Chapter 3
I don't remember the walk back to my dorm.
One second I'm storming out of the Crushers' rink, and the next I'm standing outside my door, keys in hand, wondering if I blacked out from sheer emotional whiplash.
That interaction with Jay is not what I was expecting. Not only did he remember me, but he picked up right where he left off. Only now, his charm has improved.
I push my dorm door open, hoping I can push aside any Jay thoughts until I have to see him in three days.
Kinsey is sprawled across her bed, laptop propped on a pillow, giggling at something on the screen. Her dark curls are piled on top of her head in a messy bun, and she's wearing Wes's old Catfish jersey like a dress.
Well, that's more than I found her in last week.
“—and then Coach made Grayson run laps for twenty minutes straight,” a familiar male voice says through the speakers. “I've never seen a grown man cry over a burpee before, but there's a first time for everything.”
Wes laughs at his own joke, but that's not new. The guy is as interesting as a plank of wood. Yet, somehow he managed to convince Kinsey to agree to marry him in two years’ time.
Go figure.
Kinsey glances up when I walk in, her smile faltering slightly when she sees my face.
“Hey, babe, Ally just got back,” she says to the screen. “Say hi.”
I force myself to walk over and wave at Wes's pixelated face. “Hey, Wes. How's the arm?”
“Better than your mood, apparently.” He squints at the camera. “You look like shit.”
“Wes!” Kinsey scolds. I ignore it. Wes has no tact, but I can't expect much. Like I said before, athletes are gonna athlete.
“I feel worse,” I mutter. “Much worse.”
Kinsey's eyes narrow with interest. “Okay, now I'm intrigued. I'll call you later, Wes.”
“Yeah, I'll probably be playing, but whatever. You talk to the girl you live with.”
Kinsey rolls her eyes. “Love you,” she says before hanging up. Then she shuts her laptop down and turns to face me, tucking her legs underneath her. “Spill. Why are you sulking?”
“I'm not sulking.”
“You absolutely are. You've got that look.”
“What look?”
“The one where your left eye twitches and your jaw does that clenchy thing.” She gestures at my face. “That look. The murder look.”
I drop my bag on the floor and collapse face-first onto my bed, groaning into my pillow. The events of the past hour replay in my head like a horror movie I can't turn off.
“I always knew you were too good for him.”
“I was getting you a drink.”
“I'm glad you're single.”
God, I hate him.
“Do you tutor any hockey players?” I ask, my voice muffled by the pillow.
“Not right now,” Kinsey says slowly. “My hours got pulled back when I took the TA position. I still do some group sessions, but none of them have hockey players at the moment.” There's a pause. “Why? Did one if them miss the net and end up in the penalty box?”
I groan as I roll onto mt back and stare at the ceiling. “You ever heard of Jay Cross?”
Her face scrunches up in thought. “The name sounds familiar, but I don't really follow hockey. You know I'm a baseball girlie.”
“He's the captain of the Covey Crushers. Junior. Six-foot-something. Abs that have abs. Smile that should be classified as a weapon of mass destruction.”
“Okay...” She draws out the word. “And?”
“And he's an asshole.” I grab the nearest pillow and cover my face with it. “That's all you need to know.”
“Is there a reason you just came to this conclusion? Or have you always hated him and I'm just now finding out?”
“Always.” I groan again, louder this time. “Remember that football party where I met Derek?”
“The one where you came home the next morning ranting about some hockey player with a terrible pick-up line instead of the swimmer you'd just spent the night with?”
“That's the one.” I pull the pillow off my face just enough to look at her. “That was Jay Cross.”
Kinsey's eyebrows shoot up. “Wait. He's stick guy? You finally figured out who he is.”
“I always knew.”
Her brows knit together. “Then why did you waste your time with Derek? Seems a little harsh since you were obsessed with the hockey guy.”
“I have not been obsessed—”
“You literally bring him up at least once a month.
'Ugh, I saw that hockey player today.' 'Why do guys think terrible pick-up lines work?
' 'Derek would never say something that stupid.
'“ She makes air quotes around each statement. Meanwhile, you were dating a guy who once spent forty-five minutes explaining the aerodynamics of his stroke to me without realizing that in literally any other context, we’d have had to get married afterward.” She visibly shakes.
“I know more about that man's anatomy than my own fiancé.”
“I wasn't obsessing over the hockey player,” I insist. “I was... observing. From a distance. Critically.”
“Uh-huh. And what's he done now?”
“Nothing, per se, but I have to tape his thighs twice a week for the next three months.”
Kinsey's jaw drops. “Shut up.”
“I wish I was joking.”
“This is—” She presses her hands to her mouth, but I can see her shoulders shaking with barely contained laughter. “This is incredible. This is karma. This is—”
“A nightmare. The word you're looking for is nightmare.”
“I was going to say 'the universe having a sense of humor,' but sure.” She scoots to the edge of her bed, eyes gleaming. “Okay, tell me everything.”
I sit up, hugging the pillow to my chest. “He recognized me immediately.”
“Immediately?”
“The second he walked in. He asked if I was still slumming it with swimmers.” I can feel my cheeks heating at the memory. “Like he's been keeping track.”
Kinsey's expression shifts from amused to intrigued. “Interesting.”
“It's not interesting. It's annoying.”
“It's very interesting. So he remembered you from one party three years ago?”
“Apparently.” I pick at a loose thread on the pillow.
“And?”
“And what?”
She tilts her head, studying me. “Oh, come on. You seriously don't expect me to believe that you just taped his thighs and that was the end of the story.”
“It's not. He was infuriating and he wouldn’t stop talking the entire session. He kept talking shit about Derek, and I snapped. I told him I was single, which only made things worse.”
Kinsey snorts. “You walked right into that one. What happened after?”
“Nothing. He kept talking, but I ignored him. Then when I was leaving, he called me back and said he was happy I was single.”
She raises a brow. “What did you say to that?”
“Nothing. I just walked out.”
Kinsey sucks in a breath through her teeth. “Ally.”
“What?”
“You know what you just did, right?”
“Yeah. I ignored him.”
“No,” she drawls out. “You issued a challenge.” She's smiling wickedly.
“I know you've been out of the dating game for a while, but I didn't issue a challenge—”
“You absolutely did. By not shutting him down, you essentially said you're open for business.” She shakes her head slowly. “He's going to take that and run with it.”
“Let him run. I'm sure I'm faster on land.”
Kinsey squeals, but I remain tight-lipped. It's not her fault that this is the most excitement she's seen in all her years being here.
“Oh. This is happening.”
“Nothing is happening,” I emphasize again. “He's my patient. Nothing can happen.”
“Nothing until you accidentally brush his dick while you’re working on him.”
I roll my eyes. “Please. I will remain professional.”
“Right. Because hockey players are famous for restraint and long-term decision-making.”
“I’m just taping his thigh, not trusting him with my future.”
She pulls out her phone, already typing.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“I'm telling Wes. He's going to lose his mind.”
“Don't you dare—”
“Too late. Sent.” She grins at me, unrepentant. “He says, and I quote, 'Tell Ally that hockey players are emotionally stunted man-children, which...” She stops reading and frowns.
“Which?”
She drops her phone. “Sound about right for her. I'm sorry,” she says quickly. “That's a joke, but it didn't land. You know Wes. He's terrible with jokes.”
“That’s funny, considering his biggest emotional breakthrough was adjusting his foot two inches when he goes up to bat.”
She frowns, then sighs. “Okay, yeah. That one I’ll give you. He did call it a ‘breakthrough’ for like a month. But that still doesn't change the fact that Jay is clearly going to push those professional boundaries of yours.”
“Then I'll push back,” I say firmly. “I know what guys like him are like, and I'm not going to fall for the charm just because he suddenly decided I'm worth the effort.”
“Sounds like you've got it all figured out.”
“I do.”
Kinsey studies me for a moment, then shakes her head, muttering something inaudible.
When she turns back to her laptop, I lie down and stare at the ceiling.
I can be professional with Jay Cross.
I repeat the words in my head until I believe them. Or, at least, I hope I do, because I can’t seem to stop thinking about how Jay knew my name.