Page 9 of Arctic Titans of Northwood U: Volume 2

Reluctantly, Avery took my phone and typed in his phone number. “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” he muttered. And, as he handed me back my phone, he looked into my eyes warningly. “This is not a yes. Don’t get your hopes up.”

I grinned with unfiltered pride. “You won’t regret it.”

Chapter Four

AVERY

I regretted it.

Around four in the morning, my phone dinged. I had been sleeping lightly. Sawyer was staying with Noah, so the room was all mine, and I had drifted to sleep with a lamp on. I glanced at my phone. I didn’t need to have his number memorized to know it was Grayson Reed.

Serious question: if aliens invaded the Earth and you were the first human they encountered, what would be your intergalactic icebreaker?

I stared at the message for a hot minute. Was he serious? At four in the morning? Sighing, I switched my phone to silent. It wasn’t a bulletproof solution, but I slept for another couple of hours. My phone vibrated only once more in the time I dozed. And when I carried it downstairs with me for breakfast, I discovered another text from the same number.

Bear with me, Collins. If you could have dinner with any celebrity, dead or alive, who would it be? And more importantly, what are we ordering for takeout tonight?

I didn’t have much time to think about Grayson Reed. Whatever his plans were, they wouldn’t come true. We were natural foes. That was simply our fate. Besides, I was desperately bored of sleeping around. In all the years of college, I had learned that much at least.

Days seemed to race by one after the other. Practice, lectures, practice, and lectures again. I didn’t see Reed, although I kept getting a steady volume of text messages throughout the week. One time, after practice, I grabbed my phone to check the time and found a new level of weirdness.

If you were a dance move, which one would you be? I’m feeling like an awkward penguin waddle. Wanna practice on the dance floor tonight?

The night before we left for our out-of-state game, I was skimming through a textbook at the library, and my phone dinged, causing a few annoyed exhales nearby.

Not even kidding. If you were a pizza topping, would you be a classic pepperoni or a fun pineapple? More to the point, care to come by and help me make the perfect flavor?

I shook my head and gritted my teeth. I would have to block this number. And burn this phone. And fake my death. And start a new life overseas as a Flamenco dancer. Yet I couldn’t deny it; the relentlessness was amusing. For now.

The morning of our departure for the game in Milwaukee, it finally looked like he was about to lose interest in me.

How do you expect us to get to know each other if you never fill out any of my surveys? Apply yourself, Collins.

Part of me was fine with putting this whole thing to rest. It wasn’t going to go anywhere. Why drag it out? Another part had gotten used to the constant flow of texts.

I wanted to let it go. Truly. I knew that the best thing I could do was keep silent and hope for it to blow over. He would lose interest — they all did — and move on. Then, I could go back to my peaceful existence. Even so, I kept glancing at my phone every so often, but he had stopped the avalanche.

So we went to Milwaukee and something strange happened that took my mind off Grayson Reed. We won the game. It was a struggle, but we were victorious on our second night there. And the strangest part was the fact that our victory was squarely earned by Caden and Beckett’s cooperation. Something passed between them in the moment of the highest tension that I filed into a separate compartment of my mind, like one of those unsolvable mysteries, and I decided to just be glad of the win.

I was ridiculously happy afterward when we found a bar a couple of streets away from the hotel room. Caden, who had gotten a rough treatment on the ice, had disappeared for a short time, then showed up and talked to Beckett like they had truly been friends for ages. Sawyer was on the phone with Noah, and I was fiddling with my phone, wondering if Grayson was playing a game tonight.

Not that it mattered.

But he usually texted by eight in the evening.

I scrolled through his silly texts, sniffing at a few and almost chuckling at one. Guys around me talked, joked, and laughed, but I drummed my fingers against the table and reminded myself over and over again that it was safer not to engage.

Even I was a little surprised when I realized I was typing.

Bert, I suppose.

It was short and crisp, and it didn’t invite a reply, exactly, but I had to bite down my grin because Grayson’s message came almost instantly after.

Figures. That would make me Ernie. You do realize they are a couple, right? Should I pop the champagne?

Nope. We’re not doing that.

Fair enough. You can’t blame a guy for trying, though.