Page 9 of Rookie Moves
A loud bark of laughter escapes me.
“Is there such a thing as top-shelf lube?”
“I have no idea! Maybe there’s some with glitter in it. Gold-flecked lube,” she giggles, and I can’t help but grin, grateful at how she can lighten my mood so effortlessly.
She kind of reminds me of a pixie. Her hair is pastel pink, and she has a ring through the middle of her nose. An array of colorful tattoos is dotted over both of her arms and fingers, and she alternates between wearing all black or pastel-colored clothes. But the music she listens to? Yeah, I don’t think pixies listen to the kind of heavy metal where you can’t understand a word they’re saying from all the screaming.
She nudges me again, this time with her foot, and gives me an expectant look.
“What do you think?”
With a sigh, I shrug. “I don’t know. Just because he’s bi doesn’t mean it’s a good idea.”
“It’s a great idea.”
“Because you came up with it?” I tease.
“Exactly.” She beams.
I laugh under my breath, but I don’t know what to say. If I could choose anyone, without fear of fallout or consequences, I would pick Tyler. But it’s not as easy as Stassie thinks.
First of all, we’re teammates. What problems would that cause if we were caught?
Would we both get kicked off the team?
Would my career be over before it got started?
What if I end up getting hurt in a way that I wasn’t expecting?
The woulds and what-ifs outweigh any positives. It’s too risky, and I’m too tired to explain the whirlwind of thoughts rushing through my brain right now. So instead, I curl my arms under the pillow, press my face into it, and change the subject.
“I don’t think gold-flecked lube is very safe. Or glitter lube.”
“Could you imagine the mess? Glitter gets everywhere,” she cackles. “I wonder how they make flavored lube. Like, is there someone whose primary job is to taste test lube all day?” She rolls onto her back and mimics licking something off. “Hm, no, this needs more cherry. Alert the flavor station! This lube needs more flavor!”
The bed shakes as I laugh into the pillow. “Your imagination is wild.”
She flashes me a broad grin. “I know. So, going back to Tyler Beckmann.”
I groan. “Do we have to?”
“Yes, because this is the first time I got to see him up close instead of in his sweaty hockey gear.”
“He’s hot when he’s sweaty too,” I mumble.
“Ew, gross. I’ve smelled you after a game and no thanks, but if that gets your motor going, you do you.”
I curl my arm tighter around my pillow, exhaustion beginning to creep up on me from the game and all the alcohol I consumed at the party.
“But seriously, you should think about it,” she suggests after a weighted pause. She tucks some hair behind my ear, and her voice takes on a softer tone as she says, “I don’t think you’re going to find a better guy than him at Whilton U, and I hate to break it to you, but you’re running out of time, boo.”
I know she’s right, but I don’t know what I’m more afraid of.
Being a virgin in the NHL or being rejected by Tyler.
Because both sound like hell to me.
The athletics facility is quiet when I arrive the following morning. There’s still an hour before practice, but I didn’t want to go back to my room after class only to come back out again.
