8. Brodie
Sully: Dude, what’s up with Lizzy?
The text comesin as soon as she slips back through my door and says, “I just met your roommate Sully in the hallway.” She pauses. “He winked at me.”
Me: What about her?
Sully: Is she actually spending the night in your room?
Me: Yeah I’m helping her out.
Sully: Like ACTUALLY helping her out? Or “helping” her out?
Me: Don’t be an idiot.
Sully: I’m being serious, dude—she’s kind of hot.
Kind of hot?
What the fuck? Lizzy isn’t kind of anything. She is.
She is hot.
Me: So?
Sully: Seriously, dude, you make me wonder sometimes.
Me: Wonder about what?
Sully: Wonder how you can have a chick like that in your room and not wreck that shit.
Jesus. I hate when they talk like this—when they put every female who walks through this door in the same category: like nobodies. Like they’re only in this house to have sex with.
Me: No one says “wreck that” anymore
Sully: Except everyone says that. Wreck that pussy. Hit it or quit it. Tap that ass.
Me: LOL knock it off, asshole.
Sully: Seriously. You’re just going to sit in your room and awkwardly stare at her?
Me: I’m not sitting here staring at her. She’s reading, and I’m…
I’m…
What am I doing?
Nothing, actually—but I’m gonna, as soon as I’m done texting this idiot. Once I figure out how I’m supposed to act with a girl hanging out in my room—and what I should do with myself so I don’t come off like a creep or a weirdo.
I’m boring, okay?
I barely drink, I don’t go out trying to have sex with randoms that I’m not trying to have a relationship with, I’m not loud and I don’t seek out attention like so many of my teammates, including the ones I live in a house with.
Those are the facts.
Sully: Your doing what?
It takes a bit of self-control not to correct his grammar and send him a *You’re simply to be an asshole.
Me: Watching a movie
Sully: Which one, maybe I wanna watch it
Me: When have you ever wanted to watch a movie with me in my room?
Sully: Since you have a cute girl in there, you fucking dullard.
Where did he learn a word like dullard?
Me: Are you seriously texting me while you’re taking a dump?
I look over at Lizzy, who has made herself comfortable on my bed, spreading herself out and playing around on her phone. Actually she’s reading—told me so herself—on some book app or whatever.
Sully: Don’t I always text you when I’m taking a dump?
Yes. Yes, he does, actually.
Sully: ’Bout to shower, I stink.
Me: Where were you guys tonight, btw?
Sully: Benny wanted to run some drills. He’s been trying to get off the bench, so we met him on the ice. GO JACKS!
Benny is one of our teammates and fourth line. Sounds like he’s trying to get a better line position—which isn’t an easy thing to do. They generally recruit you for your position, and he’s a freshman—which means he’s trying to steal an upperclassman’s position.
Not uncommon but…you know. It’s a long shot.
“Are you going to stand there all night or like, come sit down?” Lizzy’s voice cuts into my thoughts. “I’m not trying to make it weird. I just don’t want you to feel uncomfortable in your own bedroom—you don’t have to stand over there.”
Right.
But wouldn’t sitting on the bed with her be even weirder, or sitting on the couch facing away from her?
I falter, not sure what to do with myself, at the same time my phone pings with another notification from my idiot roommate and teammate who’s shitting and showering in the next room, trying to get up in my business.
For the first time in the entire time they’ve known me, I actually have business and I won’t lie, it’s kind of nice having one up on them.
Not saying I’m a loser or anything, just saying I could step it up a notch when it comes to my social life. Year after year, as the upperclassman would enter the NHL draft, I would watch women throwing themselves at my buddies—not always for the right reasons. It left a sour taste in my mouth and I got choosey after that, not wanting to be taken advantage of.
Or used.
My roommates on the other hand?
Will take what they can get, when they can get it.
Sully isn’t shy, nor is he shy about going after something he wants.
That dude has had more girlfriends in the time I’ve known him than I can count on two hands. He belongs on Fuck Boy Island but that’s only my opinion. And it’s not uncommon for my friends to sleep with lots of women—some of them even claim they do it to help the way they play.
There’s a science behind sex and adrenaline and the endorphins some of my teammates prescribe to, and therefore—fuck a bunch.
Sully and Charlie being two of them.
“Earth to Brodie.” Lizzy snaps her fingers, setting her phone on the bed so she can study me as I waffle, shuffling to the bed, dreading the intimacy of having her in my room. Lizzy watches me intently when I walk to the couch, my knees bumping against it.
Should I sit here? Or there?
“Oh my god, stop being awkward and sit down.” She leans across the bed and grabs my hand, pulling me down onto the mattress. “I don’t bite.”
I should probably turn the television on and actually watch a movie the way I said I would do, but when Lizzy moves—adjusting herself again to get resituated—her breasts are up over the neckline of her tank top, and I can see the outline of her nipples.
Jesus, why the fuck would she wear that?
It’s worse than the robe, which has long been discarded on my desk chair, forgotten.
“Do you mind if I turn on a movie?” I ask.
“Totally—let’s watch a movie.” Her phone gets set down, and Lizzy props a pillow behind her head and bends her knees, fabric from her shorts sagging and giving me a clear shot of her smooth under thigh.
Who knew that spot on a woman’s body could be so fucking…smooth and sexy?
Not me.
Plus, if she’s wearing underwear, I cannot see it.
Rather than take a seat next to her as she’s prompting me to do, I take a seat on the couch at the foot of the bed, already pointing the remote at the TV to get my mind off her legs and boobs and hair and how good she smells.
The TV comes to life with the last channel I was watching on its screen. TOO HOT TO HANDLE.
Oh jeez.
Not this.
Quickly, I scroll over and away from it, my cheeks flaming hot with embarrassment. Not that I care what she thinks about the shows I watch, but I don’t want her to think I care about the tits and ass and?—
“Wait. Go back. Were you watching Too Hot to Handle?”
“Was I?”
“Were you?”
“No.” I’m not sure why I lie but I do, ignoring her request to flip back, instead flipping through to get to the movies, not a single one of them looks appealing. As if I’d be able to concentrate.
No chance.
Some of these reality TV shows, especially the ones where they’re dating, are my secret pleasure. I’m not about to go blabbing that to anybody who asks though. Too bad I’m not into crime documentaries or police drama or the occasional comic book hero.
But no.
My favorite thing to do is watch trash reality dating shows.
“You’re seriously going to sit on that dinky couch?”
“Is it dinky?” I glance down at it, smoothing my large hand over the canvas fabric, a surprise from my mom the last time she was in town for one of my games.
It was a bitch getting this thing up here, but it’s cool having a second spot to chill or watch TV and a place for my roommates to sit when they’re in my room.
No one wants their skanky asses on my bed.
Speaking of beds…
It’s not that I don’t want to get on the bed with Lizzy. It’s just that I don’t feel like I’d know what to do with myself if I did.
Spread out?
Lay around in boxer shorts like I normally do?
I’m already in my pajamas although I don’t normally wear pajamas bottoms—I’m only in them now because it’s not like I’m going to hang out in front of Lizzy with my saggy balls in the underwear I normally sleep in.
So here I am wearing the fucking pants, pulling at the crotch uncomfortably when Lizzy has her head turned.
I do my best to get myself settled. It’s not easy—the only thing I can concentrate on is the sound of Lizzy and her breathing and tapping on her phone to flip the pages.
I don’t care what we watch.
Before I can say another word or start another a conversation, the door flies open, banging on the wall behind it with a thud.
“Knock, knock, motherfucker.” Sully has his face already through the door, not waiting for an invitation to come inside. “Oh shit—you really are only chilling in here. Thought maybe I’d catch you two crazy kids up to something else in here.”
Wet from his shower and wrapped only in a bath towel, the asshole is literally dripping water on to my floor.
Seriously.
What the fuck is he doing, trying to look sexy?
My suspicious are confirmed when he leans against the doorjamb, glances down at himself, and flexes his pec muscles.
Christ. What a showboating blowhard.
He may be one of my best friends, but he makes it impossible to relax with a guest in my room.
Lizzy looks amused and smiles at him but otherwise says nothing, and I can tell she has no idea where to look. His chest, the ceiling, or at me.
The fucking nerve of this guy.
“Could you knock, dude? What the fuck?”
Sully ignores me so he can give his full attention to Lizzy and I know this little visit has nothing to do with me and everything to do with the girl sitting in the center of my bed.
“But for real, what are you up to?”
Lizzy has her phone in her hand again, presumably back to her book. “Reading,” she says, glancing at me. “Watching TV.”
“Reading?” Sully snorts, giving his hair a toss, beads of water spraying every which way. “Nerd alert!”
My temporary roommate laughs, not minding that he’s basically insulting her by calling her a nerd. To her face.
“Reading is sexy.” She smiles and rolls her eyes. “Did you not get the memo?”
My roommate crosses his arms over a defined chest—scars and bruises bared for all to see. We all have cuts, scars, and bruises, but Sully has more than most; he loves a good brawl on the ice, and it shows. He has a brand-new shiner beneath his eye that’s starting to turn purple, always on the verge of suspension.
“I just think it’s weird the two of you are in here doing nothing.” He eyes us suspiciously for no reason, nodding his head toward Lizzy. “And she doesn’t want to come down to the living room.”
“Of course we’re in here doing nothing. It’s a school night,” I grumble because I’m an even bigger nerd and because Sully is a fucking idiot, and I want him to leave.
His scrutiny of our situation makes me uncomfortable, and although Lizzy looks perfectly at ease, I don’t want him to make her feel weird. “She has a squirrel in her bedroom.”
“I know, she told me. You could have called me to handle it.” Sully winks at her. “In fact, we can go over now if you want. I’ll bring my stick.”
Lizzy sits stone-faced.
“Your stick?” She laughs, tossing her head back. “Oh jezuzzz.”
“Hockey stick.” Sully winks again. “What’d you think I meant?”
“I thought you meant your hockey stick.”
Good girl.
She is not giving him an inch with which to make an innuendo.
Sully cocks his head to the side, and I study him some more. I want to tell him to leave, but I don’t want to make it obvious—don’t want to look…like I want him out of my room when he’s in here all the time annoying me. So this is nothing new, it’s just different because I have a girl here.
“You’re single, right?” He wants to know.
Lizzy nods. “Yes, I’m single.”
“Like. Actually single or ‘single.’” He uses quotation marks when he says it again, implying that she could be in an open relationship or willing to cheat.
She laughs. “Yes, actually single.”
“Cool.” He’s nodding along as if more words were coming. “Have any plans this weekend?”
Plans this weekend?
He and I have plans this weekend—we have a game. Or have his hormones clouded his judgment?
“We have a game this weekend,” I remind him.
Sully doesn’t look fazed. “Right, right…” He clears his throat. “What I meant was, do you have any plans tomorrow night?”
Lizzy looks at me, then looks at Sully.
Then glances at me again.
She shakes her pretty head. “Nope, no plans tomorrow night.”
She’s talking slowly, measuring her words, and I can tell she has no idea where he’s going with this line of questioning—and furthermore, neither do I.
“Let’s go somewhere and eat tomorrow then, eh? You and me.”
Her eyes get wide. From surprise? From excitement? Hard to say, but in my opinion, Sully is embarrassing himself, and I’m glad she recognizes the fact that he’s being a fucking tool. Just when I think she’s about to say no she?—
“Sure. I could eat.”
Agrees with him.
Just like that. No discussion on the topic, no hesitating.
Sully taps the doorjamb and grins, shooting those goddamn pearly whites at her—then at me—happy as a pig in shit, and I know if Lizzy weren’t lying on the bed watching him, he would have yanked his towel off and snapped me with it, the same way he’s done dozens of times, just to be a shithead.
“Sweet! We’ll link up later.” Another tap to the door. “You kids behave in here. Hands to yourselves. Or not.”
Link up later.
What does that even mean?
I honestly can’t fucking believe my roommate just asked Lizzie out on a date. Sure he disguised it as something casual… Grabbing a bite to eat? Not likely. The douchebag is going to try to sleep with her afterward, I just know it. I know how he operates, and it makes me sick to my stomach.
Why do I even give a shit?
It’s not like I have a thing for her. Oh wait, I do have a thing for her—or at least, I did. Nothing shrivels up a dick faster than ones roommate scamming on the girl-next-door you have a slight boner for. The good news is Sully has no idea—so it’s not like he’s breaking bro code or anything but it does kind of feel fuckin shitty.
This is my own friggin fault for not saying anything.
Not that I would.
I’m the asshole here with my limp dick in my hand.