Chapter 12 The Morning After
THE MORNING AFTER
MATS
Kill your fucking alarm, Becks, she mutters. Oh, right, it’s Cleo, and she’s still asleep. I silence the alarm and slip out of bed.
I look back at her. She’s sleeping with one arm over her face and the covers partially kicked off.
I can see the swell of her full breasts through the flimsy T-shirt and the creamy skin of her bare hip and muscular thigh.
Seeing her this way feels like a very intimate sight, and not one that I’m entitled to.
I quickly pull on my pants. All Cleo needs is to wake up and find me leering at her with a massive hard-on. I grab the rest of my clothes and head to the bathroom.
I hop into the shower. While it would be easy to rub one out now, I resist. Not only do I suspect that Geraldine has X-ray vision, I’m also worried about setting off an incident that would set back Monarch fundraising for years: Old mansion must have septic system flushed after hockey player clogs pipes with excessive amounts of semen.
Better to not risk it; I’ll let the cool water do the job of easing my erection.
Once I’m fully scrubbed and rinsed, I towel off and get dressed.
I hate being cliché, and what could be more predictable than being attracted to Cleo after we had to spend a night in the same bed?
But when I walked back into the bedroom and saw her with her pretty hair down and wearing the world’s tightest T-shirt…
well, I had an immediate physical reaction.
I comb out my hair and rub a hand over my chin. I need to shave, but Geraldine hasn’t supplied razors. I gaze unseeingly into the mirror.
Normally, Cleo’s clothing hides her body, rather than showing off her curves and muscles. Either she’s indifferent to fashion or prefers to deflect male attention. Based on all her bad date stories, maybe it’s a shield.
At our first dinner, I was shocked when Cleo listed all the jerks she had dated.
Of course, my initial reaction was that she deserved better, not that it had to be me.
But, over time, I’ve been seduced by her transparency.
Cleo wears her emotions on the surface. She reminds me of a Ragdoll cat; so trusting that you can’t let them wander outside because they have no natural defence mechanisms.
And now, is there something happening between us? Fuck, I can’t even tell.
I tap on the bedroom door, and when Cleo answers, I call through the door that I’m going to clean off the car and see if the roads are clear yet.
After a normal, but greasy, meal of bacon and eggs, we make it to school on time and with a minimum of conversation.
Apparently, Cleo is not a morning person, but that’s fine with me.
I’m already confused enough. Just yesterday, I told Sinc I wasn’t interested in dating anyone.
One night in bed with Cleo can’t change all that, can it?
As I pull up in front of her house, she faces me and half-smiles. That was kind of fun, right?
Yeah. I take her in: her scrubbed face, her neat braids, her clear blue eyes, her puffer coat hood pulled up to ward off the morning chill. And now I know exactly how she looks under all those layers.
So, don’t forget, this Friday is my game. You know, the one that you and Marjorie are coming to?
It’s already in my planner.
She rolls her eyes. Of course you have a planner.
Don’t you? It’s hard to imagine balancing school, hockey, and extracurriculars without one. And Cleo’s captain of her team.
I put stuff on my phone. That’s it, though.
Oh no, better watch out or they’ll take your free-spirit card away, I tease.
She makes a face. Maybe we should go back to the time when I was the funny one, and you were my captive audience?
You mean yesterday? A lot has happened since then.
She giggles. You’re a lot more fun than I expected.
I watch her go into the house, then head to my place, park, and go inside to get ready for the day.
Swanny and Bergy are having breakfast.
You’re home. We were worried about you, Bergy says.
I shrug. I messaged Sinc that I was staying over.
And that was only because he was already worried about the bad weather. We don’t usually report to each other if we’re not coming home.
Yeah, he told us. We were more worried about you and Cleo Nelson having a fight to the death because you were cooped up together for so long, Swanny jokes.
Hey, it wasn’t one of those ‘only one bed’ things like in the movies, was it? Bergy asks.
It’s a big mansion, I reply, avoiding his question altogether. But who knows what Cleo is telling her roommates about our night together?
AFTER CLASSES, SINC AND I WALK TO PRACTICE TOGETHER.
How did last night really go? he asks.
Fine. Good, actually. Cleo and I have made a peace treaty.
Oh, that’s great news. She’s always been really nice to me, he says.
I’ve heard she’s nice—from everyone else. I chuckle. It’s funny, but I’ve actually enjoyed sparring with her. I hope that’s not over.
Sinc’s eyebrows rise. Really? Why?
Maybe it’s because I don’t have to censor myself.
I knew I couldn’t impress her. I shrug. It’s difficult to put into words, but our dinners helped me to get out of my post-breakup funk.
I got to be myself, instead of having to meet someone’s expectations.
Marjorie set the tone with her straight-shooting ways.
Is she someone you could go out with? asks Jack.
I’m glad you’re happy with Andy, but all of us don’t need to be paired up, I scoff. Then a memory flashes of a half-dressed Cleo in bed this morning. I blink it away and yank open the door of the dressing room.
As we’re changing for practice, there’s a commotion across the room. I glance over and see that someone new is here, a guy I don’t recognize, with a fresh fade, brown leather jacket, and narrow jeans.
Who’s that? I ask Swanny, who sits next to me on the bench.
He gives me an incredulous look. Dude, it’s Charlie.
Luke Charlevoix? Holy shit.
What the fuck, Charlie? I hear Schmidty call out. Coty says something in French that sounds mostly like swearing.
Getting all fancy now? Wally, our goalie, asks.
She’s really got you by the short and curlies, Burly jeers.
Naw, he’s all manscaped now, aren’t you, Charlie? What Lana wants, Lana gets, mocks O.D.
Charlie replies with laughing denials as he sheds his new clothes. I can’t get over how different he looks.
I never changed like that when I first went out with Lana.
It was the opposite: she liked the way I looked, but not my personality.
I was too quiet for the sociable Lana; she worried that her friends would think I was a snob.
Which may be why she created my brooding online image.
She’s brilliant as a marketer, but not so much as a supportive girlfriend.
The guy used to be a good-natured slob and now he’s a fucking fashion model. No girlfriend is worth that, scoffs Swanny. In case you still have regrets.
I laugh. I’m getting some perspective. It’s like being that frog in the pot. At first, you think everything is fine, but the heat keeps rising.
He pulls on his practice jersey. I could not date a high-maintenance woman.
Lana has a lot of good qualities, I protest. Although right now, it’s hard to remember them.
When we’re on the ice running drills, Sinc lines up beside me. Did you see Charlie?
I nod.
I don’t get it. Why doesn’t she just pick someone that she likes? Why does she have to change them?
You’re asking me? I’ve already been there and done that, I quip.
And gotten the ripped T-shirt that he’s wearing today? Sinc jokes. At least she’s not making him look like you.
That would be weird. I shudder, then skate off to do the shooting drill. When Sinc is also done, we pick up the conversation.
So, what kind of Perfect Internet Boyfriend is he supposed to be? Sinc asks.
Given the leather jacket, I’m thinking he’s the bad boy. You know, the guy from the wrong side of the tracks. Nice girls are always attracted to them.
It’s easy to imagine Charlie in that role.
He even has a scar across his cheek from a freak skate incident.
And he’s got that French-Canadian accent to add an exotic quality.
But his easy-going personality is the opposite of a bad boy.
His friendliness must suit Lana though, and he’s obviously ready to do anything to make her happy.
Yeah. I can totally see that, Sinc agrees. It’s amazing, the way you can figure out all this shit. He pauses for a beat, then asks, Do you think we should warn Charlie?
How would we frame that? Hey, you’re sleeping with one of the hottest women on campus, but you should know that you’re going to end up with an online image that will make even more women want to date you. Charlie would be like, ‘You know, I’m good.’
We both laugh. I hated the fake popularity, but I’m an exception.
I guess she’s practising the campsite rule of leaving things better than you found them, jokes Sinc. Do you think we should peek at Lana’s socials?
I shake my head. Nothing good is going to come of that. Who cares if I’m right? I’m out, and I’m not going to start stalking my exes.
Yeah. Better stay out of it. He pauses thoughtfully. But this is exactly the kind of thing that Andy would enjoy. Maybe I’ll get her to investigate and report back to us.
Whatever. Sinc is determined to find out if my theory is right, but I don’t really care. Still, it’s a good distraction, instead of letting my mind obsess about what Cleo’s breasts would look like without a thin layer of cotton over them.