You know that special place between life and death? That thin line where you're not too sure if you're even breathing anymore?
I like to call that place Hangover City.
In Hangover City, the toilet bowl is your best friend and aspirin is your soulmate.
I visit this joyous town often, and right now I'm taking a swim in the deep depths of lake regret.
Even if I tried I don't think I could explain what happened last night.
My memory of the party is just one dark blur of homemade strobe lights, thumping music and keg stands- maybe add in a few vivid images of Greyson throwing up in the shower, Holden making out with two volleyball players and Everett challenging half of the guys on the wrestling team to "take this outside".
I don't remember the income of that one, but I really hope Ev didn't attempt to fight one of those guys. He may be a solid 6'0, with the muscle that hockey requires, but there is no way in hell he'd make it out of a fight with one of those guys alive.
I also don't even want to think about how violated Grey's shower feels now after his little...mishap.
Greyson may be an above average goalie with pretty decent grades- but he's not life-smart. I told him time and time again that mixing vodka, lemon juice, cheap beer and ketchup together would not end well for him, his stomach or the poor son of a bitch that has to mop his puke up.
But did he listen? Of course he fucking didn't.
Now I'll have to deal with a hungover, you know what- possibly still drunk, and very moody Greyson Hastings today. I don't know how to explain what that's like; I assume something very similar to hell on earth.
He's like a gremlin on crack.
Just thinking about babysitting the very large baby, on top of clearing up the no doubt disaster of a mess downstairs, makes my head spin and the now familiar taste of bile to rise in my throat.
Stupid fucking Holden- with his stupid fucking idea to have a party on a random Wednesday night.
What was the occasion? Hmm, let me think.
Ah, yes. My left winger thought that we deserved a reward for surviving one whole week of classes.
I agreed to it, half expecting to have a chill night in with the boys, where we order at least twelve pizzas and maybe have a few beers each.
But, that fucking idiot had other plans. That much became clear to me by the time I arrived home from studying late at the library on Wednesday and our house was filled with already wasted frat guys, dangerously tipsy cheerleaders and way too hyper art students.
"Taaaaaaaaate!" A deep voice sings out, the sound making my ears literally and figuratively commit suicide, almost like a reflex action- I cling my pillow closer around my head and over my ears.
Unfortunately, I don't get the chance to suffocate myself with said pillow before Grey, Holden and Ev barge into my bedroom.
Everett looks weirdly chipper for a guy I know lost, badly, at a one on one game of beer pong. His hair is ruffled around a bit and the bags under his eyes are more prominent- I just know he isn't struggling because he doesn't look like a total corpse.
The same can't be said for Greyson as he collapses on my bed and curls up into a little ball with a loud groan. His blonde long-ish hair is knotted into oblivion and, although I can't see any chunks from here- I just know he's still got puke somewhere on his head.
He also seems to be wearing a cut up pillowcase as a shirt, an extremely stained cut up pillow case...
"Jesus fucking Christ," I cough out, the smell of vomit making it hard to suppress a gag.
"Hastings, you smell like death."
Greyson lifts his head slightly up off my mattress, moves him arm around blindly and grabs my spare pillow, throwing it at me before shoving his face back into my once clean sheets.
"Feel like it too." He mumbles out, his scratchy voice basically impossible to hear.
He sounds and looks like he got hit by a car.
Ev jumps up onto my bed- causing the mattress to bounce slightly whilst his legs fall in between Greyson's curled up body and my torso.
"Hey sleeping beauty." He grins, clearly smug that I feel like crying whilst he looks like a little girl jumping rope on a warm summers day.
"Can you all, please, fuck off?" I moan at no one in particular.
I really can't deal with the three musketeers right now. Mentally, emotionally and physically.
Holden joins us by flopping down on my now very full mattress; his legs hanging over the edge of my bed frame, arms spread over Grey and I and body crushing a winded Everett.
"Well excuse us for doin' you a favor!" He exclaims, his loud volume inflicting a string of curses to spill out of Greyson's mouth and a groan from me.
I notice Ev wince at the sound as well, very interesting considering he seems to be playing a sober character in today's episode of 'Hungover Hockey House'.
Just as I'm about to question the small grimace, Logan bounds into my room all dressed in his workout gear, car keys hanging from his fingers.
"What the fuck are you guys doing?" He seethes, eyeing up the tangle of limbs on my bed. "You can have cuddle time later- Coach is expecting us any minute for morning practice!"
I immediately shove Holden's arm off my body and move to sit on the side of the bed, the pace I move in giving me a head rush and causing yet another wave of nausea to attack my stomach.
"We have practice?" I rush out, desperately trying to free my other arm from under Everett's fat head.
"Oooh, yeah. That's why we came in here! Thanks for reminding me Lo." Holden cheers, looking extremely happy with himself.
That is until he moves his head to look at Logan- who's still standing in the doorway, tapping his foot impatiently- and notices the death glare he's receiving.
If looks could kill; Ev, Grey, Holden and I would all be six feet under.
My arm, after a lot of tugging, flings out from under Everett and slaps onto my thigh with a wack- not that I have much time to process the pain.
Coach Madison is one bad ass woman. She rules with an iron fist and a zero-bullshit policy. If we're being truthful, I'm scared shitless of her.
She's super brutal, and somehow- someway- she always manages to know when us boys are suffering from a hangover from hell and would rather die then wake up at 6 AM and go to a morning practice.
I swear to Lucifer, she's a witch.
A witch who has a thing for being punctual. She wears three watches just to make triply sure that each and every one of us turns up on time.
God forbid you show up late. Last season, a then freshman got lost on his way to the first practice and strolled into the rink all smiley and -shock horror- thirty minutes late and Coach Maddie benched him for most of the season.
To be fair, he's a real dick. Not one person was complaining when he got knocked down a peg.
"Can one of you just tell coach that I'm dead?" Grey whispers; sitting up and wiping, what I really hope is drool, from the side of his mouth.
Everett hops off my bed with a bounce and it's only then that I realize that all four of them are dressed in clothes they can put their kit over.
Even Greyson, he may look like a sixty-year-old dead guy shoulders up- but he has somehow managed to get himself dressed. Or, he cried and fake gagged until Logan helped him.
The boy needs some serious therapy.
"You don't need us to tell her you're dead, Hastings. She'll have all of us all for breakfast anyway, so it won't make much of a difference." Everett shrugs, pulling Grey up so he's standing- well, swaying.
Logan shoves our possibly still intoxicated friend out the door as soon as he mutters something along the lines of: "Lo, I might hurl in your car."
That car is Logan's baby, if Hastings throws up anywhere around it he won't live to see tomorrow.
"We'll meet you outside in two minutes- a second later and we're leaving without you, Wilder!"
I don't waste any time and start to quickly dash around my room, throwing on a random U of M sweatshirt and pair of black joggers- reminding myself to steal back my lucky beanie from Reese when we get home after practice as I grab a sucky regular one out the back of my closet.
I lose interest in finding a matching pair of shoes when I hear the engine of Logan's car start up and a mess of groggy voices trail out the front door.
Making a break for the stairs, I soon realize that sprinting down them in one slider and one sneaker is not as easy as you may think.
After a few trips, stumbles and possible ankle breaks- I finally get to the door of Logan's car in time to hear Reese scream my name at the top of his lungs.
"Wilder!!"
I squeeze in the back seat next to Ev and Holden.My best friend sits shotgun, fiddling with the radio behind his back as he grins at me in knowing.
I don't blame him; I know I must look like a complete train wreck.
Although, I am thankful that I'm not in as much of a state as Greyson- who is currently dry heaving by the side of Finn Alder's car.
Poor sophomore is definitely gonna have to deep clean his car after the hot mess that is Greyson Hastings is finished with it.
I strap on my seat belt and tap the headrest of Logan's chair to signal he's good to go.
"You left Hastings for the youngsters to deal with, huh? Brutal." I laugh, the noise coming out way scratchier then I had intended.
Hangover City will do that to ya.
Holden picks up on the dryness of my throat and tosses me a half-empty bottle of water. I don't bother questioning who drank the other half; all I'm bothered about is surviving this car ride without chucking up all over Everett.
Logan swaps lane's before answering me. "He threatened to barf in the center console- what was I supposed to do?"
The question is completely rhetorical.
Greyson got carried away, so Greyson has to ride with the freshmen. It may be a little cruel, but he deserves it for violating the shower.
"Sooo," Ev starts his sentence in a voice that just screams 'I have news'. Either that or 'I just peed myself in Logan's brand new car'.
Those two voices of his sound very similar; and I don't want to even think about the latter option happening again.
Reese turns himself around in his chair to look at Everett, all of us waiting for him to just spit it out.
"You know how the PR guys were hunting for a team photographer?"
Jesus Christ. He didn't need to remind me.
Being the captain and all, PR is always up my ass about 'making appearances' and 'not cussing out the people conducting post-game interviews'. It's all a load of crap and honestly, gives me a bigger headache then Greyson does on a hungover morning.
They had briefly mentioned that they wanted one of the universities photography students to intern with us this season. I wasn't quite sure what they would be doing until April- surely all it takes is a few snaps of a camera to create a good PR message.
Who knows? I sure as hell don't.
Believe it or not, photography isn't a skill of mine.
Ev continues, "And, well, you all know my twin sister, Willow, right?" All the guys nod and Logan hums out a 'yup'- keeping his eyes on the road.
To answer's his question- no, no I don't know who his twin sister Willow is.
I know, I know I'm a crappy roommate for not knowing who they're friend (and teammates) twin is. In my defense, I at least remembered that he had a sister.
That counts for something right?
I think I met her once at a party last year, It's a little fuzzy because well- I was probably drunk and went up to her to for a flirt, until I realized she was related to my friend.
The name rings a bell, and I can sort of picture dark brown curls, with some caramel looking highlights running through the waves.
"Well, Willow is the intern PR chose to be our photographer..."
I don't think I've ever wanted to curl up into a ball and die so hard since I opened my eyes this morning.
It was going to be okay though!
I may not know who she is now, but by the end of this season, I know I'll have a vivid image of Willow Kennedy forever etched into my tiny brain.
Sitting on the other side of Coach Madison's desk is probably the most intimidated I have ever felt.
This woman just screams power, respect and absolute bad-bitch energy.
I usually feel empowered being in the presence of strong women; but Maddie Johnson scares the crap out of me. I think she'd even scare the crap out of Salma, and she worked at a mall sunglasses kiosk last year.
I also don't think I've ever felt so much respect for a person until I sat down in this office and stared at all her trophies, medals and framed newspaper articles that hang on her far wall.
She's one successful lady. Scary as hell, but crazy accomplished.
We had just finished up our briefing on what kind of pictures she wanted me to take, when I could interview the boys for the school paper, and most importantly- where I can get coffee from whilst I'm here.
I wrote down ever scrap of information she gave me down- terrified that I would miss something important and make a complete fool out of myself later down the road.
Although, I'm starting to think ever word out of this brilliant coach's mouth is important. She truly is mesmerizing.
Now, she's just scrolling through some of my past work I have saved on my laptop.
It doesn't include much; mostly just Instagram pictures I had taken for Sal and Layne, some family birthday parties I had photographed and my cousins wedding I did last fall.
She didn't pay me for capturing and editing all her wedding photos- but she did help me realize what kind of photography I want to get into.
Although I enjoy snapping shots of Salma on the beach or Hermione in the bath, I want to be a small part of the best day of somebody's life.Just walking around and taking pictures of a couple so in love they wanted to spend a gazzilion dollars on a wedding, makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.
But, I'm sure photographing, editing and publishing photos of angry hockey players during practices and games is going to be just as rewarding!
It's not an internship for a known wedding photographer; but it is something i'm interested in and something I know i'll smash out the park.
I'm pretty sure I have to- I do not want to see Coach Johnson angry...
"Well," She starts off, turning my laptop back around to face me. "These are very impressive Willow, we're lucky to have you aboard."
Call me crazy for feeling so happy I've earned the respect of a woman I just met, but that might be the best thing I've ever heard.
Damn, maybe Layne is right. I do need help...
"Thank you Coach, I know I can get something really special out of those idiots." I joke and point to the class window in her office- the other side showing all of the starting players rushing in through the doors and down the hall.
Madison lets out an exhausted sigh and stands up, I follow suit and walk behind her as she leaves her office and starts towards where the guys were heading.
I keep my head down and watch my feet closely as I jog along side her. No, she isn't running, she's just got an extremely fast speed walk.
"They had a party last night so, they're probably all hanging out of their arses." Her British accent seems a lot stronger now then when we were talking in her office.
We abruptly stop at a door labelled 'Men's Locker room' when Maddie turns and looks at me.
"I won't make you go in there, Willow. No human deserves that sort or treatment."
Her joke eases the knot of anxiety that formed in my stomach, the same knot I wasn't aware was there until now.
"If you head down that corridor, turn left and go through the first door, you should end up in the gym." Coach Johnson's hand maps out the path she's describing to me.
"I'm planning on getting them to sweat the alcohol out of their system before we head onto the ice, you know how to skate, right?"
I nod quickly and am very suddenly left alone in the hall as Madison charges through the door. I guess that was all she needed from me...
But, she's woman who knows what she wants; I respect that unreal amounts.
My feet don't move, however, until I hear her sharply yell: "Oi! Dickheads!"
I instantly take that as my queue to get going and follow her directions until I meet a set of double glass doors- a small sign above them reading 'Gym'.
Oh lord, here we go. Straight into the pits of hell.
I let myself wonder around the vast room. Checking out the range of weight machines, treadmills, exercise bikes and punching bags.
No wonder these guys all have eight packs; if I had this sort of facility available, and free, to me then I don't think I'd ever leave.
Obviously that's a lie- I don't remember the last time I set foot in a gym.
I laugh quietly to myself as I read all the words written on the far wall of the room, clearly it was some sort of hockey yearbook for players both past and present.
It wasn't just quotes from the starting goalie from 2002 or the captain of 1965; it seemed to have conversations and jokes between players mapped all over it.
Being the detective I am, thanks to the abundance of crime shows Sal watches, I look for the freshest looking ink. I find it easily- considering most of the writing is almost worn away or smudged.
The newest conversation seems to have involved Tate Wilder, Holden Zhao and Coach Johnson. The messages are clearly some sort of inside joke, so I don't bother reading more and move on- choosing to stand awkwardly next to the water cooler.
Sue me, I'm worried about standing in front of a dozen hockey players.
Thankfully, or not- I haven't decided yet, the doors swing open and a whole heap of sleepy voices and loud laughs fill up the once silent gym.
I watch nervously, waiting for a face I recognize to emerge and walk over to the growing group of men watching me.
If I though Madison Johnson was terrifying before, I was wrong. This right here is terrifying.
Just as I'm about to spiral into a zone of no return, a warm arm wraps around my shoulders and tugs me into their firm side.
I know straight away that it's Everett, but I look up at him anyway and laugh loudly when I take in the state of my twin brother.
"Fucking hell," I start, laughter still spilling out of my mouth as Ev shoves me away.
"Who ran you over with a garbage truck?" He rolls his eyes, clearly not amused by my comment.
"You think I look bad?" He asks rhetorically but I nod anyway, earning me another playful shove.
"You should see Hastings, man looks like he's been dragged through shit and then drop kicked."
Ev can barely contain his laughter at the end of his sentence as Reese, Tate and a crawling Greyson make their way to the group of guys.
Taking a moment to assess Grey, I really start to understand what Ev was talking about.
I have never been one to imagine death; but now I'm staring at Greyson Hastings, splayed out on the cold gym floor, I know what I'll forever picture the end of my life looking like. Like this grown-ass man, who's on the verge of tears, purely from a hangover.
The other guys pay no mind to him. I'm not sure if it's just that regular of an occurrence that they don't notice the state of him or if they just don't care.
Either way, I'm seriously concerned for his health.
"Bloody hell, Hastings!" Coach Maddie yells as she enters the room.
She storms toward his groaning body and leans down slightly. At first I think she's going to help him up, but Greyson clearly knows better than I do and goes to cover his ears with his hands.
Luckily, Grey was quick enough to protect himself slightly from the loud clapping Coach Johnson does above his head. Some of the other guys aren't as lucky so a chorus of winces and moan follow suit.
Hell, one of the sophomore's puts his head in between his knees and rocks back and forth in what I can only assume is pain.
I don't really feel much sympathy for them.
Hangovers suck; I've had my fair share of weekends spent hovering over the toilet. But, I'm smart enough to not get shit faced when I have an early morning lecture.
These baboons can't relate. So, I say it's karma.
Maddie stops the clapping and joins me, now in front of the water cooler. She shoves Ev out of the way and into the mass of testosterone waiting for her to speak.
"Alright boys," She calls, like she's trying to grab their attention. Not that she needs to- all murmurs and private conversations stopped the second she walked through the doors.
The absolute respect that radiates from each and everyone of these boys, whilst they stare at their coach, is actually super touching.
"Now that we've upset Princess Greyson, I'd like to introduce you all to our newest team member." Madison motions for me to step up a little bit.
I don't dare disobey her.
"This is the brilliant Willow Kennedy." My heart just burst. "Willow has, thankfully, decided to intern with us this season!"
Some of the guys look at each other and then back to me- most likely wondering what in the damn hell I could bring to their team.
I'll be honest boys, i'm not too sure.
"She'll be our official team photographer," Maddie answers the unspoken question. "She will also be doing a piece on the team for the school paper!"
I think that's the part that makes me feel nauseous.
Taking pictures comes naturally to me. My camera is like my third hand, I know how to work it like it's my microwave. I'm not nervous to snap a few shots of these players as they're on the ice or out doing team bonding crap.
Easy peasy- could do it in my sleep.
The real issue here is actually- gag-
speaking
to these men and asking them questions about why they love hockey, how old they were when they started playing and what they love most about being a Wolverine, among other similar things the editor in chief of
The Mitchy
wants me to find out.
That's the part that makes me wish I was drowning in a fish bowl.
"Of course, Willow demands the same respect you give me and any other member of staff."
I wouldn't have thought that this was a necessary thing to tell a bunch of 18 to 21 year-olds, but Madison seems to be staring at a group of three non-starting seniors and one junior.
Note to self: look out for Jerky Mcjerkson and his band of idiots.
The title of Jerky Mcjerkson is reserved for the only senior in that group that I recognize, Charlie Donovan. He was in my Econ class during our freshman year and, although he never bothered me, I could tell he was a major douche.
Coach Johnson then turns to me and smiles, uh oh. Nope, no! Don't you fucking dare, I know that look.
"I'll leave you to get to know each other!"Andddd, she just screwed me over. "I'll be back in fifteen to sweat away that alcohol stench coming from half of you. Have fun!"
The 'have fun' is directed at me. I'm not sure why...
Maddie, I can assure you- no fun will be had. Not on my part at least.
I know that i'll have to get over my nerves and present myself as a confident, self-assured woman, and most importantly, I've gotta let them know that i'm bad ass bitch.
Just gotta channel my inner Madison Johnson.
As I get into character I let myself look over the group.
There's about fifteen guys all blinking at me. I recognize all six starting players, obviously knowing Ev and Reese the best out of them, and on top of that six- I'm confident I've seen Charlie, Dean Colbie and sophomore, Finn Alder, on the ice.
That's a total of nine. Which means that I'm only going to be speaking to six strangers!
Total win.
I look to Everett for reassurance as I take a step closer to the group.
"Hey." It comes out as squeaky as a mother fucking dog toy.
Kill. Me. Now.
"As Coach Maddie said, I'm Willow Kennedy and I'll be you're shadow for the next eight months." That gets a few soft chuckles, a huge confidence boost after the puberty-stricken teenage boy moment I just had.
I know I need to address my strategy as their photographer. These boys have probably never been in front of a professional camera that's getting held up by a curly haired, female (and more attractive) version of Ev.
Let's just hope I don't do something stupid...
"I know it might be a little weird at first, me shoving a camera at you and all, but I think this will the start of something new!"
Don't do it Willow. Do. Not. Do it. Resist the urge, fight it- don't embarrass yourself just yet.
I open my mouth again and I know it's too late for me. "It... feels so right to be here with you."
Abort mission, get the fuck out of there, Willow! Just run and never return you freaking idiot.
"And now, looking in your eyes... I feel in my heart- The start of something new..."
I don't sing the opening song from High School Musical, no no, instead I speak the words and watch as Everett turns purple from holding in a laugh.
I'm about two seconds away from jumping in front of a train when Holden joins in with the words.
"Now who'd have ever thought that, we'd both be here tonight!" He actually sings, swaying his hands from side to side.
Another deep, and out of tune, voice chips in.
"And the world looks so much brighter With you by my side," Reese sings the next line, winking at me in reassurance. "I know that something has changed, Never felt this way. I know it's real," He finishes off, harmonizing poorly at the end.
Fucking hell, I love that boy.
"This could be the start of something new," That voice belongs to Everett, he stands whilst singing out the chorus and motions for his friends to join him.
Holden, Reese, Logan, Tate and even Greyson stand up. They are then followed by Finn Alder and what I assume is his friend. All of them start to sing the rest of the chorus, extremely out of time and very pitchy, but I have never felt so supported.
"It feels so right to be here with you, And now looking in your eyes I feel in my heart- The start of something new."
I join them at the end, the rest of the team also adding to the mess of tones and pitches.
We finish our small singing session as Ev pulls me into his side for a quick hug.
He ruffles my hair and whispers, "A team that high school musicals together, stays together."
I truly have never felt so grateful to have him as my brother until this moment. Thank fuck for my mentally challenged twin brother!
Waiting for the laughter and hyper energy to die down, I brainstorm a way for me to get to know the boys better. Although, after our little sing-song, I feel super connected to them.
"So, how about an ice breaker?" I suggest hopefully- mostly because this is my only idea.
That gains nods and shouts of agreement.
I was already feeling a lot better- but the proud smile I caught coming from Ev is what makes my shoulders completely drop and makes me start to feel more and more relaxed.
"Okay, that's great."
Jesus, Willow, try to avoid unnecessary comments from now on, okay?
I sit myself down on the floor, thankful that I chose to wear my favorite pair of mom jeans today instead of a skirt.
"So, if you all sit yourselves down in a circle we can get started."
They immediately do as their told. Maddie must run a tight ship... Are we at all surprised?
Most of the guys were standing so it takes a bit of shuffling, and Tate dragging Greyson's basically lifeless body out of the center, for my circle to be formed.
"Okay, so first things first, how about we go around the circle; say our full names, age, major and playing position?" I add the 'playing' in front of position to avoid answers that would no doubt make me uncomfortable.
"I'll go first," I take a sneak peak at each of the guys to make sure i'm not coming across as too patronizing or bitchy.
"My name is Willow Julianna Kennedy, and i'm 21. Photography major, but you probably already guessed that. And I used to play left wing."
I can tell that majority of the people sitting in the circle are shocked that I used to play hockey. In fact, the only person left un-phased by what I just said is Ev. I don't blame them; I don't exactly scream hockey player.
He goes next, considering he's sat right beside me.
"Everett Hugo Kennedy, also 21. I'm a civil engineering major, probably a bad decision considering I'm trash at math..." Ev glares at Holden as he snickers at my brother's math comment.
"And I play left defense." With his finishing comment, he not so subtly throws his shoe across the circle and decks Holden straight in the nose.
Truthfully, the only thing that bothers me about that exchange is Everett saying he's 'trash at math'. I know damn well that he works hard for that class and does his best, that means he's not trash, at least in my book.
And, well, we've always had similar ability when it comes to academic subjects and I refuse to believe that i'm bad at math...
We keep the game going, working around the circle slowly but surely.
"My name is simply Logan Romano, my Mom was too lazy to give me a middle name." Some of the starting line up laugh at that. "I'm 21, 22 on September 27th. I'm a history student and I play right wing."
We zoom past two freshman bench warmers as we round the corner of our circle and get to Greyson.
Good luck to him, this task might be a little tricky considering he's half asleep on Tate's shoulder.
"Ow! Son of a bitch-" Grey doesn't finish his complaint caused by Tate punching his thigh.
"Uhm right, yeah. Name? I'm hungover. Wait- no no!"
That earns another hit from Tate.
Just as I suspected, he's a flaming pile of hot mess.
"Shit okay, My name is Greyson Jeremiah Hastings, 21- Sociology major. And I
was
the goalie, before I murdered the team captain and got life in prison-"
Grey then punches Tate roughly in the shoulder-in revenge- as laughs fill the room.
However, just as I assume he's recovered from his painful hangover, he flops backward to lie down fully on the floor again- pulling his baseball hat down over his eyes because the lights are "out to get" him...
"Is it my turn?"
A deep voice steals my attention away from a probably dying Greyson.
The question is directed straight at me, but it's not said in a demanding 'i'm being an impatient little bitch' way. Instead- it's asked softly. The simple words filled with a whole ton of curiosity.
I lock my eyes with the owner of such a velvety voice, finding myself studying Tate Wilder's gorgeous green eyes and beautifully carved face.
Fuck me, I forgot how attractive he is without that damn helmet covering his face.
Still mesmerized by his unfair good looks and smooth voice, I nod like an idiot and receive a genuine smile in response.
Fuck me, times two.
"Full name is Tate Nathaniel Wilder. I'm 21, like most of the starters- apart from our baby boy Holden," Tate turns to his left and pinches Holden's cheeks.
That's scarily similar to how Sal and I treat Layne...
Holden slaps Tate's large hands away from his face and he continues like nothing happened.
"I'm a sports management major- big shocker I know." He laughs softly, still staring straight into my eyes.
"And I play center forward, but I could probably take over as goalie if our current one dies from alcohol poisoning..."
His words are said as a joke, but I notice the fleeting look of concern in his beautiful eyes as Greyson raises his middle fingers into the air- groaning in pain from slightly moving his body.
Tate then returns his eyes to mine and smiles at me again- this time in a reassuring way. Kind of like he's saying 'you're doing great, Willow. Keep it going!"
That might make me feel happier then when I got Coach Madison's approval...
Moving swiftly on... Holden is next to share his basic facts. He's usually pretty chatty but he keeps it short and sweet:
"Holden Zhao, 20. Political science major, I swear it's a lot more interesting then it sounds! And I play left wing, guess we have that in common, beautiful." He winks for affect at the end.
Remember when Salma said Holden could charm your panties right off? This was the shit she was talking about.
I laugh it off, knowing it's just a bit of friendly flirting. Everett, however, is not amused and snaps out a warning, "I suggest you take the flirty-ness down a notch, Zhao."
Yeesh, Ev is not a fan of Holden flirting with me- message received brother...
When it finally gets round to Reese, I note that he looks pretty comfortable leaning up against Holden, with his legs draped across a poor sophomore's lap.
"Wills and I are already best friends, so I'll keep it
swift
," He grins brightly at me, emphasizing the word Swift- making a show out of knowing that Taylor Swift is my music idol, emotional support system and spirit animal.
"Reese Brady Mcallister, y'all can guess my age. I'm an international studies major because I lack creativity. Oh, and I play beside Evvy on right defense." Reese smirks at my brother cheekily, Ev in return blows him a kiss right back.
If Reese wasn't dating my best friend, I would totally ship them.
We fly through the next lot that includes: Dean Colbie, Charlie Donovan, Finnegan Alder, Rory Harrison and Micah Castellano.
They're a funny bunch; all gorgeous of course.
I definitely think I could get used to this...
We manage to get through another ice breaker, a simple game of two truths and lie, before Coach Johnson comes in and relieves me from my duties for today's practice.
"Just come back tomorrow, after your last lecture, with all your equipment and student card- so we can make you a pass." She tells me as I pick my laptop bag off her desk and place the strap over my shoulder.
I nod at her in agreement, walking out of the room with a small and proud smile.
I start towards the gym again- my plan is to just pop my head in and say bye to Ev, before I head to the library to study for a statistics pop quiz during my free period.
I'd say today was a total success.
I got to know all of the guys a little better, sing a song from High School Musical and they seemed to welcome me into their weird world of skates, hockey sticks and calling one another by their last names.
It went better a whole lot better then I thought it would. Guess that's what over thinking does to you, huh?
"Everett?" My voice has gone up in volume since my first sentence to the team.
Confidence can be considered boosted for today.
My very sweaty twin jogs towards me, squirting whatever's in his water bottle all over his face.
"What's up?" He shakes his hair out, causing splashes of what I hope is water to hit my face.
I wipe at my cheeks and shove him further away. I do not need to be smelling like a sweaty man whilst in my study group.
Gesturing to my laptop bag, I answer simply. "I'm heading out, i'll see you later."
I flash him that him fake sister smile, the grin hopefully conveying my message of 'don't you fucking dare try and hug me right now'.
He-thankfully- takes the hint and backs away with his hands raised in surrender.
"Drive safe!" My brother calls as I turn towards the now familiar double doors.
Weird how it only took twenty minutes of goofing around for me to feel at ease in this ran-down gym.
My laptop bag seems to get heavier with every step I take, my review of a new vegan restaurant down the street that needs to get sent off to the editor of
The Mitchy,
physically dragging me down.
Just as I can see the exit, a warm hand taps me on the shoulder and a velvety voice calls my name.
"Willow!" I spin around quickly in surprise.
Tate's gorgeous face is the first thing I take my time appreciating- next up is his built six foot four body. Toned arms, a few beautifully designed tattoos scattering his tanned skin- most fully visible due to the vest top he's now wearing and broad shoulders.
If there is a God, he really does have favorites. And I will be filing a formal complaint.
This. Is. Not. Fair!!!
"Tate?" I ask like I hadn't just been checking out his thick thighs, hidden by some stupid black joggers.
Never in my life have I hated a piece of clothing more.
He takes a step closer to me, a bright- and dare I say cheeky grin- covering his mouth.
"I just, uhm, well not I- really it's, like, the whole- uh team?" His stuttering may just be the cutest thing I have ever heard.
"Uhm, basically, as captain, I wanted to be the first one to welcome you to my team. Our! Our team, sorry..." Tate rubs the back of his neck and tugs at his hair sheepishly.
In return, I stare at him in awe. He's just super cute, okay!
However, I decide that making him sit in the slight awkwardness is too cruel and reply. "I'm looking forward to being apart of
your
team, Wilder."
His boyish smiles grows.
"See you later, Tate." He gives me a small wave and watches as I walk out into the real world.
Welcome to the team, Wills.