He laughs. “I’m afraid to answer that honestly.”
Now I realize I’ve said something dumb again. “I meant…That’s not what I meant!”
He laughs harder.
“Wilson!” I nudge him with my elbow. “Don’t laugh.”
“But why?” He props his big face in one of his hands. “I’ve got a fun job. You’ve got a fun job. We’re standing on a beach in the sunshine. And you have freckles on your nose. I just spent three days wondering how they taste.”
“You…did?” I gasp. Because I never was cool.
“Definitely. And I’m not laughing at you. I never would. I laugh because life is good, Stace. It’ll be even better if you let me take you out to dinner.”
“Wow.” That’s my brilliant response.
“So what do you say?”
“I…I’d love to have dinner. Once my internship ends, of course. The summer intern isn’t supposed to chase after the players.”
He frowns. “When does your internship end?”
“Friday.”
A smile splits his big face. “You don’t say?”
“Yeah, four days. And then I go back to school. At NYU.”
“NYU.” He perks up even more. “You live in New York.”
“Actually, I live in Carrol Gardens.”
That’s in Brooklyn, just a subway ride away from the Bruisers headquarters. He beams. “How about Saturday?”
“Hmm?” I’m busy admiring his smile, and the way his whiskers glint in the sunshine.
“Your internship ends on Friday. We’ll go out on Saturday.”
“Okay,” I whisper. “That sounds nice.”
“So…” He clears his throat. “Is anybody lookin’?”
“At us?” I glance around. “No. Why?”
“Just checkin’. And you’re not filming this?”
“No! Of course not.”
“Good,” he says.
Then, before I even know what is happening, he leans down and gives me a slow, gentle, kiss.
It’s so nice that I make a sound against his mouth—half sigh, half groan. He tilts his head and kisses me again.
But just when I’m really enjoying myself, he pulls away.
I blink up at him, a little dazed, and hungry for more.
“That will have to hold me until Saturday,” he says. “Still hate your job?”
“Not anymore,” I whisper.
“Good to know. Text me your address, yah? I’ll pick you up at seven on Saturday.”
“Seven,” I repeat.
“Yah, my new favorite number.” He winks. “See you then.”
The End
Thank you for reading "Training Camp!" You can find all the Brooklyn hockey novels at https://sarinabowen.com/brooklyn-bruisers. Or catch up with Sarina in her Facebook group.
Copyright © 2021 Tijan
All rights reserved
Published by Tijan
Edited by Elaine York
Betaread and proofread: Crystal R Solis, Kara Hildebrand, Serena McDonald, Amy English, Kimberley Holm, Chris O’Neil Parece.
No Drama, Seriously is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are all products of the author’s twisted imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Except as permitted under the US Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.
1
End Of August
I wanted no drama. Period. That was it.
That was my entire goal when I went to college at Grant West.
No. Drama.
There were other obvious goals, like getting passable grades, but my bar was low for that too. I just wanted to graduate. I was going into nursing, and as long as we passed the exams, got some work experience, if I got an A or a C, it didn’t matter. I was hoping for better than a C, obviously, but I’d be happy with a B-. Also, because I wasn’t totally unrealistic, I knew I’d have socialization and sexual needs that would also have to be fulfilled.
I only wanted a few good, reliable ones. And I’m realistic there too. Finding good friends, like truly great friends, is like finding a rare gemstone out in nature. It’s near impossible, so I was figuring a few passable friends would do. Each could have a purpose. One to always eat with. One who was good to talk to me, and bonus points awarded if the conversation would be more about them and they wouldn’t care to ask me about myself. Maybe a couple to head out to parties with. Maybe one or two to study with, and after that, I couldn’t think of any other reason I’d need a friend for.
Maybe I’d find one I could trust, but again…realistic expectations. I doubted that would actually happen.
As for my sexual needs, it was just that. Literally.
No boyfriend. No dating. I was open to finding a guy as an acquaintance with benefits sort of thing, but that was it. I didn’t want to see the guy outside of the bedroom. I didn’t want to know his friends, his hobbies. I didn’t want to deal with his emotional or academic woes. If he wanted to hook up with others, fine…just get tested and keep it wrapped. If he had a girlfriend, obviously it was a no-go with me then.
I mean, my needs and requirements were pretty basic. That was all I wanted, and I had my mind made up when I arrived at my dorm.
Going down the hallway, I was aware of the difference already between me and other girls on my floor. They were showing up with families, little brothers, maybe big brothers, cousins. Sisters. Dads. Little dogs were running around, and everyone was hauling their chairs, microwaves, clothes, even things mixed in with glittery and sparkly things. Fuck. Someone had a pink, bedazzled lampshade.
Now I kinda wanted one of those, if I were being honest. But everything else, that was so not me.
I mean, I drove myself to Grant West. It was a three-hour drive from where I grew up, and I was rolling in with myself, a couple bags, and the bare necessities. I had bedding. Towels. The usual utility basket. I wasn’t dealing with a microwave. I didn’t have any frou-frou chairs or Corinthian leather beanbags.
I had my clothes, my computer, and my phone. Bare. Bones.
I was planning on grabbing my textbooks as soon as possible, though, because while everyone was moving in, I wanted to get to the bookstore when that was somewhat empty. It’d be packed the day after tomorrow and any time after that. I wanted all my stuff taken care of: registration, meal plans, academic advisor meeting, all of it.
I was just turning into my dorm when I heard from behind me, “Mara?”
I looked, and well, fuck me. I recognized her, but I didn’t know her that well.
“Yeah. Hi.”
She was going into the room across from mine. The door was open, with her hand on the doorknob, but at my acknowledgement, she let go and took a step back. She blinked a few times, tucking some of her blonde hair behind her ears. “I didn’t know if you knew me.”