Page 9 of The Puckable Playbook

Instead of calling him out for his anti-feminist words, I pull my laptop toward me, sign the contract, and send it back. I don’t even have time to berate myself for my life’s choices when my laptop dings with a new email, and it’s his signed contract back with “Calling Housing now. Thanks, Len.”

At least he remembered to call me Len. I peer around the suite, specifically looking for…what? Pink glitter? Then I do a second scan to make sure none of my personal items are out. The place is bare compared to the dorm room I shared with Trish that had art and inspirational quotes on the walls. Our sharedspace was like everything else with us. On the surface, it had a full face of makeup, but when you wiped that away, what was underneath wasn’t always something nice to look at, let alone live through.

I open up the picture app on my phone and scroll until I get to some of the last pictures of Trish and me. She was so fun, so quirky. But she had a venomous bite like a King Cobra, and when she struck, she struck hard.

The picture on my phone vanishes, switching to an incoming call. I stare down at the wordDad, my body deflating. I can’t with this right now. I don’t want to talk about his future plans for my degree or coming back home or anything else he wants me to do that I don’t.

Tossing the phone aside, I decide to work in the living room to soak up as much alone time as I can before Isaiah moves in tomorrow.

God, my dad would find my living with a hockey player super ironic, wouldn’t he? He would laugh and laugh…

The doorto the suite bounces off its hinges, and I’m startled awake. My heart hammers, and I shoot to my feet only to see a wide-shouldered body walking backward down the hall, followed by two more wide-shouldered bodies. The first two carry a TV, while the third carries a large tote.

I don’t recognize them, and when they stop to ask where Zaiah’s room is, I point in that direction on autopilot. Finally, the man himself strides through the door holding a small box.

“What is this?” I nearly shriek.

He grins. “I contacted Housing before they closed. Actually,” he appears smug for a second, “Karen and I have become goodfriends, and she kept the office open for a few minutes until I could get there. I signed therealcontract, was handed the key, and I’m here.”

“Tonight?”

He shrugs. “Nothing specified I couldn’t, and it is my room now.” He peers around, grinning. “This is fucking awesome.”

The wide-shouldered guys come walking out of the room, and I point at them like they’re on display. “And who are they?”

“Freshmen.”

I blink at him. “You grabbed any old freshman on campus to help you move in?”

“No, freshman hockey players doing their lowly duty.” He shoves one of the guys playfully, who flips him off, and then he follows them to the door and locks it behind them.

A bout of stubbornness rears up, but what am I going to say? He can’t actually move into his room? It’shis. We have two contracts that have established that.

He saunters back, this time standing nearer. He’s taller than me by about a foot, and this close, it’s easy to see the cut of his jaw and wide shoulders. “Hey, Roomie. I want you to know how much this is saving my ass. I really appreciate it.”

Oh… “O-kay,” I stammer out, not expecting that.

He leans in, and my heartbeat skyrockets. His brown-eyed gaze narrows. “You have some crusty stuff on the corner of your lips.”

My face heats. Immediately, I reach my hand up and rub it away, mumbling how I fell asleep.Oh my God, it’s dried-on drool.This clock tower article is really taking it out of me. I’m exhausted.

The corners of his eyes crinkle. “You drool? If you’re going to take a nap on the communal couch, you should use your own pillow.”

“I don’t—Ugh. How are you here for only a minute and already annoying?”

“You’re the one drooling on shit. What if I had guests over and they sat on our drool pillows?”

Oh, fuck me. He already had guests over, and they looked straight at me. I peer down, still wearing my dancing gummy bear pj’s, and my hair is probably a freaking mess. Plus, he’s now had more visitors than I’ve ever had. Within seconds!

“I’m messing with you, Len.” He drops his enormous athlete hand onto my shoulder, making me jump. “It’s your place. You can look however you want.”

I frown even more at my choice of attire. “I don’t usually have drool on my face. I didn’t know you were coming or…or—”

“None of that matters.” He shakes me by the shoulders. “We’re about to get super close, Lenore… Wait, what’s your last name?”

“Um, Robert…son. Robertson.” I close my eyes briefly as dread rears its head. The urge to lie is strong, but no way he would put two and two together of who my dad is, anyway.

“We’re about to get super close, Lenore Robertson. Just you wait.”

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