Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
Zaiah
Len studies me over a cup of coffee when I walk into the suite, hockey gear in tow. “How was practice?”
“Fine,” I grumble as I head to my room. Truthfully, it wasn’t my best. Dropped passes, terrible skating. My neck aches from falling asleep on Len’s bed while The Notebook played. Plus, I missed a class to help her, and I had to ask a teammate for notes and got relentless shit for it all practice.
I peel off my clothes and step into the shower, staying under the hot spray for a while to relax my sore muscles. If this doesn’t go away, I’ll have to ask a trainer to take a look at it, which means it will get back to Coach.
I finish up, throw on some joggers and a Warner hockey tee, and walk back out into the kitchen to find Len still sitting there, nursing her cup. I’ve never seen her linger this long somewhere, but she has a few pages of printed material in front of her, and I catch the words clock tower. “Any luck on the article?”
“Getting there,” she answers. “I have the librarian’s help now, so it shouldn’t be long. I swear, librarians could save the world.”
I’m reaching into the cabinets, but at her words, I peer over my shoulder at her. “I’m sorry, what?”
She nods eagerly. “Solve life’s mysteries and problems with research.” She waves her hands dismissively. “Everything we’re going through now has happened in history. Maybe not the exact same thing, but the root problem. I’m telling you… Save. The. World.”
I grab two packets of oatmeal and turn, catching her as she props her glasses up her nose with one finger to the bridge. Well, that’s adorable. A claw thing pins her blonde hair back, framing a makeupless, fresh face that showcases her clear complexion. However, from the neck down, she’s swimming in clothes. Baggy Warner joggers hide everything along with her long-sleeved Warner Gazette shirt that’s two sizes too big.
“So.” She draws out the o and rearranges the papers in front of her, setting them aside. My stomach immediately clenches because I already know what this is about. She went through two pints of ice cream yesterday. I recognize that’s a pretty bad problem. Sometimes, half a pint will do. If she chipped a nail, maybe a few bites, but two pints ? I’m not sure my sister has ever needed two.
Len clears her throat. “Thank you for helping me yesterday. I’m sure I blabbered on and on, and the whole thing was embarrassing.”
I shrug her off and pour the oatmeal into a clean bowl, scooping some protein powder into it as well. “What are roommates for?”
“I’ve had a chance to think about it, and—”
I turn, relief sluicing off me. Oh, thank God she’s come to her senses. All that talk yesterday about changing her was just two-pint worthy feelings. She—
“I want to start right away.”
Mother…pucker. Shit.
“Len…” My mouth works but no words come out. She looks at me expectantly, so I drop what I’m doing. “I feel like I need to say this, so hear me out. I have a sister, and I wouldn’t want her to do any of this. I had a chance to think on it, too, and this dude isn’t good enough for you. Puck what he thinks. It’s okay that you’re focusing on being a reporter right now.”
Her brows shoot up. “Puck?”
I find a coffee mug, fill it with water, and heat it up in the microwave. “Something my mom let me say when I was younger instead of fuck, and it stuck. Listen, you don’t want that guy, anyway. Trust me. He’s not worth the trouble.”
She lowers her gaze, pressing her lips together. “It’s not just him.” Rubbing the back of her neck, she sighs. “It’s all guys. They look right through me, Zaiah. Whether they friend-zone me or worse, pretend like I’m invisible, it stings. This really doesn’t have anything to do with Clark, except that he was the causation. Yesterday, that tirade of his woke me up to the idea that it’s possible I’m not putting my best foot forward.”
I sweep my stare to her face. Her desire is evident, her eyes pleading as she peers back at me.
The microwave beep pulls me out of my inspection. She leans forward on the table, running her hands over her hair until she gets to the hair claw. “I understand where you’re coming from, and it’s good advice. Puck Clark. I’m not doing this for him. I’m doing this for me. Whether it sounds vain or not, I want guys to pucking see me, you know? If they saw me, then, you know, I’d actually be…puckable to someone.”
“Puckable?” Woah, woah, woah. My brain goes on high alert. “There’s nothing wrong with your puckability.”
“Oh, so you want to puck me?”
“No.” I take a step back, and her face falls. Shit. “I didn’t— I definitely didn’t mean it like that.”
She stands from the table, and I stride right up to her. Bracing her hands on my forearms, she forcibly removes me from her space. “It’s okay. I understand what you meant, which is why I asked for your insight.”
I fold my arms over my chest. Len won’t even look at me now. This whole thing has turned into a mess. “Didn’t you say research could save the world? What if you—”
“I’ve Googled it. I’ve read the magazine articles about how to get the guy, and though I understand it intellectually, it’s hard for me to put it into action. You think this is the first time I’ve thought about this? It’s not. I was a ghost even before ghosting became cool.”
“That’s—” She shoots me a look, and I clear my throat. “Not the same thing. But you know that,” I state quickly as I turn my back to pour the hot water into my oatmeal.
“I was using it as a clever dating analogy.” She fixes her glasses to her face again.
A million thoughts run through my head. Mainly, that this is all going to backfire and I’ll end up being the bad guy. The one who should’ve known better. “Listen, in this situation, I would want someone to tell my sister that she’s perfect the way she is. And you are, Len. You’re perfect the way you are.”
She smiles tightly. “Fine. I get it. I’m perfect.” She rolls her eyes. “But I want to be puckable.”
I should’ve never let the puck thing slip. This is a disaster, but what can I do? I promised her yesterday that I’d help, and if I don’t, she’ll probably ask someone else. It’s embarrassing enough for her that she asked me.
My shoulders slump. “Fine, but I want it in writing that I thought this was a bad idea.”
Her hands freak out for a second and then she focuses on me again, her lips turning up into a smile. “But you’re still going to give it your all, right? I need you at the top of your game. When I’m researching an article, I write down notes and have questions to follow up on. You can do all that, right?”
“Please. I’ll be the best damn dating coach you’ve ever had. In hockey, we have something called a playbook.”
Her eyes widen, breath catching at the same time. “The puckable playbook. That’s some nice alliteration right there.”
I chuckle. Only she would be excited about a choice phrase. “There’s something wrong with you,” I mutter before turning to the counter to stir my oatmeal.
“Is that lesson one? Should I dumb myself down?”
“Fuck no.” I turn on her. “I swear to God, Len… Len…” I snap my fingers. “Your last name escapes me at the moment again , but if you dumb yourself down, the deal is off. Smart is sexy.”
Her cheeks flush, and she casts her eyes downward. “Thanks. I really didn’t want to act like the girls in Clueless .”
I spoon some oatmeal into my mouth while I think about our next steps. This is still so tricky. I could step in it at any moment. “I also want it in the contract that you can’t get mad at me for things I suggest. We’ll probably tread into water that might hurt your feelings.”
“Like my appearance.”
“You’re perfect the way you are.”
“I know what I’m getting into,” she states. “You don’t have to sugarcoat anything. I’m asking you to change me. Yes, I’ll put it in the contract .” She uses air quotes when she says the word.
It would be nice if something I threw out there changed her mind, but she’s determined. I check my watch as I shovel another spoonful into my mouth and swallow. “Listen, my parents are coming in today with their RV. It’s this thing they do before game days. If you want to meet them, I’m sure they’d love to meet you.”
“I met them once.”
“Oh.” Why don’t I remember that? It’s like she said, she’s invisible. Or forgettable. I don’t know. Yesterday, I thought she didn’t even like guys. The awkward creep of embarrassment heats my cheeks. “That’s right. I’m sure they’ll want to see you again.”
She rolls her eyes at my pathetic attempt to cover up my mistake. “On one condition: don’t remind them I’m Trish’s ex-roommate.”
“Done.” Probably a good idea, considering my family hates her.
“Good. Great.” She claps her hands in front of her. “I’m going to get ready, and I’ll need your help with how to dress. This is perfect. We can use your family as a dry run.”
My brain wants to scream at her “Don’t make me do this.”
Instead, I sit at the table and dread the moment she comes back out. It’s like waiting on a bed of nails, wondering which one is going to pierce the skin first. I can’t actually tell this girl to wear certain things, can I? What she’s worn before only shows a lump of a body with no real shape, and if I were going to tell her how to catch a man’s attention, I’d address that first. Can I really do it, though?
She texts me that she’s coming out over the school app, and I jot down a mental note to give her my real phone number for future conversations.
Her door cracks open. “Okay, go easy on me.”
“Just get out here.”
She walks out in a crop top and leggings that cling to her body, her bare midriff on full display. My brows rise even though I told myself I shouldn’t have a reaction. Honestly, I thought I would have to tell her to show more. Not this.
She pulls on the hem nervously. Her hair, now down, drips past her shoulders in sheets of gold. Makeup highlights her features—most notably, her red cheeks, more prominent from a mix of awkwardness and blush.
“Say something,” she snaps.
“Oh, I— I—” She looks…fantastic. Who knew what she was hiding under there? If I saw this girl walking around campus, I’d definitely check her out. I’m nearly speechless, stomach tightening.
“I can’t pull this off, can I? Ugh .”
She turns to run into her room, but I take a few strides to catch up to her and hold back on her arm. “Len, I didn’t say that. You look…good.”
“Why did you hesitate?”
“I’m trying to take it all in. Calm down.” I step backward. When I look at all of her, I get overwhelmed. She’s…beautiful, and I feel like an ass for thinking it. The right clothes and a little makeup shouldn’t make this much of a difference. I’ve never been a shallow person. This is— I sigh, turning on my analytical brain, like Len would do, and start from the crown of her head. “Did you straighten your hair?”
She nods.
“I like it. It looks good.”
“Thank you.”
She pulls on her shirt again. It’s obvious she doesn’t feel relaxed in it, so I skip that part for now. When I get to her leggings, I have to skip that part, too. I didn’t realize how amazing her hips and ass are, and I don’t want to be that guy. “The shoes look comfortable. And sensible. Fashionable, too.”
“Hair and shoes. That’s all you got for me? I thought you wanted me to write this hockey article for you, Zaiah?”
She’s right. I’m not holding up my end of the bargain. Swallowing, I reach out to her, and she eyes me suspiciously before putting her hands in mine. I need to look her in the eyes when I say this so I don’t upset her. “The outfit is adorable,” I tell her. “Sexy, even. It shows off your body in a way that you’re saying you want to be…”
“Puckable?” she offers.
“Exactly. However…it’s obvious you’re not feeling it. You look nervous. You keep tugging at the hem, and I’m going to guess that you’ve never gone out in public showing off your stomach before. If you’re nervous around me, imagine when you step outside. You’re going to be even more fidgety. All anyone is going to see is you messing with your shirt. If we ever get to the crop top stage, you’re going to have to own it. Right now, you don’t have the confidence to wear it.”
She nods. “So, no on the shirt?”
There’s a bit of relief—from me too at how well she’s taking this. “It’s a no on the shirt for today .”
She looks away, and it’s as if I can see her brain working.
“And it’s only a no because you don’t feel comfortable,” I enforce. “Not because you can’t pull it off.”
She lifts her head. “You think I can pull this off?”
“I don’t think, I know.”
“You think guys—um, Clark, or guys like Clark—would look at me?”
I squeeze her hands. “One hundred percent.”
“I kind of like the sound of that.” She grins to herself.
“Enough not to pull at the hem?”
“Hell no. I have to get this thing off me. My stomach is chilly, and I have a major push-up bra on.”
I laugh, watching as she tugs at her bra. “You know what? Let me look at your clothes with you.”
“Yeah?”
I shrug, feeling more confident now that she’s handling this so well. “Why not? I’ve seen my sister get ready. How hard could it be?”
The answer: Very hard. Holy shit. For only seeing this girl wear the same type of clothes before today, she has so many.
I check my watch again. My parents are going to be here any minute and we’ve already gone through five outfits, and all five looked amazing but had her fidgeting. “Okay, listen,” I finally say to her. “What would past you pick out if I told you we were going to meet up with my parents?”
She stares at the clothes strewn around the room. “Maybe a pair of joggers and a…” She leaps forward and picks out a white shirt that has some fancy handwriting on it that spells Literature and leads to an old quill.
“Okay, perfect. Keep the shirt, nix the sweats. Either wear jeans or the leggings you tried on earlier. You know that thing girls do when they tie up a shirt if it hangs too low? Do that.”
“Like an 80s knot or something? Put a scrunchie around it?”
“No, not that.” I hold my hands up. “You know, let’s just see what you look like with that on, and we’ll go from there.”
I scoot out of the room and wipe sweat from my brow. This is taxing. Who would’ve thought?
My phone pings, and it’s a text from my sister saying they’re right around the corner. I text back that I can’t wait to see them before yelling out, “Len!” Turning, I’m about to tell her they’re almost here when she comes out of the room.
She stops just outside, wearing the black leggings from earlier along with her white Literature shirt. It hangs low on her, but already, I’m loving this direction.
“You look great. Tuck the front in a little?”
She pulls her leggings out and shoves the front of her shirt into her pants. I bite my lip and step toward her to help. She freezes when I grab her hip with one hand to steady her, and my mouth goes dry. Quickly, I tug out one whole side, letting it settle at her hip. The other is tucked in, showing off her shape.
“There,” I say, backing up, my fingers on fire.
“Does it look okay?”
“Do you feel comfortable?” I counter.
She shrugs. “I’m wearing one of my favorite shirts.”
“So, what you’re learning is that you can be yourself and still be puckable?”
She drops her head to glare at me. “I bet you annoy your sister, too.”
“Well, yeah, I’m the older brother. It’s my job.” I take her in again. She has far less makeup on than I originally thought. It only looked like a lot since I don’t normally see her wearing any. Honestly, I don’t know who wouldn’t look at her. “You look perfect.”
“Just the way I am?”
“Just the way you are.”
She turns and peers into a mirror, shaking her head. “New and improved.”