Now it’s Dutton’s turn to be quiet. When he finally speaks, his voice is quieter than before. “So that’s what this is? Because I love Bridgette. I’d burn the world down, give up hockey, and start whole new fucking career if that’s the only way I could be with her. Are you telling me that’s what you feel for Liza?”
I want to say yes, but love is a strong word. Still, there’s no denying that I feel something for Liza, and it isn’t just friendship or mutual attraction. It’s something more, but even the thought of it scares the fuck out of me because that’s not what Liza and I agreed to. It’s not what she wants. And I can’t change the rules in the middle of the game.
I let out a sigh, and my buddy nods in understanding because we just had a whole conversation in that one breath. That’s how best friendships work. Sometimes you don’t need to sayanything. Just a look or a gesture speaks volumes. Sparky gets it now. He still thinks I’m batshit crazy, but he gets it. And even though I know that, there’s one more thing I need to say. “What Liza and I are or aren’t isn’t anyone else’s business. But she’s important to me, and it’s important to her that our relationship isn’t public knowledge. So I need you to keep this to yourself. You can’t even tell Bridgette.”
Dutton raises a brown, gives me another nod, and claps me on the back. “We leave in fifteen,” he reminds me. “Be ready.”
20
Liza
Most people think their favorite sport is the best sport. My friend Viv is a cheerleader, and there's no way anyone will ever convince her that cheer is anything less than the greatest athletic endeavor one could hope to pursue. I beg to differ, but I do so quietly because if she heard me, Viv might just launch herself off the pyramid and kick my ass. She might be a tiny little thing, but I would never purposely piss her off.
The guys, of course, think hockey is superior, and I have to agree with them. Some people might say I’m biased because I have a bird’s eye view of the ice, but I’m actually so busy during the games that I rarely get to watch for more than a minute or two at a time. A lot of my job is prep work, and most of it takes place behind the seasons, long before or long after the fans have filled the seats. You name it, equipment managers do it. Mending jerseys, replacing skate blades, and handing the right stick to the right guy at exactly the right time? That’s just the beginning. I’m trained and paid to anticipate the team’s needs so that everything goes as smoothly as possible. When I take care of all the little things, that means the players and coaches can keep their focus where it belongs.
So yeah, it might be fun to sit up in the stands with my friends and cheer wildly with the rest of the student section. But honestly, I prefer to be behind the bench or back in the locker room. I like being useful. Is it chaotic back here sometimes? Absolutely. But I wouldn’t change a thing. I thrive in the madness. That’s part of the problem. I don’t know how to relax. But that’s what’s so great about this job: I’m always busy.
Tonight, I’m here with Isaac, another student manager, and Brooklyn, our supervisor. We make a good team, and we’ve got a good solid rhythm going. Isaac’s taping sticks and Brooklyn just finished replacing the blade on Flo’s left skate. I’m busy keeping the guys hydrated and making sure the bench stays clear of errant water bottles and discarded towels. If we were at the hockey house, there’s no way in hell I’d be refilling their drinks or tossing their dirty laundry in a hamper, but out here, it’s different. Not only am I getting paid, but I’m also doing my part to keep things running smoothly, and I love that. I tend to be a loner by nature, so I took this job because it pays well and gives me tons of hours. I never expected to belong here, but now that I do, I can’t imagine working anywhere else on campus.
That’s yet another reason that I have to keep Blue in his sex box. Well, sex category. That doesn’t sound much better. What I mean is that he is the giver of orgasms, and nothing more. And it has to stay that way for a million reasons. If this thing between us became anything more than an…arrangement…well, that could get awkward. And messy. And when you consider that we live in the same house and basically work for the same team? Even attempting anything real would be disastrous. And besides, Blue is the most un-serious guy I know. He definitely isn’t looking for anything serious. He’s the kind of guy who thinks life is a never-ending party, so he’s certainly not going to romanticize a hook up or suddenly decide he’s ready for a meaningful relationship. The idea of that is laughable.
And it’s part of what makes him perfect for the job of orgasm fairy, especially because he is very, very dedicated to his vocation.
That thought reminds me that I need to be dedicated to my actual job right now. I scoop up a water bottle and toss it in the bin so I can wash it later and have it ready for tomorrow’s game.
It’s time for a line change and even though I know that means Blue will be hopping over the boards in the next few seconds, I don’t look in his direction. Instead, I hand towels to a couple guys and swap empty water bottles for full ones. I grab some tape for Ollie because he’s superstitious as hell, and about a year ago I happened to hand him a roll of tape when he needed it. In the next five minutes, he scored two goals. So, this is our ritual now, but I don’t mind. If he really thinks he plays better when I hand him tape from the left side of the bench than when Isaac tosses it to him, who am I to question him or call him batshit crazy? Once that task is done, I resume my job of collecting sweaty towels and ignoring Blue’s existence.
Well, I try, anyway.
His eyes find mine, and when he gives me a wink, a zinging sensation travels down my spine. We’ve been so good at being careful and sneaking around that no one on the team suspects a thing. If they did, they’d say something. This crew is not known for being tactful or quiet.
I don’t wink back, because that’s not my style. Instead, I choose something a little more on-brand for me, something that wouldn’t raise any eyebrows if one of the guys happened to catch me looking in Blue’s direction.
I stick my tongue out at him.
Flipping him off would be unprofessional, although, to be fair, these guys throw so many birds at each other that you could mistake the locker room for the National Aviary. But still. I’m at work, so I have to act like an adult.
And before you ask, yes, sticking your tongue out is adult behavior.
Speaking of adult behavior…the look Blue gives me is not safe for work. His eyes are devouring my body in a way that says he’s got a list of things he’d like me to do with my tongue, and the lust that’s pouring out of him and onto me is hot enough to melt the ice. If I don’t break eye contact soon, we’ll all be swimming home.
Luckily, the ref blows the whistle, and Blue turns his attention back to the game.
It’s not long before Blue’s line is out on the ice again and since I’m out of clean towels, I make a quick run back down the tunnel and into the locker room to replenish my supply. I momentarily consider ducking my head into one of the showers to cool myself off and drive all the lusty, distracting thoughts out of my brain, but there’s no time for that, and it probably wouldn’t work anyway.
I make my way back to the bench, glancing out at the ice to catch a quick glimpse of the scoreboard, but that’s not what I see. For once, I have a clear shot of the ice, and the world slows to a crawl as I watch Blue skate down the ice like it’s a red carpet and he’s a Hollywood A-lister. He’s in complete control, until he isn’t. The ref doesn’t call tripping, even though I’m screaming the word at the top of my lungs, and half the arena is joining me in chorus. Blue stumbles for a second, but he’s such a natural-born athlete that I start to believe he’s going to right himself and keep gliding toward the opposing team’s goal. But we’re nearing the end of the game and the surface of the ice is full of divots and ruts. Blue’s got to be exhausted, and one slip is all it takes for him to go down his ankle bending at an awkward angle as he falls.
I have to physically restrain myself from leaping over the bench, hurtling the boards and running across the ice to seeif he’s okay. Thankfully, I manage to stay put because there’d be no plausible explanation for my acrobatics and calisthenics otherwise. Besides, the trainers are tending to him, and they actually know what they’re supposed to do, so I need to take my cue from them and get back to work.
The guys are lined up at the plexiglass and the tension back here is palpable. This is hardly our first injury of the season, but a player—any player—going down is something I’ll never get used to
The arena erupts in applause when Blue manages to walk off the ice with the help of his coach and an athletic trainer. My head is telling me that’s a good sign and that he’s probably not dealing with anything catastrophic, but then again, my head thought it was a brilliant idea to proposition Blue and enlist his help with my sex study, so clearly my head can’t be trusted.
21
Blue
“This is how it starts,” I say, staring blankly at the wall in front of me. The TV’s not turned on, but I’ve watched so many shows this week that I could probably close my eyes, imagine some actors, and recite the lines to about five different sitcoms from the 90s.
