Son of Donnie Malacheck.
Grandson of Donald Malacheck.
Team member of Team USA.
Olympic Gold medalist.
And leading candidate for the Hobey Baker Award.
When I turned back, the girl, Lexi, by the name tag, had her head craned to see who came through the double doors. A comical look had taken over her face. Her eyes were big, round, and bulging, her mouth equally round, and her chin touched her chest. She shot up from the table, knocking over the chair she’d been sitting in as she said, “Ohmigod! He can’t see me like this!”
At least that’s what I think she said. It sounded more like abunch of syllables mashed together into one long, incoherent word.
She took off like a flash. All of us watched her disappear through a door on the opposite side of the common area lobby. The football guy cracked up, doubling over as laughter burst from him.
“Aiden Mercer, right?”
I looked to the right, and Trey stood there looking at me, his brows raised as if he was waiting for me to say something.
“Fuck! Please tell me I didn’t fuck up your name,” he said with a grimace.
“Oh, umm, no. I mean, yeah, I’m Aiden Mercer.”
Mentally, I smacked my face because here I stood, in front of the best player in all of college hockey, if not in all of hockey outside the pro teams, and I was acting just as bad as the puck bunny that took off running at the sight of the hockey star.
“Thank fuck. I suck at names, but since we’re rooming together…”
“We’re rooming together?” I asked, dumbfounded.
“Yeah.”
I nodded, confused. I’d asked the housing office who was rooming with me, and they said the assignments hadn’t been finalized by the coach and refused to give me the info.
“How did you get your hands on the roommate info?” I asked.
“Muncy let me pick. I figured you might make a good fit.”
“Here’s your packet,” the guy behind the table said. “Inside is your temporary ID, to get you into the room. You’ll need to get the new one done in the next forty-eight hours, because that one will expire and you’ll be shit out of luck if the student services office is closed. Here are the contact numbers for housing, resident advisors, and dorm directors. There are also some forms you need to complete and return to the housing office. It’s your emergency contact info, as well as a checklist to note any damages. I recommend taking pictures, just in case. Then, of course, there’s your room assignment, parking pass, info about the move-in events that start after the official move-in day, and well, you’ve already met one of your roommates, but their info is in there, too.”
I blinked, completely stunned at the onslaught of info. I opened my mouth to say thank you, and he cleared his throat, my unfocused gaze honing in on his face as he said, “So, yeah, umm, I think that’s about it.”
“Umm… thanks,” I ducked my head to check his name tag, “Charlie.”
His face turned pink, and he stammered a “You’re welcome,” before digging through the stack of packets and handing Trey his.
Trey thanked the guy, smacked me on the back, and said, “Let’s go check out this crib, roomie.”
It took a bit of a shove from Trey to get my feet moving. As soon as the dorm’s front doors closed behind us and we were halfway to Coach’s truck, Trey lost it. “Dude, someone has a puck bunny.”
“What? No. He’s…”
Trey laughed, his hand gripping the back of my neck, and gave me a little shake.
“A guy? Doesn’t make a damn bit of difference here. They come in all shapes, sizes, and genders. Looking the way you do, with the hint of liner and gloss, he pegged you as queer, and he’s been chasing players since the day he got on campus. If you’re looking for a good lay and you swing that way, far be it for me to assume based on appearance, then give him a go. He’s a fun ride.”
He left me standing with a two-fingered salute and a “see you upstairs” as he turned in the opposite direction. His famous dad and model mom stood next to a massive SUV.
“Aiden, is everything okay?”
