Page 2 of Body Check
“Damn,” Blue whistles as he exits his car. “I heard they got a new place, but I didn’t realize it was such an upgrade. I’m not going to mind living here.”
“We haven’t seen the inside yet,” I protest weakly.
Blue laughs as he shoulder checks me and bounds up the front steps to type in the security code we were given. As expected, the interior is every bit as luxurious as the exterior, with its hardwood floors, overstuffed furniture, and marble countertops.
I’m checking out the gaming set up in the living room when Blue steps up beside me.“Should we check to see what rooms have been claimed? The text from the house manager didn’t give specific room assignments.”
“If they’re empty, they’re up for grabs,” I reason, refusing to act like we’re guests. We have just as much right to be here as any of the other guys do—maybe more. When the shit hit the fan at our former university, and word got out that Blue and I were looking to transfer, Coach Baylor approached us with offers too good to refuse. We’re not here as charity or because we simply need a place to play. We’re here because we are the missing pieces these guys need if they want to keep up their winning streak.
We wander around for a bit and find that the first-floor rooms are locked, and a few of the second-floor rooms have made beds and full closets. But the third floor? That’s a jackpot. There are three bedrooms up here, two of which have en-suite bathrooms. Without a word, I take the one on the right, and he drops his bag in the one on the left. We’ve been friends so long that we can basically read each other’s minds by now.
My room has a view of the pool below, a fireplace, built-in shelves, and a king size bed.
A quick look into Blue’s room shows me his layout is almost exactly the same, except that he has a balcony, the fucker.
“This is pretty sweet,” he says, taking in the common area in front of our rooms. It’s got a couple couches, a minifridge, and a wet bar.
I’m not going to be a whiny bitch and complain, but there is one thing that perplexes me. “What’s with the poles?” I ask, gesturing to the two metal poles that stretch from the ceiling to the floor. They’re about ten feet apart, and they’re not really in the way, but they look out of place.
Blue runs his hand along the one that’s closer to his room. “This has to run straight through the house, right? Think we could do a little home reno and make it a fireman’s pole? That’d be a badass way to head down to breakfast every morning. Or it could be a stripper pole.”
I swear I see the wheels turning in his head. “No strippers.”
He frowns. “You are even less fun than usual.”
“I’m fun,” I say, knowing the words are generous even as they leave my mouth.
“Prove it. Let’s go out tonight.”
He looks hopeful, and I hate letting him down, but I’ve got no choice. “Nah, I can’t. I’m heading back home for dinner, just to see my folks and grab the rest of my stuff. And to pick up Hazel.”
“You want company?” he offers. “If you tell your mom I’m coming for dinner, she’ll make those cheesy potatoes. She knows they’re my favorite. And since I’m her favorite son, I can guarantee they’ll be on the menu. Besides, you’re picking my cat. I should probably go along. Although, to be fair, by letting you pick up my cat, I’m honoring you with Hazel’s feline presence. You should be thanking me.”
I roll my eyes because we both know his fancy ass furball of a cat is going to growl and hiss the entire time, half hour drive.
I’m tempted to say yes, and it’s got nothing to do with wrangling his cat. It’s true that my parents love him, and he knows I’m not just going back to grab stuff and enjoy a home-cooked meal. Yes, those things are true, but there’s a little more to it. Earlier this summer, right after life at my old school exploded, my dad was in a car accident. His sports car was totaled, but he only suffered a concussion and a few scrapes. He was damn lucky, but he hasn’t really been the same since the wreck. As a hockey player, I know better than most that a concussion can fuck with your whole body, but it’s been over a month, and he hasn’t really bounced back yet. I know he will, despite my mom’s constant worrying. Concussions suck, and he must’ve had his bell rung pretty hard. He’ll be back to his usual self in no time, and being this close to home means I can check in more often. He’s got another doctor’s appointment at the end of the week, and I’m sure we’ll get some answers, but in the meantime, it’s nice that I’m close enough to pop in for a visit whenever I want to.
Before I have a chance to tell Blue he’s always welcome, his phone lights up with a string of texts.
“It’s a sign. There’s a party at the LAX house tonight. Let’s go see what Mama Wagner made us for dinner, then we’ll hit up Jock Block.”
I shake my head. “Dude. We’ve been here for a couple hours. How’d you get an invite to a party?”
Blue waves me off. “You forget we grew up half an hour from here. And you forget how handsome I am. The ladies can’t resist me. I grabbed a coffee on my way here today and struck up a conversation with two blondes. “They’re the ones who texted,” he says, holding up his phone.
“Going to a party I wasn’t technically invited to and hanging out with a bunch of strangers is tempting, but I’m good. You go ahead, though. I might even end up staying the night at my parents’ house and coming back in the morning.”
“You sure?” Blue asks me, and I know with one-hundred percent certainty that he’d ditch the party to hang out with me and eat my mom’s cooking, and check on my dad, but that’s not necessary. His concussion symptoms will let up soon, and life can go back to normal. Normal means I’m still dodging invites to parties, but I can’t evade them all. We both know he’ll wear me down and drag me out eventually.
“I’m sure,” I tell him as I make my way back downstairs. I’m filling my water bottle at the fridge when I see him stroll past, carrying a big-ass cardboard box. I peer inside and see that it’s filled with jars of glitter.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I ask, screwing on the cap of my water bottle.
“I’ve been thinking. Despite your objections, we really do need to get along with these guys if we want the best shot at a winning season. That was one of the problems at Woodcock—we never really gelled with our teammates. Granted, they are trash human beings, but I think we need a different approach this time around.”
He’s right, but that’s because our team was insufferable and the coaching staff was worse. Blue and I kept to ourselves and only left when we realized just how bad things were. Two of the coaches and a couple of the players went down for hazing, and that wasn’t even the worst of their sins. I doubt there’s a seedy underbelly of the BU athletic department, but I still think keeping to ourselves is a solid strategy.
“I know exactly what’s going through your mind, but I don’t think our new team is as awful as you suspect,” Blue says, sorting his glitter by color.
