Page 22 of Dangle

“You’re seriously going to do homework right now?” Ethan Ruggers asked from behind me, where he sat with the guys.

“Yeah. I’ve got a paper due.”

“Alright, weirdo.”

With a quick glance at the gorgeous guy across the way, I put my headphones in noise-cancellation mode and set to workon detailing the impact of sports on globalization and cultural diplomacy. My professor hadn’t been overly on board with the topic, but being a hockey player meant my brain funneled everything through the sport, and if I had to write a paper, it was going to be about hockey.

Someone pulling my headphones away from one ear startled me. I knocked the hand away and pulled off my headphones.

“Damn, Cap! We’ve been yelling your name for the last five minutes!”

A change in engine sounds told me we were beginning our descent into Nashville. The clock on my laptop and the flight path showing on the screen nearby told the same story. I packed away my headphones and electronics.

My brain was still focused on the paper I’d been writing. Another few thousand words and it would be finished. The task list I kept on my phone showed I needed to do some discussion posts and replies. The replies I could knock out before we touched down.

“Jesus, we’re headed to Nash Vegas for a wild weekend, and our resident nepo baby is playing Poindexter,” Zane grumbled.

“Shut up, asshole,” I replied, typing a response to one of my classmates’ discussions about the importance of a diverse workforce. “I want to enjoy myself, and that means planning ahead for a colossal hangover. And next week is Greek Week.”

The boys whooped with excitement. They started rattling off what the university, fraternities, and sororities were planning. Greek Week at The U was epic. I’d been on other campuses for games during theirs, and they were nowhere near what Manchester’s always rounded out to be.

I smiled, listening to the boys while I typed, and snuck peeks at the gorgeous man sacked out at the front of the plane. How he slept through the boys being loud motherfuckers I couldn’t say,but I could enjoy the view. I finished the post, closed the app on my phone, and opened Insta to scroll.

Tires screeched when they hit the runway, and the sleeping man, who held my attention, opened his eyes and sat up straight while fiddling with his ears.

Earplugs.

That’s how he slept through the boys. He couldn’t hear them. They must be damn good because even with the best noise-canceling headphones on the market, when the guys got loud, I could hear them.

SUVs waited for us on the tarmac when we rolled to a stop in Nashville. The flight crew handed luggage over to the drivers.

“Who rides where, Nigel?” Ewen asked the driver.

“You and Slone are with me. I’ll drop you at the club. Timothy will take the six hockey players to their hotel.”

Slone. His name is Slone. Was that a last name? A first name?

“Thanks, Nigel,” Slone said, handing Nigel his bag before looking over at the boys and me. “Have fun at the game.”

I nodded, then did a double take. “Are you going? To the game?”

Ewen smacked Slone on the back, then let loose a noise that resembled a laugh but sounded more like…cackling? “Fucking feathers.”

“What?” I asked, glancing over my shoulder when Ryan Riordan called out to me. “Chill your tits, Riordy!”

Slone was laughing when I turned back. “What’s funny?”

“You guys remind me of my guys and me. We rag on each other hard, too.”

“Rag on… Oh, you mean the chirping?”

“Chirping?”

It was my turn to laugh. “Chirping is a hockey term for insulting or poking at your teammates or opponents.”

“So, yeah. That. We do it, too.”

Ethan yelled, pounding the outside of the front passenger door, “Hey! Let’s go! Mercy’s getting us an arena tour!”