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Well…if that doesn’t give it away. I clamp my mouth shut. Practice is going to be terrible if he knows he can get under my skin. He’s an asshole like that.

“I saw you wave into the stands like a fucking twelve-year old with a crush.” He rips tape off the roll and starts taping his stick. “And then I saw my fucking step-brother, Lincoln, sitting with Quinn. If your roommate’s riding that, you should know what you’re walking into.”

“He’s not.” It comes out too fast. I jam my left foot into the skate and tie it with more force than necessary. “Don’t talk about him like that.”

Blue’s mouth curls. “Defensive. Cute.”

“He’s my roommate. He’s a good guy. He’s not—whatever you think your brother is doing.”

“Step-brother.” His voice is angry. “And you don’t know those two like you think you do. They’ve been attached at the fucking hip since 8th or 9th grade. Looks like a hell of a lot more from where I’m standing.”

“It isn’t.”

Blue shrugs like he offered me a helmet, and I refused it. “Your heartbreak. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you when you find out I’m right. There weren't a lot of choices for my step-brother in rural Pennsylvania. And now that he’s here, I’m sure they will start right back up where they left off.”

He gestures giving a blow job, tongue in his cheek, and I shove him. He just laughs and stands back up after catching himself.

“Jesus. Relax. I’m trying to help.”

“You’re trying and succeeding at being an asshole. It’s way too early in the morning for that shit.”

He shrugs. Looking bored with the conversation. “Same skill set.” He knocks my shoulder, and I try to swat him away, but he’s already heading for the tunnel. “Eyes on the puck out there today, Danny,” he calls over his shoulder.

Fucking prick. Sometimes he’s not that bad of a guy, but since that day I saw his step-brother leaving the building, something’s changed. It’s like he’s poking at all of us on the team on purpose, because he knows, either way, we’ll still be a team.

“Don’t call me Danny, or I’ll forget we’re on the same team.”

I shove my helmet on my head and resist the urge to follow him through the door and make him regret saying those things about Quinn. I breathe through my nose and try to calm myself down. Eli steps over, securing his helmet and flipping down the mask.

“Ignore him. Straight guys never actually know shit like that.”

I huff. “You think he’s wrong?”

“I think Blue likes the sound of his own voice.” Eli taps my pad with his stick. “Your roommate came to a hockey game and sat next to a friend he’s known since he was a kid. People have friends. I wouldn’t worry about it if you like him.”

“I don’t.”

Eli smiles. “Yeah, I didn’t like Max either.”

I snort.

“Come on. Score and make Blue shut up the old-fashioned way.”

I grab my stick and follow him to the ice. And I only think about Quinn saying how pretty he thinks I am once, and then I bury it until the end of practice.

By the time I get back to the dorm, the pissy feeling has burned down to something I can sit on.

Quinn’s sitting on his bed crossed-legged, his book open on the bed in front of him, reminding me of the first day when I broke his science experiment.

“Whatcha doing?” I ask.

“Homework,” he says. “You smell like ice.” He doesn’t even look up.

“Occupational hazard.” I drop my bag on the floor next to my desk, kick off my shoes, and pull out my own homework. It’s a routine we’ve gotten into. Individual homework, him tutoring me, and a late lunch or early dinner. A protein bar holds me over.

“You didn’t shower?” He raises a single eyebrow.

I shrug. “It was an easy practice, I barely broke a sweat.”