2. Maddox
Maddox
I ’m not sure what made me think that doing my work in Stella Café today would be a smart choice, but here I am.
My best friend, Caleb, works as a part-time barista in this trendy café that’s popular with Camrose students.
Between his classes, hockey, and this part-time job of his, I don’t know how he does it—especially with how crowded the café can get.
It’s close to the campus, and it’s not unusual for it to be this noisy, especially on a Friday afternoon—and here I am, sitting by the bar, trying to drown out the noise around me as I peruse my thesis paper.
Speaking of smart choices, why did I ever decide to take the Accelerated Mathematics Master's Program? I swear I had good reasoning behind it. I like math, I enjoy teaching people, and ever since my high school guidance counselor said I had the aptitude to be a professor one day and made me go to a career talk about it… it’s been my dream.
Okay, fine, I guess me choosing to do this program because it’s my dream is a good enough reason.
Except that this thesis paper is making me lose my mind.
It’s hard to focus because of the chaos around me.
Behind me, Camrose’s hockey team has laid claim to most of the tables, and these guys are as noisy as it gets.
The couple beside me is making out and talking dirty—which, for the love of god, they should really do quietly.
Or in the privacy of their fucking room.
The door opens and a group of students come rushing in, complaining about the weather, as if they weren’t fully aware of how snowy Buffalo can get in January.
Okay. Look. I’m not usually this grumpy. I swear I’m not. But I need to work on my thesis paper and everything around me is too loud.
“Madd.” Hands grip my head, and I snap my attention up, scowling at Caleb. He’s leaning over the bar and laughing, trapping me and not letting me look anywhere else. “You’re clearly struggling to do your shit. Go to the library or back to your room.”
“It’s fine,” I say, shaking his grip off. Grinning, he lets go and leans back, folding his arms and giving me an amused look. He looks spent from his afternoon hockey practice, and his blond hair flops over his face. Caleb could use a haircut. And, judging from the bags under his eyes, a good nap.
See, the thing about me is that while it’s difficult not to get distracted when my surroundings are rowdy, I’m still most effective when someone I know is close by. It’s an odd thing I learned when I was younger, and my sister said the term was “body doubling.”
All I know is that I enjoy having Caleb nearby when I’m working on something difficult—even if I have to share that space with about three dozen other college students.
The table behind me roars with laughter, and I wince. Caleb catches it and immediately yells over my shoulder, “Will you shitheads keep it down!?”
“Classy, Jennings!” replies a loud, familiar voice.
“Maddox is trying to do his thesis!”
Oh, god. Caleb, as usual, is doing way too much, and a weaker man would probably buckle under the embarrassment. “Unnecessary, but thank you,” I tell him, looking behind me to see how his teammates take it.
They’re occupying three tables near the floor-to-ceiling windows that look out onto the street. While I can’t name each one of them, there are a few familiar faces. There’s captain Rhys Morgan, Caleb’s roommate Nick Sandoval, and a guy who I think is one of their forwards. I also spot their goalie.
And the guy who yelled back at Caleb is Killian Schultz.
He texted me recently, introducing himself and asking if I could tutor him, but even before that and before he walked in on the class I’m a TA for, I already knew who he was.
I’ve known him for some time now because he won’t stop staring at me. All. The. Time.
Killian’s eyes flash to me and his mouth parts in surprise as if he didn’t realize I was here.
I turn away from him immediately and go back to my laptop, leaning my chin on my hand.
Curiosity gets the better of me though, and I shift my screen lower to see the reflection of the team behind me.
Killian’s gesturing for everyone to shut up, and when a guy from another table says something smart about that, he reaches over and smacks him behind the head.
It doesn’t escape me that the team’s considerably quieter and the couple beside me is getting up to leave while casting wary glances at Caleb. In general, the whole café seems a lot more subdued after Caleb not-so-subtly made it clear that everyone needed to keep it down.
Caleb seems pleased with himself, grinning and turning away to head back to the cash register to help his coworker, who’s giving him the side-eye. I force myself to go through my thesis paper, and I feel that now too-familiar sensation of someone watching me.
I know it’s Killian.
I’m not exaggerating when I say Killian watches me all the time.
In class, when I’m here at the coffee shop, even the few times I’ve waited for Caleb during his practices.
Last week, I was at one of their home games and he literally slowed down during warm-ups just to give me a once-over.
I don’t think he knows I notice his staring since I try not to bring any attention to it.
I can live with some staring. It’s not a big deal, and I’m used to it.
I’m self-aware enough to know that my looks have earned me the “pretty boy” nickname, and even if I hate that, I’m at least used to some unwanted attention now and then .
Now that the hockey team isn’t acting as if they’re speaking through megaphones, I’m actually able to work on my paper. A part of me thinks it’s because I can feel someone intensely staring at my back, forcing me to pretend I don’t notice and giving me no choice but to zero in on my paper.
So… thanks Killian? I think?
His efforts almost make me feel bad for turning him down when he texted me for tutoring.
My thoughts are cut short when someone taps me on the shoulder. Brows furrowed, I turn and come face-to-face with Jean, one of my tutees. I had been helping her with statistics last semester, and I haven’t seen her since before the winter break.
“Maddox!” she says, beaming. “I passed statistics, all thanks to you!”
I can’t help the way my mouth quirks into a smile. “Good job. That’s because of you though, not me.”
“It’s totally because of you!” She pulls her phone out and pulls up a photo she took of her final. Jean got an A on it. When we started studying together, she was barely understanding the class.
Before I can react, Jean pulls me into a tight hug. I grunt in surprise but relent, awkwardly patting her shoulder. She even kisses me on the cheek, which takes me by total surprise, but I really do think she’s just that excited.
“Your friend is the best,” she tells Caleb, who’s apparently nearby and watching us. “Didn’t even charge me for the last few sessions!”
“I didn’t need the cash,” I tell her, though it’s actually because I accidentally saw a text message from her mother saying they were late on rent.
“Wow, so gallant of you,” Caleb says once she’s gone. “Doing it out of the goodness of your heart? Incredible. Such a saint.”
“Shut up.” Speaking of being a saint though, I reach into my bag and yank out some sheets of paper. Caleb’s about to turn away from me when I say, “Wait, Caleb.”
“Yeah? ”
“These are notes for the sociology test you said you were struggling to study for. I took the class last year under the same professor and kind of recall which points he focused on. So just go over these and you should be fine.”
Blinking, Caleb takes it from me and scans over notes I printed for him. He flips through the pages, his gaze ping-ponging between it and me. “Wow, Madd. Shit. Thank you. You’re the best.”
“Well, I’m a saint, apparently.”
Caleb snickers. Then, I’m not sure if I’m imagining it, but his expression suddenly shifts. Something behind me catches his attention. His mouth twists to the side and he folds his arms, the sheets of paper crinkling as he does.
I resist the urge to turn and see what he’s glaring at. “What?” I ask.
“Okay… shit. I’ve got a question.” Caleb’s brows furrow and his lips are a thin line.
He always does that when he’s working himself up to do something he’d rather not.
“Very hypothetical question that only exists for my curiosity and nothing else. If one of my teammates were into you, would you want to know?”
Absently rubbing the back of my neck, I scroll through my document. “For what? A blind date? To hang out?”
I can practically hear the way Caleb’s gnashing his teeth together.
“I don’t know. Something casual, maybe… hypothetically.
Someone who hypothetically uses a hookup app more than they use their text messaging app.
All things considered, though, they’re cool, funny, and a good friend.
If someone like that wanted to meet you, would you be open to that? ”
As oblivious as Caleb thinks I am when it comes to Killian, I know full well who he’s talking about. It’s not dramatic to say that Caleb seems physically in pain because of this conversation, and I put my hand over my mouth so he doesn’t notice my lips threatening to smile.
There are a lot of reasons I don’t do jocks.
Hockey players, in particular, are a huge no-no because getting with someone from Caleb’s team would hit too close to home for him.
Never mind that he himself is fooling around with Nick Sandoval.
If I were to start anything with anyone on his team, he’d lose his mind.
Caleb’s always been overprotective of me, but I can’t even blame him because of what’s happened in the past.
And while it’s tempting because, well, Killian’s hot , I’m not about to break my no-jocks rule—especially for one who has a reputation for being the resident fuckboy.
I hear the stories that are passed around.
Heck, I’ve heard his voice through the thin walls of my dorm room.
I’m almost sure that the girl who stays in the room next to mine is one of his regular fuck buddies.
Also, I, Maddox Roussel, have solemnly sworn off casual hookups. I prefer dates and romance and commitment and all that shit, and with how busy I am with my studies, my studies are my commitment.
Caleb’s eye twitches, his jaw’s clenched, and he’s got his hands balled into fists. Oh, this conversation is enraging him. It’s testing the little patience he has, and all my effort’s going into not laughing.
Taking pity on him, I shake my head. “I don’t do jocks, and I don’t do casual.”
Caleb’s shoulders sag in relief and he bows his head down and lets out an enormous sigh. And, not to brag, but nothing much gets past me. But, because I’m a good friend who wants to give Caleb peace, I pretend not to see how he shakes his head at someone behind me.
I don’t need to adjust my screen to see Killian’s reflection. It’s not the first time he’s tried to convince Caleb to introduce us.
With that done, I go back to my paper.
The next time I check my watch, half an hour has already passed, and a wide grin crosses my face because I was able to conclude the current section of my thesis paper with laser focus.
“Yeees,” I groan, stretching my arms over my head.
“You done?” Caleb asks.
“Yes! Done! Now I just need to send this to Wheeler for feedback, and I can have the entire weekend off.”
“No tutees this weekend?”
“Nah, I cut back on tutoring to focus on this. I could probably tutor one person this semester if they really needed it, though.” I snap my laptop shut, feeling extremely proud of myself.
Even if the idea of anything sporty makes me break into a cold sweat, I’m confident that I could run a marathon right now.
That’s how much adrenaline I have from the satisfaction of finally completing this shit.
“Okay, give me about ten and I’ll be done too.”
“Not heading back with Nick?” I ask with a grin. It’s cute how my best friend’s head over heels for his roommate. It’s been a while since Caleb’s dated anyone, and he can’t hide how much he likes Nick even when he tries.
Caleb scowls. “Nah, I’ll walk you back to your dorm to make sure you don’t slip and brain yourself on the curb.”
“Wow, thank you,” I say dryly.
“Caleb,” Nick calls. He, along with Killian and Rhys, are passing by on their way to the door. He gives me a smile as a greeting, and I quickly return it. The guy smiles a lot. Like, obsessively. It’s downright endearing. “We’re going ahead.”
Killian’s staring. I can see it from the corner of my eye.
Caleb’s wiping down a glass and doesn’t turn to them. You’d think he and Nick weren’t fooling around with how nonchalant Caleb’s acting. “Yeah, walking Madd back,” he says.
The three of them head to the door, and when I’m sure that Killian isn’t looking my way anymore, I let my gaze flicker to him. It’s a bad habit that’s been developing over the last few months, but it’s not like it’s my fault.
Killian’s terribly difficult not to look at.
He’s easily a head taller than me, and built.
He could probably throw me over a broad shoulder with no effort…
he could probably easily lift me and make me wrap my legs around his waist as he carried me.
Uh, not that I’ve ever thought of that. Never.
Okay, maybe once or twice, but that’s neither here nor there.
Anyway.
He has dark hair that’s long on the top but short at the sides.
Oh, and what I at first thought was a shaved line on his left eyebrow?
It’s actually a scar. I discovered that the other day when he passed by me in statistics.
It was the first time I got up close to him without him noticing me first, and I studied his face as if memorizing it.
But what grabs my attention the most are his eyes. There’s something really intense and kind about them.
Watching him now and the way he laughs at something Rhys says, I find myself captivated by his deep voice and the way his eyes crinkle at the side.
He’s got dimples, and his hands are huge, with thick veins running down from his arms. Not that dimples and thick veins are correlated, but I just feel like it’s important to note the latter.
Honest to god? I’ve maybe hoped he found the guts to actually say hi to me. Maybe ask me if I wanted to hang out. Maybe make me forget about my no-jocks rule.
Fuck me.
No sex for months is making me lose my shit. But no. I remind myself that Killian Schultz is the perfect example of a bad idea, and I won’t ever let it happen.