as a freshman. He moved up in the ranks after Coach Anderson left last year. Novotny’s a good guy and a straight shooter, so if he’s got badnews to deliver, I know he’ll rip the bandage off without a lot of fanfare.
So when he looks at me with pride, I’m a little surprised.
“You’re making great progress, Ollie, and we want you to know that your efforts aren't going unnoticed. Word in the locker room is that you’ve organized a dinner for your housemates this week. Is that right?”
“Yeah,” I nod, silently thanking Fallon because it’s a fucking genius idea. But that’s all the headspace I’ll give Fallon because she just confuses the hell out of me. Every time I think I’m getting somewhere with her, maybe even becoming friends, I do something to inadvertently piss her off.
“Good,” Novotny says, bringing my attention back to the meeting where it belongs. “That’s any easy way to build camaraderie and to make the new guys—transfers and freshmen alike— feel welcome. I’ve seen you stay late running drills with Mickey. Keep that up. That guy’s got more talent than he knows what to do with. We’ve just got to help him harness it.”
I nod in agreement. “Mickey doesn’t quite trust himself yet. It’s a confidence thing. Once he feels solid and he knows we all believe in him, there’ll be no stopping him.” I could say more. I could tell the coaches that bringing Dutton Wagner onto the team decimated Mickey’s belief in himself, but what’s done is done. I’m still not sure I agree with the decision they made, but one thing I’ve realized in the past few weeks is that bitching about it isn’t going to change anything. The reality is that Blue and Wagner are our teammates. And they’re two of the best players at the college level right now, which means the rest of us need to get over ourselves so we can start playing like a team.
“You’ve got great instincts, Ollie,” Novotny says, acknowledging my work with Mickey, and the compliment means a lot.
“And you’re impressing the hell out of Ms. Valerie Grim, the school’s new PR staffer.” I smile at Coach Baylor’s words, but out of the corner of my eye, I notice Novotny stiffen. I’m not sure what that’s about, so I turn my attention back to my head coach.
“Val tells me you’ve taken on a leadership role and that you’re spearheading efforts to plan a charity carnival. I know that the demands of your schedule leave little room for anything else, so we appreciate that you’re stepping up and doing it for a good cause.”
Coach Baylor’s praise feels good. I mean, these two are the ones who assigned me to the committee in the first place, but knowing that I’m making them proud gives me a boost.
Confidence isn’t something I’m usually in short supply of, but my head’s been a little messed up this year. There’s the Captain thing. And the new teammates thing. And the fact that living with Fallon Zabek might just drive me insane. But I can’t even spare a minute to try and figure that out, because Coach Baylor starts talking again.
“You’re taking charge, Ollie, just like I asked you to when the semester started, and it’s making a difference. Keep up the good work.”
“Thanks,” I say. “I love these guys, and I love this team.” I don’t offer any more of an explanation because it really is as simple as that.
“Well, let us know if there’s anything you need on our end,” Novotny says. “We can add a few guys to the charity committee to lighten your load a bit, and if you need us to keep the rink open a little longer for your drill sessions withMickey and any of the other guys, we can make that happen.”
I nod appreciating the offer, but there’s nothing these guys can really help with. I mean, I can’t really ask them to our house dinner next week just so they can keep Mickey and Wagner from getting at each other. They can’t help with the day-to-day activities that help us gel as a team. That’s something we need to do for ourselves. Although…
An idea forms in my head and I decide to just go for it. I mean, the worst thing they can do is say no, right?
“Actually,” I begin, “there is something that I have in mind.”
It takes ten minutes, a fair amount of convincing, and a solemn promise that none of us will even think about stepping out of line, but when I leave Coach Baylor’s office, I’ve got plans for a team outing that will go down in Bainbridge Hockey history as the best team bonding experience ever.
This is good—great, even. I can keep my focus on hockey, make my coaches, my team, and maybe even my dad, proud. And if I’m so immersed in hockey, it’s possible that I’ll stop noticing—and fantasizing about—my new housemate.
It’s basically impossible for me to ignore Fallon, especially when she’s sitting right across from me.
We’re not even at home. It’s not like I can run up to my room and hop in the shower or jump in the pool or even stick my head in the freezer to cool off from the sexy images my mind keeps projecting when she’s anywhere near me.
Right now is not the time for R-rated images or filthythoughts. We’re in a room with twenty-five other people and though I don’t mind an audience, the charity fundraiser meeting is not the time or the place to ask Fallon if she’s into hate sex.
I mean, it’s a valid question. Now’s just not the time.
Ms. Grim is serious about raising funds for a cause and showing Bainbridge in the best possible light while doing it. She’s enlisted the help of groups across campus, and she’s even asked academic departments to select top students to lend their talents.
And that’s why Fallon is so close I can smell the peachy goodness of her shampoo. She’s a graphic design major who is going to make all of our communications look branded and pretty. It’s actually a huge win, because if we had to pay a designer, that would seriously cut into the amount we’re going to be able to donate.
“Thanks for that budget update, Karly,” Ms. Grim says, smiling at a committee member before directing her attention at me. “Ollie, what do you have to share?”
All eyes are on me, but I only feel the weight of Fallon’s gaze as I stand up and walk to the interactive whiteboard at the front of the room. I click the tab with my report and address the room.
And yes, I’m looking in Fallon’s general direction, but that’s so she can read my lips.
Mostly.
