Sorry about all that, I say.
You and Becks? It’s fine. You and your roommates seem to have so much fun together. He sounds genuinely admiring.
Don’t you and your roommates get along?
Mats nods. Yeah, everything’s great at my place. But I got the impression that there’s more… tension when a lot of women live together.
Oh, he must be referring to Lana’s sorority house. Of course there will be conflicts with any big group, male or female, but the good thing about hockey is that we get to work out our frustrations on the ice.
We’re pretty loose. The whole team, I mean, I say.
Because of you. You’re the captain and you set the tone.
My cheeks heat. It’s not a big fucking deal.
Mats looks at me like he can see right through my bullshit to the real person underneath. And he’s not running away. That’s exactly what he said—that we can be real with each other because we both started with the worst first impressions. It’s the opposite of a fake first date.
I watch as he assembles his taco. His sleeves are rolled up, and I can see the muscles of his forearms flexing. Gah. When did I turn into a perv who gets turned on by bare arms?
These tacos are delicious—
Mats, I really like you, I announce at the same time.
Sorry, what did you say? he asks.
Did he hear any of that? Maybe I shouldn’t be coming on so strong before the poor guy has even eaten.
Um, nothing. I’m glad you like the food. I was thinking of doing a Snickers salad, but I ran out of time.
Mats gives a delicate shudder. You know, even after eating it, I don’t know exactly what was in there.
Oh, allow me. I list off the ingredients from best to worst. Granny Smith apples, vanilla pudding mix, milk, Cool Whip, caramel sauce, and, of course, chopped Snickers bars.
He grimaces. I could have lived my entire life without ever knowing that.
I smile. Now that I’m used to his subtle quips, I appreciate them. I can’t believe I ever thought he was sour and humourless.
He takes another bite of his chicken taco, which he loaded up with twice as many veggies as mine. Even when we’re having the same thing, he eats cleaner than I do.
Suddenly, Jinx walks in the front door. Ugh. Someone needs to invent a Bumble verification system, she announces.
She yanks off her boots and coat, then plops right down at the table with us. Oh, this looks good. Is it okay if I have some?
Sure. Knock yourself out. Before I can do the job myself.
Then Becks miraculously appears, almost as if she was hovering outside. Well, that is what she threatened to do. She joins us. Oh boy, second dinner. How was your date, Jinx?
Not terrific. He said he liked hockey, but what he really likes is hockey pools. So, we didn’t even have that to talk about. And he did not look like his photos. Jinx eyes Mats, who looks even better in person. I see her gaze drift to his dark, wavy hair, and remember her calling it just-fucked hair. My fists clench, but I loosen them and remind myself that Jinx is my roommate and good friend.
Do guys go through all this, Mats? Becks asks the one person in this room who has never struggled to get a date in his life.
While considering this, he runs a hand through his thick hair, and Jinx sighs.
I guess. One of my roommates complains a lot. I prefer to date people I’ve met in person.
Or met and hated in person, like you and Nellie, Becks says.
I clench my jaw and add strangle Becks to my to-do list. I’m just going to clean up now.
