Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 90768 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90768 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Still, the idea of Einstein sharing a room with someone else … I don’t like it.
I let myself give in and take out my phone. The only problem is, there’s nothing to say.
Hey is not enough.
Happy New Year’s is so empty.
I’m sorry is too … heavy.
Especially when I don’t know what I’m apologizing for.
My fingers fly over the keys and then tap the delete button over and over and over again.
A message pops up, my phone vibrating in my hand, and I freak the hell out thinking I’ve messaged one of my empty ramblings, but no … it’s a message from him.
I blink. And blink again.
It’s three dots. As in, wait for it, dot, dot, dot.
But that’s it. Nothing else comes.
Was it a mistake? Was he doing the exact same thing as me?
I think of him back in Vermont, going to whatever party is happening for those who didn’t go home for winter break.
Would he kiss someone at midnight if he had the offer?
In my head, he looks a bit like Zach, though I can’t say why. Probably because Zach’s the smartest person I know, and I’m projecting.
Those three little dots though. What does it mean?
I reply with a question mark and then pocket my phone. “I might go find the hotel bar.”
Yes, that is what this needs. Alcohol. “I’ll meet you and the guys out front in twenty?”
“Sure.” Seth watches me leave, wearing a borderline freaked-out expression.
Grant’s brother is weird.
Maybe listening to sex noises of my friends would be easier than sharing a room with someone I can’t get a read on. Not while he’s sober.
I have to say Drunk Seth is a lot more fun.
I go back downstairs and enter the bar, but being New Year’s, it’s busy as fuck.
Instead of getting a drink, I throw myself on the couch in the lobby and check my phone.
Einstein hasn’t replied.
I go into my Insta account to start posting about the game tonight. I never get to post live in-person commentating, so tonight will be extra awesome. I’ve been to countless NHL games while playing for the juniors and a couple since being at CU, and nothing beats it. Watching it on TV is fine, but it’s nothing compared to the atmosphere of a live game. You can feel the adrenaline pumping through your veins.
I can’t wait.
Zach comes in from outside, and I assume he was saying goodbye to Grant, who had to get back to the arena. He joins me. I don’t know Zach well, but at least it’s not as awkward as upstairs with Seth was.
“Is it weird having a professional hockey player for a boyfriend?” I ask.
Zach thinks for a moment. “No? I mean, why would it be? It’s just his job.”
“You say that like he goes to work in an office from nine to five.” I haven’t hung out with Zach much on campus, but when we have, his mind always amazes me. He’s one of those smart people who are so smart, he can’t work out the simple things.
Like innuendo.
Or social cues.
He cocks his head. “Go sports?”
I can’t help laughing.
Studying Zach for a moment, I try to imagine meeting Einstein and him looking similar. Zach is … cute. Bit too small and fragile for my liking, but the thing is, I don’t think it would matter. Einstein said during that first conversation we had that he’s butt-ugly, but at this point, if that was true, I’m not so sure it would worry me.
It’s him I want, not his body or his face. I want the guy I’ve been confiding in. The guy who makes me all giddy. I just want … him.
Maybe there’s something to this getting to know people thing.
It’s not long later that the other guys come down to meet us, and we make the short but freezing walk to the arena about five minutes away.
Beck, Jacobs, and I go get some food—we’re hockey players and haven’t eaten in a few hours—and then we go to our seats.
Somehow, I end up seated next to Seth. He’s still got the same weird energy about him that he did in the hotel room. It could be normal for him, or maybe he’s still stuck on Thanksgiving.
While we wait for the game to start, Jacobs, who’s on my other side, says, “Maybe we should’ve invited Asher.”
I scoff. “Like he would’ve come. He says no to everything.”
“I think it’s the lack of bonding with the team why our plays aren’t smooth.”
“I think he’s kind of a dick,” I counter. “I mean, yeah, okay, his family has been through a lot. I get that. But, shit, he comes in with his big NHL brother who favors him in practice, only ever praises him, and then Asher acts like he’s the next Foster Grant. We need to play the way he plays and not the way that won us the championship last year? Fuck off with that shit.”