“My sub-committee and I have created a list of local businesses to contact for sponsorships and prizes. We’ve reached out to a few so far and already secured several donations. Huge shout-out to Kenzi and Shane for their help with that. I have a meeting with the campus grounds department next week to finalize the date for the winter carnival and to determine which campus facilities we’ll need to use. I anticipate needing tents and heaters forsome of the outdoor spaces, so I’ll look into that, as well.”
“Great,” Val says, making a few notes on a tablet. “We look forward to hearing another update at our next meeting in two weeks.”
I head back to my seat as she calls on the next member to share their progress. I pay attention and even jot a few ideas down, but while I listen to everyone talk, I can feel Fallon’s eyes on me. I’d give anything to know what she’s thinking.
Finally, the meeting is over. I slip my laptop into my backpack and head for the door. Fallon’s only a few steps ahead of me, and now is my chance to catch up to her and clear the air a little. Things have been especially awkward between us since we ran into each other at the pool a few days ago, and that’s my fault. I nearly choked on chlorinated water when I came up for a breath of air and saw Fallon in a white bikini. The strappy little ties rode high on her hips, accentuating the narrow curve of her waist, and the halter top gave me a tantalizing view of her cleavage. I knew I was a dog for staring, so I took a second to get my shit together. And then, instead of acting like a normal roommate and asking if she wanted me to make her some lunch, I botched it and sounded like a dickhead.
It only takes me a second to catch up with her, and I tap her arm as we descend the library steps.
“Hey, roomie,” I say, cringing at my own greeting as I sign and speak.
“Hi,” she signs back with a polite smile.
“I was gonna head over to Drip and grab a cup of coffee,” I sign, even though the idea literally just occurred to me. “If you’re not busy?—”
Fallon shakes her head, cutting me off. “Sorry, I’ve got class.”
“Oh, yeah.. Cool,” I say, living up to my reputation as a stellar conversationalist. “Maybe another time.”
“Yeah, sounds good,” she says before turning to walk in the opposite direction, leaving me alone at the bottom of the library steps.
Well, I’m not alone. This campus is crawling with people rushing to and from class and I’m standing on the edge of the busiest walkway. But I feel alone. A little lost, maybe? And that’s crazy. I’m Ollie Jablonski. I’ve got a million friends and a crap-ton of followers on MyFans. Besides, things are looking up for me. No one on my team has punched anyone else on my team for a few days now, my coaches see the effort I’m making, and I’m kinda liking my work with the charity committee. Plus, I got a text from my dad this morning that I actually had to read twice.
Dad: Played a round of golf with Chris Hutchins yesterday when he was in town for his niece’s wedding. He said you approached him about sponsoring a fundraiser at Bainbridge and he was impressed with your proposal. Said he’d have known you were my son even without the last name because you came prepared and closed the deal like a pro.
Dad: It was nice to hear about your accomplishments instead of your antics for a change.
That’s high praise coming from Louis Jablonski, so I’ll ride that wave for a while. And it’s probably for the best that Fallon didn’t have time for coffee. I need to head to the Stop n’ Shop so I can buy enough food to feed a house full of hockey players tomorrow night.
14
Ollie
“We had to fuckin’ dress up for this?” Mickey asks, indignation woven into every word. “No one told me we had to dress up for this.”
From my vantage point in the kitchen, I can see him standing in the entryway of the house. Mickey’s got three looks: a game day suit, gray joggers and a Wolves t-shirt, and buck-ass naked. He went with option two tonight, and I think it was a good call. He’s not ready for the runway, but he looks like half the population of Bainbridge U right now, including me.
“You look great, Mick,” JT says. “There’s no dress code. It’s just dinner.”
“Then why is he wearing a button down?” Mickey asks, pointing at Blue.
“Because it’s a fucking team dinner, not the goddamn dining hall,” Wagner says, taking a seat next to his bestie. They’re even dressed alike in slacks and collared shirts. They look good, even if it pains me to admit it. He’s wrong on one count, though. It’s not technically a team dinner. I figured we’d start start out with the guys who live in thehouse, and if this dinner doesn’t turn into a total bloodbath, I’ll invite the rest of the team next week.
With the way Mickey’s glaring at Wagner, though, a bloodbath is not yet out of the question. “JT’s got the same shirt on as I do. And Ollie’s wearing a t-shirt, and this whole thing was his idea, so that means the dress code is casual and you two look like try-hards. Imagine that.”
Mickey’s face is getting red, and I should intervene, but I’ve got lasagna under the broiler and these fuckers aren’t burning my mozzarella. No fucking way.
Wagner doesn’t take the bait. He never does, especially when Mickey’s the one dishing it out. “Ollie’s cooking and JT’s holding his baby. And look, both of their shirts are stain-free. So what’s your excuse?”
Mickey stretches his shirt out as he glances down at it. “There are not—okay, fine. You want me to change? I’ll fucking change.”
“Your first mistake was thinking I give a shit what you do, Mouse.” Wagner’s tone is bored, but his words hit their mark. One of these days, those two are going to come to blows and none of us will be around to stop it. For now, though, JT puts a calming hand on his best friend’s shoulder.
“Dude, your shirt’s fine and I guarantee that stain probably came from Calla anyway, so don’t bother changing. She’ll just drool or spit up on whatever you put on next.”
At the mention of his niece, Mickey’s whole expression changes. He and JT aren’t blood related, but they’re as close as any brothers I know.
The timer on my watch buzzes, and when I open the oven, the cheese is bubbling away, just like the internet said it would. I’m grateful for the distraction, and I busy myself with getting all of the dishes out on the counter so the guyscan eat buffet-style. Fallon’s idea of a family dinner was pure genius, but these guys are acting more like a couple on the verge of divorce than a happy family unit. Hopefully, the food I made will taste so good they’ll all forget we used to be rivals. That’s a big ask for a meal made entirely out of recipes from two-minute videos on QuikTok, but I’ve always been a risk-taker.
