Page 43 of Slapshot
“Why Vermont?”
“My dad suggested it and I didn’t fight him.” She shrugs one shoulder. “I just wanted to finish college.”
“Are you ever going to tell me why you left your last school?”
“I’m sure you could ask your buddies and they’d tell you everything you need to know.”
“I don’t want their version. I want yours.”
She looks up. “I was kicked out for cheating. A bunch of us were. It’s a long story.”
“I have all night.”
“I can think of a lot better ways to spend the time.”
“Always so quick to change the subject when you’re in the hot seat.”
Her fingernail makes little circles on my chest. She doesn’t look at me as she speaks. “The short version is that I was enjoying college a little too much and got behind in a philosophy class. A friend of a friend had the test, he emailed it around, and we got caught. My dad flipped out and here I am, banished to Vermont.”
“I’m sorry.”
She shrugs. “I don’t always make the best choices.”
It seems like that statement is about more than cheating on a test, but I let it go.
“Do you actually play that thing?” I point to the guitar resting against the wall across the room.
She lifts her head. “Yeah, and I’m good at it too.”
“Play me something.”
“Now?”
“You can hop back on my penis if you want, but I remember someone saying she needed a break for herlady parts.” I air quote the last two words and cringe a bit as I repeat the phrase.
She gets up and grabs the guitar and takes a seat at the end of the bed. I sit up and enjoy the view. Crossed legs, guitar resting in her lap, naked limbs, sex hair—Kaitlyn with a guitar is way sexier than I imagined when I brought it up.
She strums a little, eyes downcast. “What do you want me to play?”
“Anything.”
Her picking gets more intentional and the music more recognizable. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but I know that it’s a song I’ve heard before.
“You’re really good.” And she is. I assumed she played guitar in the same way other people I’ve known do. They can play one song, maybe two. And even those are rough versions that don’t sound much like the original. Nothing like the sure and pleasant melody Kaitlyn plays.
It’s dark and haunting and I have chills when she finally starts singing along. Her voice is incredible, too. I’m starting to wonder if there’s anything this girl can’t do.
When she finishes, she looks up and a shy smile tugs at her lips. That sure and cocky girl stripped down and vulnerable.
I must look as dumbstruck as I feel. My heart’s in my throat and I can’t figure out one single thing to say.
“What? Was it bad? I haven’t played that one in a while.”
“Damn, Kaitlyn, that was amazing.”
A small smirk tips up the corners of her mouth. “That’s my dad’s favorite. It was the first song I learned to play.”
“Pink Floyd is badass.”
