Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
Zaiah
My shoulders deflate as Nor walks away, hiking her purple laptop bag up, her blonde hair swinging behind her.
The reminder of Trish was a quick blow, rotting the contents of my stomach. Memories of her are like an anchor snagged on a boulder that’s bolted to the bottom of an unforgiving ocean. Some days, I think I’ve cut the tether. Others, the line tightens stronger than ever.
That feeling, coupled with the one lifeline I had walking away, sends a surge of frustration the size of a gnarly defenseman through my limbs. Nor has never been anything but nice to me. Always had a smile on her face. But that right there? I don’t know what that was.
Nothing is going my way lately.
“Z,” my friend calls out.
Turning, I spy Adam, the other winger, over the heads of several students who pass between us while they head to class. He stands underneath a huge Warner football banner, putting an exclamation point on my dark mood.
I glower in his direction.
He lifts a brow. “Who was that and why does she hate you?”
Making my way back toward him, I slow so he can fall in step beside me. “Nor.”
“Never heard of her.”
“Yes, you have,” I grumble.
“Is she some puck bunny?”
I nearly choke. As I recall, Nor was far from a rink girl. She’s not the type. In fact, I don’t remember her liking hockey at all, but that aside, what world is he living in? “You’re delusional.”
“Oh, I forgot.” He rolls his eyes. “Girls are dead to you.”
“Have you also forgotten we don’t have puck bunnies? We have a smattering of jailbait, senior-citizen groupies, and family members.”
“Aw, don’t sell yourself short.” Adam peers up and catches the attention of a brunette passing by. “Hey, do you know who he is?”
He hikes his thumb at me, and the girl looks me over, gaze narrowing. “Should I?”
I glare at him, then turn toward her. “Who’s your favorite athlete on campus?”
She blushes, the pink reaching all the way into her hairline. “The Hulk.”
The Hulk, a.k.a. West Brooks, celebrated football player.
I push Adam forward, and he chuckles, calling back, “You know he has a girlfriend.”
“Don’t remind me,” she huffs.
“If you ever want to watch a real sport, you—”
I hit him in the chest with the back of my hand, and he coughs, unable to finish his sentence. “Cut your losses,” I advise.
He rubs his chest. “I was doing promo.”
“By starting a war with the football team?”
He grins. “Everyone knows hockey is the superior sport.” Gazing around, he latches onto another female student. “Hey, do you know who he is?”
I push him forward before she can answer. “Don’t mind him. Hit in the head too many times.”
Adam laughs, drawing the attention of those nearby. “All those years playing goalie in peewee.”
“You were supposed to block the puck, not eat it.”
“I was defending the net by any means necessary, even taking shots to the helmet. Which, by the way, hurt like a bitch, and that’s why I moved to winger.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“They used to call me ‘The Adam Bomb.’ Get it?”
I wipe a hand down my face. When I peer over at him again, he’s peering forward with a slight smile. Discreetly, I take my phone out of my pocket and snap a pic before sending it to the teammate group chat with the caption: The Adam Bomb.
The first ping comes before I can even get my phone back in my pocket. Then another and another. Adam pulls out his cell while I try to keep a straight face.
“Breach of trust,” he chuckles out, then turns his phone to me, showing off all the bomb GIFs coming through. Sweeney even texts a pic with the infamous mushroom cloud with an arrow labeled The Adam Bomb that points to a tiny cartoon explosive in the corner.
I turn Adam’s phone back toward him so he can see it. He clutches his chest, laughing, and quickly types a reply into the chat.
The hockey team might play the least popular sport on campus, but at least we’ve got each other.
“So…”
I peer over at Adam, who’s looking at me expectantly. “So?”
He shakes his head. “The girl. You’re not going to tell me who she is?”
I shrug, mind working on how I can approach her again.
“Come on. Am I supposed to believe you stopped dead in the middle of the hallway, watched a random girl appear out of those glass doors, and took off after her if you have no interest?”
“Getting with girls isn’t the only reason you run after them.”
“In my experience, that’s completely false.”
Chuckling, I shake my head. His words serve to remind me that I’m in a vastly different space than my teammates right now. Hell, most college guys. “Nor and I are more like friends.”
Adam pushes the exit doors open. The rush of cool winter air zaps at my lungs. Years of hanging out in chilly ice arenas has made me immune to the cold, though.
“I know all your friends,” Adam scoffs. “They’re big, tall, and skate around on the ice. Some of them are assholes.”
“Fine,” I admit. “She’s Trish’s friend.”
Adam smacks me in the chest, a cloudy look taking his face hostage.
“Who just so happens to have a room at Knightley,” I explain.
“The roommate debacle again ?”
“Dude, I can’t stand it. Ever since Button transferred out and I had to move into the dorms, these underclassmen they pair me with are complete dicks. Girls knocking on doors at all hours of the night. No courtesy or consideration whatsoever. Plus, they’re disgusting fucking pigs.”
“Okay, but do you really want to live with Trish’s friend? What’s that about?”
“I wanted the option, but she blew me off.” I peer over my shoulder in case she’s come back to apologize, but all I see are the closed doors of the classroom building. “Trish probably made up some shit like I cheated on her . Or worse.” That, more than anything, pisses me off.
“Zaiah…” Adam starts. He’s not the type to hesitate, and as expected, he forges on. “This is a bad idea. Do I have to remind you of the hell you went through last year because of her ?”
No, he doesn’t. I try not to let my mind go there.
“It’s actually the perfect idea because she’s the exact opposite of Trish. Nor is chill. She studies and goes to class. I don’t remember her ever having a boyfriend. She’s a girl, so by default, she’s going to be cleaner than most dudes. Plus, Knightley Hall? I’d get my own room. I’m a senior, for fuck’s sake. I need my own room.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re coming off as super high maintenance right now.”
Every one of the stupid underclassmen roommates who didn’t work out noted the same thing, but I can’t help it. Living with these assholes is too much. It’s impacting my sleep, and more than anything, student athletes need sleep. “Fine. When should I stop by your place with all my shit? We’ll be cuddle buddies.”
“Fuck no.”
Then I better get Nor on my side and fast.
I pull my beanie around my ears. Sweat clings to my skin from my afternoon workout, the cold air drying it on my face while I stare up at Knightley Hall. Man, this place is fantastic. No loud music blares from the windows. There isn’t a constant stream of screaming and laughing underclassmen spilling out the front doors or milling out on the quad.
One deep, hopeful breath later, I open up the main entrance to the possible solution to my nagging problem. One step inside the quiet, calm place and I already feel rested.
The truth is, I could’ve put my name down for the available spot without talking with Nor first. By all rights, the room is mine. I just need to claim it before another eligible senior snatches it up, and since I got the call from Karen at Student Housing this morning, time is slipping away.
I didn’t want to start off our roommate relationship like that, though.
Taking the stairs two at a time, my feet move quickly until I’m standing in front of suite five and knocking. Shifting from foot to foot, several long seconds pass. Movement sounds from inside, but no one answers. She’s probably on the other side of the door, waiting for me to go away.
I try again, knocking a bit harder and saying, “Nor, it’s me. It’s Zaiah. Or Isaiah. Whichever.” I can’t remember which she called me or if she ever said my name at all, to be honest. She was always so quiet.
“What are you doing here?”
I try to keep my cool, tapping my foot against the carpeted floor. The carpeted floor. Just the idea of not having footsteps echo off tile and concrete at all hours of the night spurs me on. “I’m not here to talk about Trish. I promise. Come on, open up.”
There’s another pause until the sound of metal sliding across metal meets my ears and the door cracks. She steps back, the available space to peer inside widening in her absence.
The smell of cleaning products wafts toward me. From what I can see, the suite is neat and tidy, and Nor is as she ever was. Clear glasses frames sit on the bridge of her nose. Her dark blonde hair, now up in a messy bun, sticks out above the crown of her head, and two-sizes-too-big clothes that look suspiciously like pajamas hang from her body.
Ah, yes. I remember now. Trish’s shy friend was very much into lounging and being extremely comfortable. Baggy sweatshirts. Loose pants. Hair tied back—or up—basically styled in any way where it was out of her face.
“Hey.”
“Hey,” she says, distrust lacing her tone. She even takes a step back and crosses her arms in front of her chest.
“Sorry I accosted you in the middle of the hallway earlier. I need to talk to you.” She stands there, not quite letting me in, so I tack on, “May I?”
She peers behind her. “I…guess.”
I don’t wait for her to change her mind. I push past her, scoping the place out. As expected, Nor is organized. Peering over at the open door of what must be her room, I spot a made bed with a teal comforter and throw pillows. There’s nothing on the floor anywhere, and it doesn’t smell like stale beer.
I’m in love.
“So, what have you been up to?” I ask as I take the liberty of sitting on the gray couch. It’s pretty comfy. A little springy, but who knows how many students it’s supported over the years. I can live with it.
Nor stares at me through the lens of her glasses. “This is weird. Are you okay?”
I chuckle, feeling a little off myself. The desperation clinging to me is making me force this, but I’m not going to say that. “What about it is weird? We were friends.”
She scrunches up her face, and I’m with her on that one. I’m taking liberties with the word friend . We were acquaintances at best. She was just around when I was with Trish. The third wheel. The girl who tagged along to some dates. In fact, on occasion, I found her presence annoying, but Trish felt bad leaving her behind.
Or so she’d said.
“I haven’t spoken to Trish, so if that’s why you’re here…”
“It’s not,” I grind out. If I never hear another word about her, I’ll be happy. “That’s not it at all.”
Nor tentatively takes a seat on the other end of the couch before folding her legs up underneath her. “Help me understand, then. I haven’t seen you since…”
Uneasiness creeps in. I don’t see her or talk to her because the one thing that ever tied us together was my ex-girlfriend. “Listen, I’m sorry for showing up like this. You actually have the power to help me out, and I’m hoping you’ll say yes.”
“I have a lot of work to do,” she says, peering longingly over my shoulder into her bedroom.
“Nor…”
“Don’t.” She sighs. “Don’t call me that, okay? I prefer Len.”
“Len?”
“Yes, it’s my name.”
The gruffness in her voice takes me aback. “I thought your name was Norah?”
“Actually, it’s Lenore.”
I almost face-palm myself. Of course it is. I knew that. The lady in Student Housing told me, and it’s why I didn’t know who she meant at first until I put two and two together.
Peering away, she picks at a loose string on her sock. The printed design creeps up and under her multicolored gummy bear pajama bottoms, but I can’t quite tell what it is.
“Sorry, I…forgot.” Though, never knew is more appropriate. “Your name is pretty.”
“Thanks, I hate it.”
Her defeated tone sparks my caring side. She clearly doesn’t want anything to do with me, and in different circumstances, I would drop this whole thing. However, the image from earlier this morning of my roommate picking up one of his dirty socks, smelling it, then sliding it onto his foot pushes me forward. “Listen…Len. I hear you’re having roommate problems. I’m also having problems, and the Housing lady called me this morning to say this room was available, and I really want it.”
“This…room? My extra room?”
“You wouldn’t believe the losers they’ve stuck me with. I can’t sleep. I—”
“But you’re a guy.”
The outrage in her voice makes me laugh. She looks away, and I clear my throat. “Sorry. Yes, I am. I didn’t think that would be a problem, what with the separate rooms and all. Knightley is co-ed. We’re both adults.” With history, I could add. I wouldn’t be a total stranger.
“No, no,” she says, standing before I can say anything more. She flails her arms around. “You’ll have your teammates over here all the time, eating my food and breaking things. You’ll leave the toilet seat up and the milk on the counter. And a stream of girls coming from your room. I swear to God, I cannot deal with another nightmare roommate right now. I will lose it.”
She pushes her glasses up her nose, her hands in tiny fists. She’s kind of cute when she’s all worked up. The urge to tease her rises, but I stop myself. Instead, I press my lips together to think about the best way forward. “Trust me, I’ve also had some nightmare roommates, so I know exactly how not to act.”
She nibbles on her lip. “I thought you had a roommate? Your friend…” She snaps her fingers, like she’s trying to recall his name.
“Sarge. Sarge Button. He transferred out.” I peer away. Sarge was too good to play here, what with the lack of notoriety Warner hockey gets. We’re having a winning season and absolutely no one cares. He was the smart one.
“Oh, I’m sorry. He was always nice.”
For the first time, she looks like the Nor—Len—I remember. “Yeah, he was the best. We had a place off campus, but I couldn’t afford it on my own, so I had to move back to the athletic dorms. Ever since then, it’s been one nightmare after another. Student Housing called me this morning because the nice lady over there thought this might be the perfect fit.”
Nor— Len worries over her lip before focusing on me. “Are you seeing someone?”
I shake my head. She doesn’t want a “string of girls” in and out of the suite. Neither do I. “You?”
“No.” Her answer comes quickly but morphs into shocked anger. “Who are you to even ask?”
I place my hands up in protest. “You asked me.”
“I wanted to know if I was going to have to hear you have sex all the time because let me tell you, these walls are good, really good, but they’re not perfect. Far from it. There must be dead spots with no insulation because—”
“If you want me to say no girls, I will. I’ll sign a freaking contract.”
Her brows pull down, studying me. “You’ll sign a contract? Outside of the Student Housing one?”
Now it’s my turn to appear concerned. A few locks of hair have fallen out of her bun, mimicking the appearance of an overworked, underappreciated housewife like you see depicted on TV. “What would be in said contract?”
She shrugs. “I would have to think on that.”
“Would I have the chance to add my own stipulations?”
Her gaze narrows even further. “Perhaps. A few.”
“A few, huh?” Oddly, I have to stop myself from grinning. I haven’t smiled in weeks, but this conversation is amusing. She’s amusing.
She taps her chin. “It sounds like we’ve both had some terrible experiences.” She sympathizes for a brief moment, but then her gaze moves into distrusting territory again. “But how do I know you weren’t actually the problem? I need to gather my thoughts. Plus, Knightley Hall is a needle in a haystack situation. The holy grail.”
“Why do you think I’m here? I’ll get down on my hands and knees.”
Her eyes flash, and I suddenly regret those last words. She wouldn’t really make me…
“I’ll have a contract for you by email in two hours.”
“You—” Wait . I peer from her to my surroundings, then back to her. A contract in two hours. Okay. I was prepared to keep fighting.
“You’ll have thirty minutes to add any stipulations of your own. Send it back to me to agree. Once it’s signed, you can go to Housing.”
Man, she’s… something . Thorough might be one word. High-strung could be another, but I’ve been called that recently, so I’ll reserve judgment.
I stand. She doesn’t seem the least bit intimidated that I tower over her by at least a foot. I hold out my hand, and she shakes it, her grip firm.
By the time I’m walking down the carpeted hallway back to my shithole of an underclassmen dorm, I already know there isn’t a lot she could put into that contract that would prompt me to let this go.
I’ll stay out of her way, and Nor— Len is the type of roommate to stay out of mine.
Match made in heaven.