3. Best-Laid Plans
BEST-LAID PLANS
SUTTON
Lake Capitano—the cricket-scheming, questionably dressed roadblock—hasn’t left my head in days. She has burrowed into my bone marrow with every intent to eat away at my sensibility until I become a husk of mindless thought.
I’m a pretty simple guy, alright? I have a set routine that I don’t stray from, I love the gym and food, and that’s basically where my personality ends.
But for the first time in a long time, my body doesn’t feel like it’s going through the motions or moving at half-speed through dense molasses.
Lake is the much-needed change that blew in on my doorstep on one fatefully cold night.
I knew of her, sure, but actually talking to her made me realize that Buford holds the world title for Stupidest Cuntwagon in All of Existence. No self-respecting person would let someone like Lake get away, and definitely not because said person had sex with another girl.
She’s—God, she’s so out of his league that it isn’t even funny. How did he even get on her radar looking like Quasimodo’s inbred cousin?
Look, I wouldn’t wish a relationship breakup on anyone, but if Buford hadn’t shown his true colors, I may have never gotten to meet the girl that now occupies one third of my brain.
Long, wavy, blonde hair; freckles that stipple starbursts onto her upholstered bone structure; eyes bluer than the Caribbean that can suck me into her undertow.
She’s too stunning for her own good. She has the kind of face that you never forget, and the kind that would drive any levelheaded man into madness.
I’m right there on the brink, teetering over an abyss.
I didn’t get Lake’s number. I was so fixated on how beautiful she was that I forgot all about my date proposal. At the time, I was only interested in saving her from handcuffs.
Luckily for me, I got the hell out of Dodge before Buford pulled up to the house.
I haven’t heard from him since, which means that he probably correlated his cricket infestation with an unattended window.
Would I have liked to see his face when he found out that his room was turned into an impromptu Petco?
Yes, I would have. But it was more important keeping Lake’s whereabouts under lock and key.
I don’t know how I’ll be able to contact her again.
I could follow her on Instagram, sure, but that might raise some suspicion from my friends.
I love my inner hockey circle to death, but if I give them even the slightest impression that I’m interested in someone, they’ll start sticking their noses in places they don’t belong.
I mean, I have to run into Lake on campus at some point, right? Minnesota University isn’t that big. Just, like, twenty thousand acres and then some.
The attraction was definitely there. It took everything in my power not to pop a boner while she was standing in front of me, half-naked, with curves that I could only fantasize about running my hands over. Did I mention she has the cutest cluster of stars tattooed right over her left ribcage?
Lake Capitano is the epitome of perfection. If I don’t get these feelings of infatuation under control, I’m going to end up blindly clawing my way through this semester.
I really hope I see her again. My sanity depends on it.
Making my way over to the rink for early morning practice, I slog along with my twenty-pound duffel hanging off my shoulder, unwrapping an overly expensive breakfast sandwich from the quad’s main building.
Usually, a protein shake is all I need to get the day started, but I was too busy spending the better half of my morning poring over Lake’s well-tailored Instagram to make one.
Lots of thrift store pictures, the occasional selfie, one or two photos of her with some of her friends; thankfully no retina-scorching images of her ex-boyfriend.
Unlike a lot of the students here, it seems like she only posts when she wants to—not when it’s expected of her.
She’s not trying to be some internet celebrity that everyone else emulates.
And that may sound depressing, but Minnesota University is a flashy school.
Facades are currency, and deceit is a concealed undercurrent.
I break off a piece of my steaming English muffin before squishing it into my mouth. I continue to trudge across campus, parting a wave of students with the silent supplication of my body. People tend to do that when you’re a whopping six foot five and two hundred fifty pounds.
It takes me a second to register the slight tug on my backpack, but when I do, I whip around to find Lake standing before me, offering me my folded clothes. I forgot how small she is. I mean, realistically, she’s average height, but I’m kind of used to being the most gargantuan person in the room.
She’s here. Am I dreaming? Fuck, I don’t care if I am. Don’t wake me up.
“Hi,” she greets, nestled in a black-and-white-striped sweater, complete with tiny, deliberate tears in the thread. The tip of her nose is red and windbitten, and her minty breath spiders into the atmosphere in a tendril of semitranslucent white.
Maple Grove is going through a cold winter. As attested by my T-shirt and shorts, obviously.
“You’re—I—hi.” A warm and fuzzy feeling blossoms in the pit of my belly, where my half-digested breakfast sits like a brick. I feel super clammy. My heart won’t stop body-slamming against my ribs. My synapses are misfiring on every front.
Why do I get so twisted up when I’m around her? We barely know each other.
“Sorry to ambush you like this. I wanted to return your clothes as soon as possible. I, uh, washed them and everything,” she says, nudging the cotton olive branch closer to me.
A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I wanted to. Plus, it was the least I could do to repay you.”
When I reach out to reclaim possession of my clothes, our hands brush on accident, and a lance of electricity zaps up my arm.
These sparks are waiting to burst into flames, and I fear for the hellfire that I’m about to unleash if I give in to my basal desires.
Stomping them out would be as fruitless as a sinner’s prayer. Blasphemous, even.
A croak fizzles in my throat. “It’s no big deal, really. How did you find me?”
“Sutton, I could see the top of your head all the way from the science building. You’re not hard to track down.” She chuckles, and fuck, does that sweet timbre do something terrible to my self-control. Buffs it down until there’s no fortified barrier standing between me and animalistic impulse.
“Oh.”
“Mm-hm. I have a pretty full class schedule today, so I didn’t think I’d get another chance to speak with you.”
I arch one of my brows in confusion. “What class do you have this early in the morning?”
She ascends on her tiptoes, and maybe it’s the fifty-degree weather or my lack of sustenance or an unfortunate amalgamation of both, but I foolishly think she’s about to kiss me when she swats at the crumbs in my beard. She doesn’t seem to be disgusted though.
Blood deluges my cheeks with the ferocity of water rushing through a broken dam.
“Gender and Sexuality with Mrs. Kaminsky.”
“That sounds like a pretty calm way to start off the day,” I comment.
Ugh. Am I seriously making small talk right now?
I’m going to bore this girl to death. She has every opportunity to turn and run now that there’s no debt between us.
Not that…not that returning my clothes was something she had to do.
I was kind of hoping she’d keep them and condition herself to associate my smell with all those warm, fuzzy feelings. Pavlov-style.
“Things actually get pretty heated during discussion time. Lots of pent-up rage over the continuous mistreatment of women in society.”
My spine goes ramrod straight. “Oh, that’s…right…”
Come on, dude! You’re striking out. Hard. This is embarrassing.
Suddenly, this miniature blonde bombshell steps into me, analyzing me far more closely than I’d like, as if perusing my poorly constructed charade for a hairline fracture that reveals the timid, crush-ridden boy underneath.
On the outside, I appear to be the calmest person in the room. People feel comforted by that. I truly believe I was put on this earth to help others, and I can’t do that if I go into every hypothetical with bazookas blazing.
My father is a firefighter. He puts his life at risk every day to save people.
He’s the bravest person I know, and I’d be lying if I said that some part of me feels guilty for not contributing more to society.
I want to be needed. But, realistically, where I’m needed most right now is at hockey practice.
Do I enjoy playing hockey? Absolutely. Do I think I’m good enough to go pro? Maybe, but it’s not what interests me. My friends, though—Crew and Knox—they’ve got that shit in the bag. They’re better than this school, and they’re going to make a name for themselves in the big league.
“Are you always this nervous?” Lake asks, more genuine than condescending, as if she can’t quite wrap her head around why someone like me would be paralyzed in the presence of someone like her.
She’s spunky. She doesn’t play it safe. Lake goes after what she wants, and it’s sexy as hell.
I fasten my gaze to the top of her head, feeling the broad width of my frame shrink the more she interrogates me. She’s really close to my face right now. Every thought embeds itself into my brain like blistering shrapnel, melting that little gray area responsible for emotional regulation.
My lips pop open to say something—anything—but Lake disassembles my cool-guy guise in a matter of seconds.
“Wait, am I making you nervous? You’re sweatier than usual.”
“Thanks?”
She lowers to the soles of her feet, but she can’t contain the little grin prodding at her mouth. “Sorry, I just meant—I’m surprised, is all.”
It’s my turn to share in the confusion. “Why?”
“You had a lot of charisma when we first met,” she explains.
“That was before I had a full-blown conversation with you.”
Before I got to know a glimmer of who you are beyond your reputation. You’re so much more than the victim in Buford’s story—or the villain, as he’s been relaying to anyone idiotic enough to listen.
Lake continues, choosing to ignore my answer. “I’m the outlaw around here. Nobody really cares about me. I play by my own rules, and most people don’t like that. But you, Sutton, you’re everyone’s friend. I’m honestly surprised the university president hasn’t given you the key to the school yet.”
I didn’t realize I had such a reputation. Like, yeah, sure, I saved that girl from almost getting flattened by a bicyclist, and I feed the clearly not malnourished squirrels on campus because I have enough trail mix to go around, but I’m not a celebrity Samaritan by any means.
Rallying a small morsel of confidence, I puff my chest out, willing the cramping in my belly to subside. “I care, Lake. A lot more than you think I do.”
She scoffs good-naturedly, letting my compliment roll off her shoulders. “You barely know me.”
In this very moment, something magical happens. A lightbulb goes off in my head, and considering my brain is usually out of service around a pretty girl with an even more stunning personality, this is unprecedented.
“I want to learn more. Over dinner.”
Lake perks up. “Dinner?”
I’m not a pro at flirting. It doesn’t come naturally to me.
Sometimes I say the wrong thing, and I scare people away.
Lake makes everything easy. Sure, I may be shaking like a ten-pound chihuahua caught in a rainstorm, but my unfettered desire to truly get to know her supersedes any of my irrational fears.
“We never did plan that date,” I say with a smile, fighting the urge to reach out and tuck a rogue strand of hair behind her ear.
Her pallor pinkens just slightly. “Do you really think that’s a good idea? Considering I’m your teammate’s ex?”
“I honestly think it’s the best idea I’ve ever had. And if Buford has a problem with it, he can answer to me.”
Lake ponders my proposition, schooling her expression so I have no idea what she could possibly be thinking right now. Is she trying to find a polite way to turn me down? Is she weighing the pros and cons? Did I misread this entire situation and overestimate her attraction toward me?
My fingers claw at the clothes still bundled in the hammock of my arms, and a part of me wishes she hadn’t washed her scent away. Terpenes, petrichor, day-old perfume—I would’ve taken any of it.
It feels like an eternity drags by before she comes to a conclusion. My nerves are becoming concerningly more ungovernable—free agents of chaos. Operating with the means of elevating heart rates and slicking palms.
Lake can’t hide the frisson of giddiness dancing in her eyes, nor can she snuff out the tiny dimple that shows itself at my expense. “In that case, then, I’d love to go to dinner with you.”