Page 38 of Kitty Season
“He hates you so much he cooks you delicious, healthy meals. Wow. You’re right. What a jerk.”
“I know, right? So what do I do?”
A hearty sigh comes down the line and after years of living with Chris, I know I have about thirty seconds before he loses it and hangs up. “Troye. I can feel my life slipping away as we speak, so this is the last thing I’m ever going to say on the subject. As far as I see it you have three options. One. Grow some balls and break up with Quinn. Two. Be a half decent human, treat Quinn the way she deserves, the way I know you want to treat her deep down inside, and forget about your crush on Brady?—”
“They both suck, and I do not do crushes. What’s three?”
“Three,” he grumbles. “Is the worst of the bunch. Fuck them both. Have amazing, mind blowing sex, then suffer the undoubtedly monumental consequences of your terrible, terrible decision.”
It’s at that moment that Brady enters the corridor. His head is down, the headphones jammed over the top of his beanie are probably playing that God-awful pop music he listens to. He doesn’t notice me, which means I have an uninterrupted view of the barely decent crisp blue suit that clings to his biceps, thighs, and yep,that. The guy is a snack, and I am more than ready to chow down.
“Fuck you very much for the advice, Chrissy boy. I think you’re right. Mind blowing sex it is.”
“That’s not—” Cutting Chris off, I slide my phone back into my pocket and chase Brady down grabbing his elbow, and pulling him aside before he enters the locker room.
“Skip, I need to talk to you about something.”
“Now?” he whines, head rolling back then side to side.
It’s not cute. At all.
“Yes, now. It’s urgent and about Quinn.”
“Quinn. Is she okay?”
“She’s fine, but I know a way she could be even finer, and it involves you, me and a naked birthday present she’ll never forget.” Before I can say another word, Brady’s all over me, crowding me against the wall, pinning me beneath that massive mound of muscle, face twisted in anger.
“You know what Troye? I’ve punched one person in my entire life and you’re a fucking idiot who is a heartbeat away from becoming the second. Quinn is a good girl that deserves better, so do me a favor, yeah? Keep whatever filth you were about to suggest locked in that sicko head of yours. I don’t want to hear it.”
“Becker.”
A voice I recognize without looking, bounces off the walls. “How’s the nerves, Buddy? Ready to take the mantle from the man?”
No. I’m not ready.I think. I’m still sporting a semi after your best friend tossed me like a pair of gloves.“Petterson. Surprised you and your massive head could fit through the arena doors.”
“Which head?” I’m sitting down but that doesn’t stop Noah from barreling into me, giving a hearty man hug, back slap before tousling my hair as though he’s ten inches taller than me, not a half. “Maroon suits you. Brings out shit in those pretty brown eyes.”
“Yeah? Well …” Nothing. I got nothing. “What are you doing here, anyway? You’ve been away for weeks. I thought your little lady would have you chained to the bed.”
“I wish. But I came home a day early and Lotte had already promised Quinn she’d be here. Then promised me she’d give me a special treat if I came with her, and like you said. It’s been weeks, Troye. Weeks. And I really, really want that treat.”
With a wink he’s gone, striding across the room to tackle Brady who takes the affection much better than I did, leaning, almost melting into his hug. Seeing Skip be so happy … so, Brady … with another guy after shutting me down, has something tugging in my chest. Something that feels a lot like disappointment, or maybe rejection. Or maybe even jealousy. Which is stupid, ‘cause that would imply I’d formed some kindof attachment, or … feelings, and like I said to Chris, I do not do feelings.
Averting my gaze before someone notices me staring, I slip my skates on, and set to work on my laces, “bunny ears, bunny ears playing by a tree.”
For the entiretyof my playing career at BU I was a winger. But after noting my speed and agility, Coach Harris switched things up, moving me to center, Cory—the kid I refuse to call Cubby—to left wing, with Shane covering the right. I wasn’t sure, at first. The middle of the ice is a position of responsibility, and I’m no leadership archetype. But practice has quelled the uncertainty, and honestly, I can’t fully explain why, but I feel … free. Like right now, it’s midway through the first term, and I’m kind of impressed with how well the boys and I have synced. I can read them. They can read me. And in hockey, that type of chemistry is priceless.
We’ve locked the puck in our offensive zone for ninety percent of the play. The only reason this game isn’t over is Michigan Blue’s tender and his ability to track the puck like it’s the size of Mars. Unfortunately I can’t say the same for ours.
In some far off realm, some may consider me partly responsible for Brady’s poor performance. My usual pregame taunting was perhaps a poor choice, and I consider it lucky that my head remains attached to my body. But me and my big mouth aren’t the only issue.
Coach sent Shane to check on him twice, and he dismissed it both times with a huff. Well, he might be able to fool the coaches,trainers and the rest of the team, but I have spent an exorbitant amount of time watching that man, and something isn’t right.
A regular, top form Brady is an edgy one. Even when the puck is at the other side of the rink, he’s moving like a meerkat on speed, sharp eyes darting, stick tapping against the ice, gloved hands rhythmically caressing his beloved ‘Netty’. Tonight he’s languishing, resting on his haunches or back against the pipes like they’re all that’s keeping him upright. Sure, he’s blocked the handful of rushed, half-assed shots the Blues have made, but I could have done the same, and I haven’t played goalie since juniors.
Unable to stop myself, I continue to monitor him from the bench as I reach for my water bottle and suck in some big breaths.
“You see it too, don’t you?” As Coach’s eternal favorite, Noah’s been invited to join the team on the bench, and is driving us all nuts with his pacing and commentary. “Brades is acting weird. Weirder than normal,” he adds. “Is this your doing?”
