6. Niall
CHAPTER 6
NIALL
Practice had drained me, but the second I stepped into the apartment, my senses sharpened. The faint sound of music drifted from the kitchen—something soft, acoustic. Eli. Of course.
He stood by the counter, scrolling through his phone with one hand while flipping a pancake with the other. His damp hair curled slightly at the ends, and a faded band T-shirt clung to his slim frame. He moved like he belonged here, like he’d lived in this apartment for years instead of a week.
I toed off my shoes, heading straight for my room. No point in pretending I could sneak past him. The apartment was too small for that. And Eli? He noticed everything.
“Hey, how was practice?” he asked, looking up with that disarming smile. Bright, genuine—like he actually wanted to know.
“Fine,” I muttered, making a beeline for the fridge.
“You guys skate the whole time, or do drills too?” His tone was light, easy, like conversation with me wasn’t a constant uphill battle.
“Drills.” I grabbed a water bottle and twisted off the cap, trying not to look at the plate beside him—golden pancakes stacked three high, syrup pooling at the edges. My stomach betrayed me, tightening in hunger.
Eli must have caught the way my gaze lingered because he slid the plate in front of me with a wink. “Made extra. Knock yourself out.”
I scowled, arms crossing on instinct. “Wasn’t for me.”
“Good thing I didn’t ask.” He nudged the fork closer, still grinning.
I grumbled, “Thanks,” and picked up the fork. One bite in, my fate was sealed. My mouth watered as the soft, fluffy pancake practically melted on my tongue.
Guilt crept in. When Eli first moved in, I’d made a point of telling him we handled our own groceries. Yet here I was, eating his food without hesitation.
I cleared my throat. “You’re not eating?”
Eli shrugged, swiping an apple from the fruit bowl. “I’ll whip some up later.”
Something about the way he said it made me pause. My gaze drifted to the counter—the mixing bowl in the sink, the bag of flour beside it. Not a box of instant mix in sight. These weren’t the just-add-water kind. Eli had made them from scratch. No wonder they were so good.
I frowned. “Wait. These were yours . Why’d you give me all of them?”
Eli waved off my protest, already grabbing a granola bar and a bottle of water. “You looked like you needed ‘em more.”
“That’s not?—”
“Tell you what.” He smirked, stepping around me toward the door. “Make it up to me by cleaning the kitchen.”
Before I could argue, he crossed the room, scooping up his backpack from the couch and unplugging his phone from the speaker dock on the counter. The music cut off mid-song, leaving behind a silence that felt weirdly noticeable.
He slung the bag over one shoulder, stuffing the granola bar and water into a side pocket, then shot me one last wink. “Later, Captain.”
Then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him.
I stared after him, still chewing.
Shit.
* * *
The lecture hall buzzed with low conversation as students filed in, claiming seats in the wide rows. I rubbed the back of my neck, scanning the room. I hated this class. Hated that I was here again, repeating a course I’d screwed up last year because I couldn’t get my shit together.
At least Professor Williams hadn’t called me out yet for missing last week. A mandatory team meeting had kept me out of the first lecture. Not that I’d minded the excuse.
I spotted an empty seat near the middle and headed for it, dropping into the chair before anyone else could claim it. A minute to myself before class started—that was all I wanted. No small talk. No forced interactions. Just quiet.
Then I saw him.
Eli strolled in, eyes scanning the rows like he was searching for someone. Definitely not me. His attention skimmed right over where I sat, and for some reason, that irritated me more than it should have.
I wasn’t sure why I even cared.
Still, I watched as he lingered near the aisle, gaze flicking from one section of the room to the other, like he was weighing his options. He took his phone out of his pocket and frowned at it for a moment before typing what was probably a message before slipping his phone back into his pocket.
A restless energy settled in my chest. I wasn’t hoping he’d sit next to me. Not really. But I also wasn’t hoping he wouldn’t. Before I could figure out what the hell that meant, he turned and started down my row.
I dropped my focus to my notebook, forcing my fingers to loosen around my pen. It wasn’t a big deal. Just another guy in class. Just another seat.
The chair beside me creaked as he slid into it.
“Hey, fancy seeing you here.”
His voice was easy, amused, like this was some casual run-in instead of a class I wasn’t entirely prepared for.
I looked up. “Eli.” His name came out rougher than I meant.
His grin faltered, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face before he smoothed it over. “Didn’t know you were in this class.”
I shrugged, feeling the weight of his gaze. “Yeah. I, uh... missed last week.” I rubbed the back of my neck, feeling heat creep up. “Had practice.”
That wasn’t true. I’d had a mandatory team meeting. So why the hell had I said that? It wasn’t like missing class for a meeting was unusual for an athlete. The school notified professors when we had scheduling conflicts. Professor Williams had probably gotten the email and just hadn’t cared enough to acknowledge it. Still, I didn’t correct myself.
Eli’s gaze flicked over me, his smile easy. “Guess that means you’ll need to catch up, huh?”
I nodded, unsure of what to say.
“You can borrow my notebook if you want,” he said, sliding it across the desk toward me. “It’s not like I need it during the lecture.”
The last thing I expected was his offer. I stared at the book, then at him. After how I’d been acting? Why the hell was he being so... nice? And why did I feel like an idiot taking it? I didn’t even need the damn notes—I had them already from last year. But saying that would mean admitting I’d flunked this course. That I was back in this room, sitting through the same lectures, because I couldn’t get my shit together.
And I sure as hell wasn’t about to tell him that.
“Thanks,” I managed, taking the book carefully.
“No problem,” he said, leaning back in his chair just as the professor strode into the room, clapping her hands together.
“Good morning, class,” she said, her voice cutting through the last of the chatter. “I hope you all enjoyed last week’s introduction to marketing principles.”
A few students chuckled. Someone near the back groaned. Williams smirked.
“Excellent enthusiasm. Let’s get started. Quick review—who can remind me what the number one rule of marketing is?”
Several hands shot up. Eli’s was one of them. I glanced at him, surprised.
Williams pointed at a guy in the front row, who answered, “Know your audience?”
“Correct. But let’s take it a step further. If you don’t know your audience, what happens?”
Eli’s hand was still raised, and this time, Williams called on him.
“Your message won’t land,” he said easily. “You’ll waste time and resources marketing to the wrong people, and your product won’t sell.”
Williams nodded approvingly. “Exactly. Targeting the right audience is key. Great answer.”
I side-eyed Eli. He was just... casual about it, like this was basic knowledge. Like he hadn’t just answered with more confidence than half the room.
“All right,” Williams continued. “Let’s challenge the athletes in the room. Mr. Caldwell, since you missed last week, let’s see if you’ve been doing your readings.”
I stiffened. “Uh. Yeah.”
A few heads turned toward me, and I clenched my jaw, feeling the heat rise to my ears. Great. Just great.
“If you had to market yourself as a hockey player,” Williams said, “what would your brand be?”
I frowned. “Brand?”
“Yes. Marketing isn’t just about products. It’s about perception. If you had to sell yourself to a team—or, say, an endorsement deal—what would your angle be?”
I hesitated. The silence stretched.
Then, from beside me, Eli whispered, “Grit.”
I shot him a glare, but... he wasn’t wrong. I wasn’t the flashiest player. I wasn’t the top scorer. But I worked my ass off. I was the guy who showed up, who pushed through, who didn’t quit. But it wasn’t exactly right either. Still, it gave me something to latch onto.
I cleared my throat. “Grit,” I said. “I’m not the guy with the most points, but I’m the guy who puts in the work, the one who does the hard stuff.”
Williams nodded. “Good. Hard work, perseverance. That’s a strong brand. But remember—grit alone isn’t always marketable. You have to package it in a way that sells.”
The class moved on, but my brain was stuck on the moment. On Eli, who had somehow given me the push I needed.
When the class ended, Eli stood, stretching. “You good to give it back after? Or need it longer?”
“I’ll bring it to the apartment,” I said quickly, fumbling with my bag and then shoving Eli’s notebook into my bag. I stood, ready to make a quick exit. But before I could overthink it, I turned to him.
“Hey… um,” I said, voice low. “Thanks. For… you know...” I gestured vaguely, scowling at my own awkwardness.
Eli blinked, then smirked. “You mean the answer?”
I huffed. “Yeah. That.”
He grinned, eyes dancing with amusement. “Anytime, Captain.”
“I, uh... gotta go. Meeting.”
“Sure,” he said, that smile still there, still easy. “See you later.”
I nodded, turning away before he could say anything else. The meeting was a lie. There was no meeting. I just needed to get out of there before I did something stupid, like actually talk to him.
As I pushed through the lecture hall doors, I could feel his damn smile following me out the door.