“I’ll take it,” Cody tugs at his bottom lip with his teeth, while he shakes his hair, strands of sweaty shaggy locks sticking to his forehead. The haircut makes him seem younger than his twenty-three years, but hell, I’m often told that I look younger too, my twin sisters often joking that I look like the baby in the family. For some inexplicable reason, my fingers start tingling, itching to reach out and run through Cody’s hair. Even though it’s damp from practice, it looks soft. The straw-blond strands are not just an ordinary yellow color but more like a warm, shimmery, and… huh? That’s weird. Was I just wondering how our goalie’s hair would feel if I ran my fingers through it? Hmmm, maybe I was. Am I attracted to Cody? I let the unfamiliar feeling settle in my chest. Huh, maybe I am. I mean, it wouldn’t be weird if I was. He pretty much ticks all the boxes for me. No, the weird thing is that I rarely find myself attracted to anyone.
Cody continues to stare at me, a puzzled frown between his slightly darker brows, apparently waiting for me to say something. Shaking off the unfamiliar—but not unpleasant—sensation coursing through me, I clap my hands again because that’s apparently what I do now.
“Great!” I blurt a little too loudly as I start tearing at my compression shirt, while Cody pulls some body wash or shampoo or whatever from his bag. As far as roomies go, it seems I’ve once again won the fucking lottery. Cody seems genuinely nice, easy-going, and pretty cool underneath the shy, hesitant exterior. Yeah, I could do a lot worse for sure. Hell, I could bunk with someone like Crane. Or even worse, someone like our center, Kennedy. The guy apparently makes a habit of sleepwalking, often ending up in Virtanen’s bed during the night, one time even pushing Greta over the edge and onto thefloor. Most of the guys have bought their own places by now, moving in with their girlfriends or fiancées, but there’s still a handful of us who have opted to share a condo with another player. Virtanen and Kennedy foster a Syrian Hamster named Vinnie together and it would be a never-ending custody battle, I’m sure, if they were to go their separate ways. Poor Greta, she’s a champ. To me, rooming with someone is convenient since I’m saving for a house and because I’m kind of a social bird and like having someone around.Someone who makes sure I don’t sleep through my alarm.
Yeah, the Goddess of Assigning Roommates must like me. I think I’ll get along just fine with Cody. Maybe I shouldn’t be nicknamedCarry On, Kidanymore. OrLuke, the Latelike my family always teases me at home. Maybe it ought to beLucky Lukeinstead. Yeah, I kind of like that.Lucky Luke.Perhaps it’ll even rub off on the team? Who knows if our new goalie will change things around for the Lions.The Lucky Lions…Yeah, maybe he will. Maybe Cody will end up being exactly what we need…
Chapter Seven
Cody
The condo where I’mgoing to spend at least the next couple of months is in a residential area called Laredo Highline, close to the Aurora Sports Park. And even though the condo itself is a mess, looking like a small tornado tore through the hallway and the living room recently, it’s still superior to any other place I’ve lived in. As soon as we enter the three-bedroom condo, Luke hurries into the kitchen like the floor is made of lava. With an apologetic frown on his face, he starts throwing takeout boxes into a large trash bag, with what appears to be dried-up noodles crunching under his feet. One end of the counter is overflowing with empty Gatorade bottles and soda cans, while the sink is filled to the brim with dirty plates and used cutlery.
Okay, so the condo has seen better days for sure, but after having shared a room with three other players in the AHL, I’m pretty sure I’ve seen the worst of the worst. And as far as roommates go, Luke seems like a cool enough guy.
We took my rental after practice, and Luke didn’t stop chattering during the short drive. Pointing out coffee shops, stores, and restaurants on the way, he gesticulated animatedly, the soft features of his face lighting up. There’s a strange familiarity to his chestnut eyes, emanating a warmth and kindness that immediately transferred to me and made me relax. After a good practice combined with being bombarded with new impressions—and texts from my mom—I felt exhaustion finally taking over as I melted into the passenger seat, accompanied by the hypnotic hum of Luke’s timbre voice.
I’ve always preferred listening over talking. It’s always been like that. All the way through school and later high school, I was just in the periphery of the popular kids. My semi-popularity stemmed mostly from being on the high school hockey team. Being a so-called jock made me automatically part of the in-crowd, whether I liked it or not. There was never a party or a spontaneous weekend trip I wasn’t invited to. People were always eager to hang out with me, I guess. I mostly stayed at home, though, to avoid my mom’s ever-present nagging and her constant reminders that ‘if you don’t wanna turn out like a no-good SOB like your dad’,I’d better keep my eyes on the end goal. The NHL. So, it was easier to just stay at home, camping out in my small bedroom, re-watching classic hockey games. Studying the best, dreaming of one day maybe—hopefully—becoming the best.
“Sorry, man,” Luke mumbles as he tucks the overspilling trash bag behind the kitchen island. “Been kinda busy and…” A crooked smile pulls at the right corner of his mouth, the promise of a dimple appearing on his unblemished skin. Brushing ahand through his longish hair that constantly seems to live a rebellious life of its own, Luke motions at the fridge. “You want a drink? We’ve basically got every color of the rainbow in Gatorade,” he grins, puffing out his chest. I can tell that he’s eager to make a good impression. He doesn’t have to. I already think the world of him as a hockey player, and I’m sure that we’ll get on just fine as roomies, too.
“Sure. I’ll take one…” Returning the smile, I relax against the kitchen island, my gaze coasting along the photos and magnets displayed on the door. Most of them are goofy-looking pictures of Luke and our Canadian center, Riley Cameron. I already got the impression at practice that the two of them are close, a constant banter back and forth, an easy-going chemistry between them that only comes from mutual trust and affection. A dull sting courses through my chest as I take in their happy, carefree faces. A faint reminder that I’ve never had that. This type of relationship with someone. This closeness where you can just… be. Well, at least not since Danny left.
“Here you go,” Luke smiles, handing me a bottle of pink Gatorade. “Welcome to Aurora, man,” he winks, a slight blush sweeping across his cheeks. Opening the cap, I zero in on his bottom lip that’s slightly fuller than the upper, giving him a slightly pouty look.
“Thanks,” I murmur before taking a quick sip of the drink, the cool sugary liquid sliding down my throat. “Happy to be here…” I trail off.Fuck,why am I like this? Why is every word coming from my lips such a struggle? Like being on Wheel of fucking Fortune as a constant desperately searching for the next vowel. I’m so socially inept it’s not even funny. However, Luke doesn’t seem to notice my awkwardness as he continues to smile at me while playing with the label on his bottle.
“So, where are you from? I’m from Lancaster, Pennsylvania. My parents and sisters still live there. Twins. Elly and Lilly. Doyou have siblings? Can’t say I miss mine. Nice enough place, I guess… Lancaster. A little boring like most of suburban America, I guess.” As Luke continues rambling, his face vivid and hands moving rapidly, I relax even more against the kitchen island, a comfortable calm settling around and inside me. “Did you go to college? I went to Albany. History major. Love history. How about you? You into history?” He spills some of his drink down the front of his hoodie, wiping at it furiously while cursing quietly. “I’m no good with white,” he sighs. “There should be a national ban, you know.” He holds up his hands like he’s holding a sign. “Luke Carrington,” he speaks in a solemn voice, “banned from wearing any shade of white.” Then he flashes his million-dollar smile.
“I thought there was only one shade of white,” I offer.
“That’s what you’d think, right?” With his back to the kitchen counter, he lifts himself up so that he’s sitting on the counter across from me. “But there are loads of different shades. There’s a creamy white that’s kinda yellow. There are whites with bluish undertones, like the color of ice, you know.” He scrunches his nose, and for the first time, I notice that there’s a small scar running along the ridge of his nose. It’s hardly noticeable, but under the bright kitchen lights, it’s slightly paler than his skin tone. “There are whites with a pinkish hue, too, you know?” and as if on cue, his cheeks flush a pale pink.
“Pinkish hue?” I repeat, raising an eyebrow at him.
“Yeah, yeah,” he nods eagerly. “That’s what it’s called.”
Involuntarily, my mouth folds into a smile while my eyes remain transfixed on this… this strange yet familiar guy sitting across from me, with pink Gatorade smeared down his hoodie. How many times have I found myself drawn to Luke Carrington watching a game? Watching him race—nofly—uninhibited across the ice, maneuvering around the opponents easily, a focused expression on his face as he aims at the goal. Thecarefree glimmer in his eyes competes with his radiant smile whenever he scores. Which is often. And now he sits right here in front of me. This all-American guy who has everything it takes to become the next golden boy of hockey. And of all things, he’s currently teaching me about shades of white. Someone, please pinch me.
“So, where’re you from?” Luke searches my face, genuine interest reflected in his eyes.
“Uhm… Utah originally, but I lived most of my life in Arizona.” I zero in on the Mountain Lions flag on the wall behind Luke’s head before continuing. “That’s where I’ve also played most of my life.”
“Oh, yeah? How was that? Phoenix, right? Never been. Really wanna go on a road trip one day. See more of the country. Maybe during summer, you know? You ever been on a road trip? Looks cool, right? You know, camping and stuff. Nothing but the stars above your head and the dusty ground beneath your feet. We should go together.”We should go together.
His casual road trip invitation lingers in the space between us, and I find myself nodding, smiling, inserting a murmuredsurehere and there. For the first time in a long while, I feel like I can finally let my guard down. In front of this stranger. A guy I’ve only known for a few hours. But somehow it feels like I’ve known Luke all my life. Like we’re old, long-lost friends falling into an easy conversation once again, a shared past, a weird kinship between us. Perhaps it arises out of our shared love of the game. Perhaps it comes from our similar ages. Perhaps it’s just coincidental. Or maybe it’s just one of those things. Fate or whatever. In any case, it feels good. It’s reassuring that I can feel this way within a few hours of meeting someone.
Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned in life, it’s that you never know what it’s going to throw at you. Some things are worse than others, obviously; some are hard to get past anddifficult to live without. Other things are just…okay. Some are even great if you’re lucky. Like me catching a lucky break being scouted by the Lions. Or getting a roommate like Luke.
And then, there are just those random things that life throws at you where you can sense everything you’ve previously known to be the truth, to just… to just be replaced by this newfound certainty that you’ve finally arrived at the right place. At the right time. Like right now. This very moment, as I stare into a pair of deep brown eyes. It feels like I’ve finally arrived.
“… the million-dollar question?” Luke looks at me expectantly.
“Sorry, what?” I scratch the back of my neck.
“The ultimate roommate question. The potential deal breaker of all deal breakers. Theonequestion that will define the course of our future relationship,” he smirks, folding his arms in front of his chest. “Are we meant to be, or will we part ways before we even get started?”
Out of all the words bursting from Luke’s mouth, my stupid head decides to zero in on three little words.Meant to be. Meant. To. Be.Sucking in a clipped breath, I focus on Luke’s expectant face.
