3. Austin
AUSTIN
T onight’s already a shitshow, and I just walked through the door.
The place reeks of cheap beer and even cheaper cologne. Some guy’s doing a keg stand in the kitchen, his face so red I half expect him to pass out. In the living room, a group of girls are playing beer pong against some frat guys.
Normally, this is my scene. The noise, the drunken fun, the dumbass decisions that’ll be the highlight reel of practice on Monday. This is where I shine.
But tonight? Feels like I’m wading through wet cement.
Coach benched me. My grades are trash. My scholarship’s hanging by a thread, all because I bombed a damn anatomy test. And now, instead of worrying about my next game, I get to spend next week in a meeting with my academic advisor, which is basically a formality before they slap me with academic probation.
One more fuck-up, and my scholarship’s gone. No hockey, no future, no nothing.
I shake it off. Not the time to think about it. Right now, I just need a drink.
“Austin!” Logan yells from across the room, already a few beers deep and standing on a chair—fuck knows why. “Look who finally decided to show up! Thought you were gonna flake, man.”
I grab a beer and lift it in the air. “And miss this? This is my natural habitat.”
Logan squints at me. “Yeah? Then why do you look like someone just kicked your dog?”
I smirk, letting out a laugh, even though it feels like someone just landed a slap shot straight to my gut. “Because my dog’s named ‘my hockey career,’ and it’s dying a slow, painful death. Thanks for asking.”
Nathan slides up next to me. “You’re being dramatic.”
“Tell that to your dad. Pretty sure he’s looking into getting “benchwarmer” stitched on the back of my jersey.”
Logan snorts. “Maybe buy him some flowers—whisper sweet nothings about power plays in his ear.”
I huff out a laugh, cracking open the beer. “Think he’d prefer red roses or a nice mixed bouquet?”
Nathan rolls his eyes. “You guys are idiots.”
Maybe. But making jokes is easier than thinking about the fact that my entire hockey career is circling the drain.
I tip my head back, downing half the beer. It’s warm and tastes like piss. Perfect. Nothing like a frat party to remind me that rock bottom has multiple levels.
“Austin!”
I barely have time to react before a girl steps into my space, glossy lips and a smirk that says she’s here for a good time.
That’s why I come to these things.
I shift gears, slipping into my usual role. Party guy. Fun guy. The guy who doesn’t give a shit about anything other than the moment in front of him.
I flash her a grin and sling an arm around her shoulders. “Hey, babe.”
She giggles, pressing a hand to my chest. “Didn’t see you play this weekend.” She pushes her lips into a pout. “Missed you out there.”
And just like that, my stomach twists.
That’s it, isn’t it?
Hockey is the reason she’s talking to me. It’s always the reason.
Would she still be here, standing this close, looking at me like that, if I wasn’t Austin Rhodes, hockey player? If I was just some random guy on campus, would I even exist to her?
Doubt it.
I force a smirk. “Yeah, well, Coach said I should focus on my classes.” I roll my eyes, letting out a scoff. “Which is ridiculous, obviously. I’m basically the team’s backbone. They’re lost without me.”
I sell the joke like I always do—cocky smirk, playful shrug—but my stomach twists as I say it. Because the team looked fine out there this weekend. More than fine. And I wasn’t on the ice.
Do they even need me?
Does anyone?
She hums, tilting her head. “I don’t know if I buy it.” She steps closer, her sickly-sweet perfume flooding my nose. “Maybe you should prove it to me sometime… privately.”
That should snap me out of this funk. Should boost my ego. Should remind me that, hockey or not, I’ve still got it.
Instead, my phone buzzes.
And suddenly, I don’t care about the girl in front of me anymore.
I pull it out, glancing at the notification.
Cherry:
Confession: I hate parties.
A slow grin tugs at my lips.
“I’ll catch you later, yeah?” I say, already stepping back. She blinks, surprised, but I don’t wait for a response. I’m already ducking into the hallway, leaning against the wall as I open our texts.
Me:
Confession: I officially think you’re crazy.
Cherry:
So dramatic.
Me:
How can you not like parties?
Also, does this mean she’s at a party right now?
My phone stays in my hand, the beer in my other forgotten. Someone shoves past me, nearly knocking it out of my grip, but I barely notice, keeping my eyes on the screen as she starts typing.
Cherry:
What’s there to like? The music is deafeningly loud, and the people are all fake. Everyone’s acting like they’re having the time of their life, but it’s all just a show.
The words jump around on the screen for a few seconds before settling into something I can actually read.
I let out a short laugh, shaking my head as I glance around. She’s kinda got a point.
The guy in the corner is taking body shots off a girl he’ll probably never talk to again. The group of sorority girls squealing like they’re best friends when I know for a fact two of them hate each other.
It’s all a performance.
Me:
Okay, you might be right. So, what do you like then, if not parties?
I take a swig of my beer, grimacing when I remember it’s warm, and toss it into the trash, taking a seat on the stairs.
I should be having fun. I’m supposed to be the guy who thrives in places like this, the life of the party, always laughing, always moving, always keeping the energy up.
But right now, I’m sitting on the stairs, staring at my phone, waiting for a reply from a girl I don’t even know.
Cherry:
We agreed. No specific details.
I groan under my breath, dragging a hand through my hair.
Me:
Come on. One tiny clue. You’re killing me here.
Someone calls my name from the kitchen, but I don’t answer. I don’t care. Not when her text comes through a few seconds later.
Cherry:
I like baking.
My lips twitch before I can stop them.
Baking.
I don’t know what I expected her to say, but it wasn’t that. I try to picture her, some faceless girl standing in a kitchen, messy hair, a smear of flour on her cheek, maybe humming to herself as she pulls something out of the oven.
Me:
Baking? That’s all you’re giving me?
Cherry:
Well, you only asked one thing. I did love baking when I was a kid, but dorm life makes it pretty much impossible now.
I can’t help but grin. That’s another little clue she’s thrown out without realizing it. She lives in a dorm.
Me:
Is that where the name Cherry comes from?
Cherry:
Maybe.
Maybe .
God, she’s annoying. And frustrating. And somehow the most interesting person I’ve talked to in forever.
She might like the mystery, but I don’t. I’ve never liked surprises. I’m the guy who looks up movie spoilers before watching. So yeah, this whole anonymous thing? It’s killing me.
Me:
Anything else you can tell me?
I run a hand through my hair, exhaling as I glance around. Ryan and Isabella are across the room, laughing, her hands on his chest, his on her hips. Then he cups her face and kisses her.
I remember when those two were sneaking around for months. They thought they were so slick. They weren’t. I clocked Ryan’s dumbass heart eyes the first time he looked at her. See? I’m not dumb all the time.
My phone buzzes in my hand, pulling me back.
Cherry:
Doesn’t seem fair that you get to know two things about me, and I don’t know anything about you.
I chuckle, typing out a reply.
She doesn’t realize it, but she already knows more than most people do. Everyone else gets the jokes, the cocky grins, the life-of-the-party guy who never shuts up. But her? I kinda want her to know more. To know the thoughts in my head that I don’t tell anyone else.
Me:
You can ask me anything you want, Cherry.
Cherry:
What’s one thing you can’t live without?
Easy. Hockey. No doubt about it.
My thumbs hover over the keyboard. It’s my first instinct. But I can’t say that. We agreed to no specific details. And if I tell her, that’s all she’ll see. That’s all everyone ever sees. The hockey guy. The athlete. The guy who’s only worth something when he’s scoring goals.
But she doesn’t look at me like that. She doesn’t even know me like that. And I like that she likes me .
I pause for a second before typing the real answer.
Me:
My family. I don’t know what I would do without them.
I set the phone down for a second, my mind drifting to Scarlett and Mom.
Scarlett’s probably at home, messing with Mom just for fun. She’s a little shit sometimes, but she’s got the biggest heart. I remember the first time I taught her how to skate, how stiff she was, arms flailing, like Bambi on ice.
God, I miss them like crazy. The smell of coffee in the morning, Mom in the kitchen, half-dressed for work, always in a rush but never too busy to give me a hug before she left. Even when she was dead on her feet, she still made time for us. She always did.
My phone buzzes, breaking me out of my thoughts.
Cherry:
Damn, I thought you were gonna say me. I’m offended now.
I let out a laugh, shaking my head. She might be joking, but she’s not wrong. I don’t know what I’d do without these texts. It’s only been a couple of weeks, but she’s already a constant in my life, something I look forward to every day.
And apparently, I’ve been too busy smiling at my phone like an idiot, because next thing I know, someone smacks the back of my head.
“Are you seriously on your phone right now?”
I turn to see Logan and Nathan standing beside me with matching grins on their faces.
“Leave me alone, I’m in a committed relationship,” I say, locking my screen.
“With your phone?” Logan snorts.
“Yep. My phone and I are in love. You wouldn’t understand.”
Nathan claps a hand on my shoulder. “We’re losing him, man.”
I roll my eyes as they walk off, but the second they’re gone, my attention is right back on my screen.
I have no idea who this girl is. Is she blonde? Brunette? Does she have pink hair? No clue. Blue eyes? Brown? Green? Couldn’t tell you. She might walk past me every day, sit next to me in class, brush shoulders with me on the quad.
Hell, she could be in this room right now.
The thought makes my head snap up. I scan the party, my gaze drifting over every girl in sight. What if I’ve already met her? What if the girl standing ten feet away, twirling her hair and giggling at some guy’s bad joke, is my Cherry?
The thought makes something pull tight in my chest.
Me:
If you were at a party tonight, what would you be wearing?
It’s a long shot. She might not even be here. She might not even answer.
But damn, I want to know.
What if she’s here?
What if I find her tonight?
Cherry:
Is that your way of asking if I’m at a party?
Me:
Is that a yes?
Cherry:
We said we wouldn’t look for each other.
Me:
That was your rule, and it was a terrible one. I demand a recount.
Cherry:
Since there are only two of us in this conversation… Motion denied.
Me:
Damn. I really thought I had a chance there.
Cherry:
It’s good to have dreams.
I huff out a laugh, shaking my head.
God, I have way too much fun talking to her. And all I know about her is that she likes baking, lives in a dorm, hates fake people, and somehow, in a way I can’t explain, she gets me.
Me:
So, if one day we were in the same place… would you want to meet me?
Cherry:
And ruin the fun of this mystery? Not a chance.
I exhale, smiling to myself.
Fine. I’ll play her game.
Tucking my phone into my pocket, I glance around, scanning faces like an idiot, knowing it’s pointless. She could be anywhere. She could be someone I’ve never met. And somehow, that just makes me want to know her more.