Chapter 15
CHAPTER
FIFTEEN
HARPER
“That yoga class kicked my ass,” Harvard declares as we return to the apartment. I needed it to clear my head after that chat with JB this morning. I convinced Zac and his hungover friends to go with me. I’m better now. Balanced. They’re a little better too.
“Our trainers practically did backflips when I told them I’ve done a few classes. They’re ready to sign you up as a life coach, CJ,” Zac adds. He gives my head a knuckle rub and goes into the kitchen to make smoothies.
“I’m not sure what kind of life coach I am, but I’m glad it’s helpful.” Zac seems lighter after our session. The hangover is a thing of the past. I yell over the sound of the blender. “And don’t think I didn’t see you get that girl’s number,” I tease.
“There’s something about those yoga pants that just, yeah. But she seems smart, too.” Zac shrugs. For him, getting a woman’s number comes natural. Like playing hockey. It’s a thing.
“And how, pray tell, did you assess her intelligence in a yoga class?” Jetsy asks.
I give him a low-five because I was thinking the same thing. Jetsy is freaking adorable. I’d like to see him find a nice girl.
“She goes to Columbia.”
“And Henry went to Yale,” Mac adds, and they all crack up. “Doesn’t mean he’s smart.”
“True,” Zac says.
“Who’s Henry?” I ask. I’m so confused.
Harvard looks at me in disbelief. “Harper, do you really not know my name? I’m hurt.” He clutches his heart and pretends to be wounded before he hits the button on the blender.
I look around at the four hockey players in confusion. “But you call him Harvard?” I assumed it’s because he went to Harvard.
“Yeah.” Jetsy responds. I’m still very confused. He sighs and shakes his head. At me or Harvard, I’m not sure. He reaches over, stops the blender, and everyone focuses their attention on me. Jetsy speaks slowly as he explains it to me like I’m dense. “Because in the big Yale-Harvard rivalry game, he lost control of the puck and scored the game winning goal for Harvard. Funniest thing I’ve ever seen.” He swings an invisible hockey stick like that explains everything.
“Seriously?” I look around, and they’re all laughing, even Harvard. I mean Henry.
“Mind if I use that in my book? It’s funny,” I ask Harvard.
“Be my guest. Make sure you give me a big dick, and I’m happy.” He pours the smoothies, and Mac brings me one.
“Then it would be a fantasy,” Mac says to another round of laughter.
I hope Lawson is vibing with his new team like this. The camaraderie and ball busting are my favorite aspects of this sport, and I want to ensure there’s an accurate representation in my book. My character is a guy who plays hockey, but it’s not his entire identity. His team is a brotherhood.
“Tell us about this book, CJ,” Jetsy says. “Would it make me blush?”
“Everything makes you blush, asswipe,” Zac yells from the kitchen.
I shake my head at their antics. “Well, my main character is Gavin Snow, a professional hockey player. I’m writing the male character, and my partner is writing the female character. We haven’t gotten far yet: still creating the backstory, basic plot, that sort of thing.”
“Is it a smutty romance?” Mac asks. “I’ve gone out with girls who like those kind of books, and can I tell you, total freaks in the sheets.”
“Seriously?” Zac asks.
“Yeah, man.”
“No, I meant you went out with girls who could read.”
They all crack up. “On that note…” I get up and head toward my room.
“Nooooo,” they all moan.
Jetsy grabs my hand and gives me puppy dog eyes. “Please don’t run off. I’ll make them behave.” Zac scoffs. “I really want to hear about your writing.”
“Really?”
“Yeah,” Harvard says. “It’s cool you write books.”
I sit on the floor and go into a yoga pose.
“What the hell is that?” Zac asks. He’s pointing at me, and I shrug.
“It’s a gomukhasana pose. Or a cow face pose. Want to try it?”
He looks at me and does mental gymnastics, figuring out what goes where. “Nah, I’m good.”
I chuckle at his dismissal. Zac’s not a bad guy. None of them are. These ice gods live a lifestyle very different from us mere mortals. They aren’t how they’re portrayed in the media or romance novels. Not really. Fuck boys, yes. Goofy and immature? Also yes.
“Tell us more about Snowflake,” Jetsy says.
“Who? Oh, is that what you’d call him?” Do I need to give him a new name? Hockey players never call anyone by their actual name. Case in point. Jetsy, Harvard, Mac, and Burnsy.
“Don’t know him,” Jetsy says. It’s that simple.
“Well, he’s a busy hockey player with more talent than sense. He wasn’t looking for love, but he meets a girl that turns his world upside down. But his travel schedule and trust issues are a barrier to making it work.”
Mac leans back on the couch and stretches his arms across the back. “Sounds about right on both accounts.”
“Is he handsome like me?” Jetsy asks. He turns his head and makes a model pose.
“Is he smart like me?” Harvard asks, tapping his temple.
“Is he a hockey legend like me?” Mac asks, cracking his knuckles.
“Is he great in bed like me?” Zac asks, giving me that classic head nod that says it’s fact.
They’re so ridiculous that my eye roll could be a contender for a world record.
“Honestly, he’s a little of all of you. He has Jetsy’s charm and manners, Zac’s humor, Mac’s accent, and Harvard’s adorableness.”
Zac gets up, jumps on Harvard, gives him air kisses, calls him adorable, and pulls him to the floor. I transition into a child’s pose.
“And you’re writing this with another person you’ve never met. Isn’t that hard?” Mac asks.
“Surprisingly, it hasn’t been bad yet. I’m sure once we get to the plot, we could have creative differences.” Like our discussion of love at first sight. I’m fearful we may have several disagreements before we finish this.
“What’s the plot? Or is it just sexy time all the time?” Harvard asks.
“Those books have plots?” Zac asks.
“You don’t think our girl writes porn, do you?” Mac sounds offended on my behalf. Our girl? Am I living in a harem novel?
“Of course not,” Zac snaps back. “CJ has a master’s degree, for fuck’s sake. I’m just saying what kind of love story do hockey players have? We meet a girl, if she’s exceptional in bed she’s our girlfriend, if she gets pregnant, we marry her. Where’s the story there?” To him, it’s that simple.
“For argument’s sake, let’s say that’s the storyline. How did you meet her? Did she fall into your bed?” They all smirk at that stupid question. Yep. Instalust is a real thing. “What makes her exceptional in bed and in life? And pregnancy is not the only reason to get married.”
“True,” Jetsy says. “But if I got a girl pregnant, my mother would kill me if I didn’t marry her.”
“Facts,” Harvard adds.
I shake my head in disbelief. “What about when you meet the kind of girl you marry?”
“And she’s not a buddy’s younger sister?” Zac stares me down. He’s reviving our conversation from this morning.
“Yep.”
“Then I’ll go scorched Earth to get her to say yes.”
“Exactly. There’s your story. The push pull of it all. The motivations. The insecurities. See?”
“I guess,” Zac shrugs. “But I’d rather bang it out.” The guys all laugh at Zac’s ability to bring it all back to sex.
“I’m sure you would.” I should have known better. It’s silly of me to expect anything different from them. They haven’t met the one yet, but when they do, I’m curious what Zac’s scorched earth looks like.
My phone buzzes on the coffee table. I stand up to take it into the other room. They’re all watching me.
“What?”
“Be careful,” Zac says in a serious tone. My imagination must be going wild because I swear his voice dropped two octaves. All playfulness is gone from his expression. His abrupt change of demeanor—the way his easy-going smile vanishes, replaced by a stony glare—throws me completely. I feel a pang of worry, wondering what I've done.
“With writing a book?” I’m beyond confused. We went from fun banter to a hard stop faster than a slapshot hitting the crossbar.
“With Decker,” he says, like this turn of conversation makes sense.
“What?” I look around the room for an assist and get none. They all have their game faces on.
He tosses my phone at me. The text is on the home screen for all the world to see.
Hi gorgeous! Dinner tonight?
Obviously, there’s only one thing I need to do. Turn the text preview off my phone immediately.