21. The Beginning Of a Love Story
21
THE BEGINNING OF A LOVE STORY
MALLORY
The Summer Before Freshman Year
“Couldn’t you have worn a longer shirt?”
Cole exhales so hard that I'm almost convinced smoke will come out of his nose.
Today is the hockey tryouts for Covington University’s hockey team, The Grizzly Bears. My dad has been their coach for the last three years while Cole and I have been at Winchester Preparatory Academy, located on the edge of New Hampshire. That’s where we met.
Cole Jensen, my boyfriend. We met in sophomore year and have kind of been on and off ever since. He’s different from when we met. Back then, his hair was long–ish and blonde, with pale skin and kind eyes. Now his hair is buzzed, he’s a lot leaner, his skin is tan and glowy, and his eyes are still the same shade of brown they were before, but now, they’re no longer kind. Cole was so nice to me when we met. He liked me, even if I doubted it. People always came up to me and tried to be nice to me when they found out my dad used to be in the NHL and that my brother is one of the top player in The Rangers. But Cole seemed so different. I thought he liked me.
Fifteen-year-old Mallory was a sucker for romance.
Eighteen-year-old Mallory knows better.
Cole and I have been on and off for a reason, though it’s never been voiced out loud. He wants in. Into the NHL. Into the black amex, lavish hockey player lifestyle. And he needs me to do it because we both know he can’t on his own. It’s an unspoken secret that lingers around us, curling around our bodies wherever we go. I didn’t care, it’s not like I have a say in what my dad does anyway. Even if he loved Cole – which he doesn’t, I can tell – a phone call to the right people won’t do anything to help. The same for my brother Henry. He’s ten years older than me, and has been playing since he graduated six years ago. Henry could put in a word, I suppose, but even if I asked nicely – which I won’t – he won’t do it. He practically scowls at the mention of his name.
I don’t blame him though. Cole’s not as nice to me as he used to be. A rude comment here, and weird look there, that’s what it used to be. Now I feel like I can’t even leave the house without him whining about the way I breathe.
Like today, for example.
My dad asked me to help out with the admin side of tryouts. Look at their times, stuff like that. I’m currently standing in Covington University’s main ice rink, wearing a crop top and a knitted cardigan, with black yoga pants and white converse. My crop top sits just above my belly button, showing just a sliver of skin, which is apparently too much for his royal highness.
If I were the type of girl to make excuses for him, I’d say that he’s just stressed because of tryouts. You see, dear old Cole thought dating the coach’s daughter would get you a free vip pass to the team without having to try out.
Boy was he wrong.
There’s some really talented guys here today.
Like this one guy, I think his surname begins with A, like abbott or Abney or something. He’s hot. I think the air wooshed out of my body when I saw him arrive. Tall, sun–kissed skin sparkles against his muscular body – not overly, just enough – with gorgeous curly locks that fall around his ears. He has a nose that looks way too big for his face, but kind of works for him.
Oh, and has the piercest green eyes i’ve ever seen. They’re so dreamy. He looked at me for a total of five seconds, and his gaze bore straight through me, right to the thick layers of my heart.
I love him.
I don’t know his name, but I love him.
I’d totally rig this game in his favour.
I like the fact he was so carefree about trying out for a team he probably needs if he’s going pro. I like his grey Spiderman shirt. I like him. I think I like him more than I ever liked Cole.
Cole.
Right, the boy who ‘loves me’. The boy who is currently yelling at me for wearing a crop top. I tuned him out about five minutes ago, but I think it’s his turn to skate now.
He walks towards me, brushing against my chest with his. Now normally, in boy world, dating a girl with big breasts is supposed to be a turn on, right? Nope not Cole. he might be the exception.
“Jesus, he says, you could’ve worn a fucking sweater or something.” He rakes his eyes over my body, and it gives me chills, the wrong kind. He shakes his head and storms off like a toddler, mumbling something about me being a slut.
Yes, the girl who has only kissed and slept with one person, her boyfriend, is apparently a slut. I wrap my arms around my exposed torso, not even bothering to hide the frown carved onto my face.
Maybe I’ll break up with him. Maybe I’ll finally meet a guy I like who likes me back.
Maybe he’ll cheat. I don’t care anymore. I’m just sick of crying, of frowning. Of feeling so goddamn insecure.
“Cole,” he stops in his tracks, but makes no effort to turn around. “I can’t do this anymore, we’re done.” I say, lifting my chin up, desperately hoping there’s no wobble in his voice. But he doesn’t even turn around. He just says “whatever” and skates onto the rink.
I’m standing on the edge of the rink, clipboard in hand, ready for the first batch of tryouts.
Oliver Ashby
Cole Jensen
Shawn Maddison
Cory Montgomery
Thomas Rose
I call out the names in no particular order, but when Oliver Ashby responds, our eyes lock again.
Woosh. There goes the air.
He had a smile on his face, but it quickly dissolves once he sees my frown. I’m not even trying to hide it anymore. I just want to do the job my dad told me to do and leave .
But when Oliver steps onto the ice, he falls. A boy who looks like he’s been skating longer than he could walk, falls the minute he steps onto the ice.
I burst out laughing, which I probably shouldn’t have done. I press my clipboard up against my mouth, hoping he didn’t see me. But then he looks right at me, and smiles back.
Did I mention I love him?
Oliver and I saw each other again after tryouts. I was in the parking lot, looking through my tote bag for my car keys because, duh it’s a tote bag. It’s like a giant black hole in there. I think I’ve found them when I hear someone call for me.
“Hey, wait up!”
I pause at the sound of the sexiest voice I’ve ever heard. Deep and smooth, rich like honey. I turn around where he stands. Oliver Ashby, the boy from the rink. The one who fell over on the ice. The boy with the dreamy eyes and heart stopping smile. He’s tall. Really tall, with the most gorgeous pair of green eyes I've ever seen. They twinkle at me as he smiles, toying with the strap of his duffle bag. He’s wearing a grey sweatshirt that clings to his muscles. His sun–kissed skin glowing in the light. I suddenly find myself wondering what it would be like to lick every inch of him.
Where the fuck did that come from?
“You’re the boy who fell over on the ice. It was quite the first impression, that's for sure.”
“Yeah, um, not my finest moment, I guess.” He walks a little closer, sticking his hand out. “I’m Oliver. Ashby, but people call me Ollie. ”
I smile at his hand, reaching for it. “Mallory. Grace. My friends call me Mallie, or Mal.”
He shakes my hand, and fireworks ignite from the touch. He lets go first, flexing his fingertips at his side.
“So I uh, oh man, um. This is um, going to sound lame, and I don’t mean to be presumptuous or anything, but would you uh, like to go for food or something?”
Oh. Oh wow.
“Not as a date or anything” he quickly adds. “I know you have a boyf–”
“We broke up.” I add, smiling. “But even as a non–date, I would like to get some food with you.”
“Wait, really?”
I arch my eyebrow. “You were expecting me to say no?”
“Well uh, kinda?” He rubs the back of his neck, his cheeks turning pink. “You’re really pretty and very out of my league so i’d kind of assumed you’d tell me to fuck off.”
I laugh out loud. It’s the first time a boy has made me laugh in a while. “Did you drive here?” He shakes his head. “There’s a diner on Orchid street – Elsie’s. It's a 24–hour, all day breakfast, that kind of thing. A Covington staple. I can drive us, then drop you off at the dorms after?”
“Sounds uh, yeah that sounds good. Lead the way. Oh, do you want to change first?”
I spin around to face him. His eyes widen at my sudden movement. “I’m sorry, do my yoga pants offend you?” I challenge. His smile just grows.
Goddamnit. Dimples. He has dimples. I love dimples.
“No,” he says, lessening the distance between us. “But your chattering teeth do.”
“The diner has heating, and so does my car.”
I walk towards the passenger seat, gesturing for him to enter like I'm a carriage man from regency England or something. He smirks at me as he shuffles over to my car, bowing as he tries to fit his tall stature into my car. He chucks his bag into my back seat as I round the car, jump in and buckle my seatbelt , put the car in reverse.
The entire car ride to the diner he won’t sit still.
“You okay over there?” I ask, not taking my hands off the wheel.
“Huh, oh, yeah. I’m just uh, used to my truck. That’s all.”
I pull into the parking lot and kill the engine. “You were a trooper, don’t worry.” He smiles at me again, and I think, if I died right now, looking at those dimples and gorgeous green eyes. I would die happy, I think. His smile widens even more, little creases forming in the corners by his dimples. And I don't even think. I just reach over the console and kiss him.
On the lips.
I just kissed a stranger.
“I – I am so sor–”
He leans over and cups my face. And then he kisses me. On the lips. When we break away, he runs his thumb over my swollen bottom lip. His lips are pink and puffy, his eyes a darker shade of green. I like this shade.
“I’ve been wanting to do that since the moment I stepped foot in that arena.”
“You have?”
He nods. And just as he leans in again, my stomach grumbles, causing him to smile into my lips instead.
“Let's eat first, then we can do that again.”
Meeting at Elsie’s became a regular thing for Ollie and I. We met there almost every day. And on the days we weren’t there, we were still together. The arcade, cineplex, bowling alley, you name it. Ollie and I became inseparable during the entire summer. But we never labelled it. Not when I kissed him in my car that first night. Not when he kissed me in his truck a few weeks later. Not when we had sex for the first time, or every time after that. I was content with keeping it as it was. But then, Cole happened.
Towards the end of summer, Cole texted me with some half–assed speech about how he wants to talk about us. He wanted me back. But I was over Cole. Ollie and I became good friends, but I wanted more. I wanted to be with Oliver, not Cole. I didn’t respond to his message, and instead, I texted Oliver.
Me:
Hey, so I’ve been thinking about our ‘no label’ summer of fun talk and… what if we did put a label on it? I really like you, Ollie.
Meet me at Elsie’s tonight at 7.
We can talk about it?
See you then x
I waited for him.
I sat in our booth, wearing my best date dress. I did my hair and my makeup. I looked pretty. I waited and waited. An hour turned into two, turned into three. He didn’t show up. No call, no text, nothing.
So I gave up on the hope of me and Ollie, and I texted Cole back instead.
Me:
I’ll hear you out.
And that was that.
I didn’t expect to see Oliver Ashby again.
But then I did.