Chapter 17
Seventeen
Taylor
Something bright shining in my eye makes me groan and burrow my face deeper into my pillow. I pull it closer to my face, trying to desperately ignore the fact that I’m already waking up, betrayed by my own body, and try to catch a few more winks before my alarm clock goes off.
But my pillow shifts beneath my face, which is weird, but maybe I migrated to the pillow wall that El constructed for us last night.
Oh, right.
When I wiggle my face further into the pillow, it shifts again and is considerably warmer than expected.
Wait.
I let my eyes blink open and then shut them almost immediately.
No, I didn’t just do this.
I didn’t—
We’re not cuddling.
My pillow, Eloise, shifts again, scooting closer and kicking a leg towards me, wrapping around my hips and tugging me close.
It’s, it’s… oh.
Do I like this? Frank was never a cuddler. When he spooned me, it was nice, but there was always something else attached, expected. This… I know there’s nothing else expected because we’re just… friends.
We’re friends.
Well, if we’re friends, why does my heart feel like it’s going to fly out of my chest?
Am I allowed to bask in this warmth and this— what is this feeling?
Safety? Comfort? I shouldn’t though; this will ruin our relationship.
We’re just becoming friends, and I don’t want to lead her on, because I’m definitely not. ..
No, I’m for sure not.
I pull away from her, trying to ignore the way my hands tremble and my legs feel like jello as I walk away from her and the bed to get ready for the day.
My fingers can barely grasp the zips of my suitcase.
Opening it feels like the loudest possible thing that I could have chosen to do at this time, and I stop when I see the way she wriggles in bed, kicking her leg out as if searching for me in her sleep.
When she settles back down, I release the breath that I didn’t realize I was holding and lock myself into the bathroom with a quiet click of the door.
And then I panic on the toilet.
Is there a label for this? Am I something more than I thought I was? I guess I have to bring this up to Marguerite next session, and she’ll maybe laugh and tell me more about myself that I didn’t know.
But is this… Maybe I’m homophobic?
That’s a lie. I’m not. I love my friends, and I don’t care who anyone loves. But I’m straight.
Right?
I’m so very straight. I don’t look at my friends like that. For one, it’s rude, and I don’t— well, I can’t say I don’t appreciate how they look. But it’s because they’re so stylish. I don’t stare at things lewdly, I’m not some desperate person.
A knock on the door startles me. “Your alarm is ringing, and I have to pee,” Eloise says huskily, and no, that doesn’t do anything to me.
“I’m just finishing up here!” I shout.
I’m rapid as I’m going through the motions, and as I swing the door open, I bump into her.
I can feel the heat of her along the front of my body.
She still has pillow creases on her face, and her brown eyes are still blinking open.
‘“Sorry,” I say, trying to step around her, but she follows me, and then when I step to the other side, she does the same.
She’s not wearing a bra.
Now, that is a weird observation. Taylor, don’t think about it.
“Let me just—” I push her to the side and slide past. I’m not looking at her.
Why would I look at any part of her other than her face?
Which has a sleepy smile that makes me wonder what I’m even doing here.
“Morning,” she whispers before closing the door.
It’s quiet, but somehow also thunderous.
Maybe it’s just my heartbeat. My hands don’t feel like my own, as if they’re still holding onto Eloise, and I’m feeling the silkiness of her skin.
I wipe them against my pants. The texture of the black dress pants is soothing, comforting, familiar. Something that I’m used to.
Not silky.
The toilet flushing startles me out of my thoughts as Eloise comes out, looking a little more awake and grinning.
She’s wearing a beautiful eggplant coloured blazer and cream shirt underneath, over a pair of matching eggplant pants.
Her hair’s pulled back into a slick ponytail, which is long enough to reach her shoulders.
She even looks like she has a bit of makeup on.
“Do I look bad?” she asks.
I blink. “Of course not; you look good. Why?”
“You’re staring.” She crosses her arms, and a wave of embarrassment flushes through me.
“Sorry, It-it’s a nice suit–”
Her smile is blinding. Has it always been blinding? No, it can’t have been. “Thanks. Come on, I can hear your stomach growling from here, and we have a long day of interviews ahead of us.”
I scowl. “I hate interviews.”
She reaches her hand out. Each finger stretched and elegant, nails manicured, and I can see the callouses from working out on her palm. “I do too, but we can have fun today,” she says, waving her hand again.
I tear my eyes from it to look at her. She looks the part, the solid defence woman who will absolutely body you if you get too close to the net. Intimidating.
But fun.
I grab her hand.
“Sounds like a plan.”
It was a shitty plan. The interviews were draining, and it was the same twelve questions over and over and over again.
We’re both at our limits, waiting for this to be over.
“We’re meeting Kenz at seven for supper and then we’re going to go to this new club that she recommended,” Eloise says in my ear.
I have to ignore the shudder that is triggered because of her warm breath on my skin.
There're interviewers and cameras everywhere, and I wonder if they think there’s more between us than the blooming friendship that is feeling more solid by the hour.
Maybe friendships forged in the pain and suffering of interviews are even better than winning a game.
“Where are we going for dinner?”
“A small Italian place a couple blocks from here,” she says, “Kenz says it’s got the best Bolognese she’s had this side of the Earth.”
“Is that a brag that she’s been to Italy?” I mutter.
Eloise rolls her eyes but nods. “I love that girl to death, but she went to Italy one time as a teen and hasn’t let Blake or me forget it since.”
“She sounds insufferable,” I tease.
Eloise nudges me. “Sometimes, but the routine of it all is pretty comforting.”
I nod, biting the inside of my cheek. I’ve never been out of the country, minus travelling to the States for work. It wasn’t in the budget as a kid with the hockey expenses. I never asked though; it never felt right with what my parents were sacrificing to pay for my hockey.
I hope one day I can pay them back. “But we should be out of here soon, and then we can hustle back to the hotel, get changed and party.”
“What will we say when Lawson asks if we’re practicing over here?” I ask. “We didn’t work out this morning.”
“Dancing is exercise.”
I turn fully to look into her warm brown eyes; they look massive this close to me. “He won’t accept that.”
She gives me a teasing smile. “Well, we’ll be sore enough tomorrow, so it’ll be fine.”
“Right.”
“We could also practice learning more about each other’s movements too.” She ignores the way I snort in response. “You know, like we get into each other’s space to learn how we move. Dance and skating are similar, right?"
“Right,” I deadpan.
“Ladies,” someone says with the clearing of a throat.
I startle back, almost falling off the stool I’m sitting on.
Eloise grabs my arm to make sure I can stabilize myself before we fall into a fit of giggles.
It’s really not funny, but maybe we’re both so tired we don’t know how to function anymore.
“Excuse me,” he says again, and slowly, we start to straighten up. She still has her hand on my arm, and I need to make sure that I’m still breathing. “Can we start this interview?” he asks, snippy, and I nod.
Eloise looks like she maybe wants to snap at him for being rude, but I’d rather we get over this and done.
“I’m Silas Murdock with The Hockey Star. I have a few questions if you don’t mind.”
“Pleasure to see you, Silas,” she says, reaching a hand out to shake his. I bite back a grimace. I just want to be over and done with this.
“Likewise.”
He stares at me for a moment, but I don’t reach out to shake his hand until Eloise taps me. “Just do it,” she mutters, “I know this guy, so the quicker, the better.”
“Fine,” I grumble, plastering on a fake smile and shaking his hand. If I grip his hand a little harder than necessary, then he doesn’t say anything.
“Great, lovely to meet you both. We’re going to be flying fast, and then I’ll have you out of here as quickly as possible. First question for Eloise: How did you feel knowing that you were being traded to the Vortex so soon before the season started?”
El’s smile remains frozen. “It was scary at first. I’ve been with the Chill for so long, but I think that this will be a great experience.” She grips my arm a bit tighter. “It was a rocky start, but I think the team and I are really gelling. Everyone’s been so lovely.”
“Even Taylor?” he asks incredulously, and I furrow my brows, wanting to argue, but her hand on my arm stops me.
She seems a bit taken aback by the question as well. “What do you mean? Of course she has.”
“There’s video footage of the two of you arguing. I was wondering if you wanted to make a statement in regard to that.”
She lets out a fake laugh. “It was over something silly; you know what it’s like. Winnie likes to pose hypotheticals in the locker room, and we got a bit heated about it. I can’t even remember what the hypothetical was about now.”
“So the rumour that the two of you have been at odds since you got to the locker room—“
“Unfounded,” I retort. “We’re becoming very fast friends, and once we hit the ice, I realized how much happier I’ll be playing with her than against her. She’s been a thorn in my side throughout our whole professional careers.”