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Freckles that stand out even more when she blushes when I pay her a compliment, even though she tries not to? If not, then she’s not my type.”
After enduring Tuck singing along to two Taylor Swift songs in a row—very loudly, might I add—I’m surprised my ears aren’t bleeding.
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re an awful singer?” I ask once The Other Side of the Door comes to an end. Tuck turns to me and flashes a wide smile, his teeth a pristine, dazzling white. “Yes. Many times.”
“Fine?” Tuck exclaims like he can’t believe his ears. “What do you mean fine? She’s a genius!” I’m taken aback by Tuck’s enthusiasm. “Geez, I never would have taken you for such an ardent Taylor Swift supporter.”
“We call ourselves Swifties, thank you very much.”
When we’d hang out and watch Netflix together, every time I suggested we watch something like Gilmore Girls or Bridgerton, he’d look at me like I asked him to take a walk around the block naked with his underwear on his head.
Kazu’s a little … anti-social. Lots of students who’ve come here to eat think he’s a jerk. But that’s not really true. He’s just super introverted and doesn’t have any interest in basic pleasantries like saying hello to his customers. He and Hudson, two grumpy birds of a grumpy feather, actually get along pretty well.
thick Udon noodles
This time she can’t hide a smile and a tiny laugh that bubbles from her curled lips. The sound makes my chest pang. I could very quickly grow addicted to hearing Olivia Lockley’s laugh.
She’s breathtaking. Literally. I realize it’s been a couple beats since I’ve inhaled, and when I do, I feel a hitch in my chest.
“Damn, Rhys. You look like shit.” The burly defenseman turns to me, an eyebrow hitched. “Boy, Tuck, you know how to make a guy feel appreciated.” “Don’t get me wrong. You’re still sexy as hell. I mean, that bad boy aura you’ve got with the tattoos and the messy dark hair that falls over your eyes? If I were into guys, I’d be ripping that towel off your waist right now.” “I hate to eavesdrop,” Lane says, turning towards us from his locker. “But this is a strange conversation even for you, Tuck.”
She’s got my heart wrapped around her finger, and I’ve got no interest in trying to untwirl it.
“You got the blue kind,” she whispers thinly. “My favorite.” I chuckle. “Your favorite Gatorade is the same colors as my eyes? Can’t be a coincidence.”
“But you can bet your ass that when we’re through keeping it quiet,” Tuck says, his grin coming back to his face, “I’m going to make up for it by screaming from the fucking mountaintops that you’re mine. When you’re ready for that.”
When I skate onto the ice for our home game against Cornell and see Olivia in the crowd with my number on her chest, everything else tumbles out of my head.
For a minute, I forget the entire strategy for this game that Coach just drilled into our heads. I forget who our opponent is. Shit, if you asked me what position I play right at this moment, I might just blurt out goalie. All I can think about is the fact that my girl is wearing my jersey. My number on her chest. My fucking name on her back.
