Hooked: A Hockey Romance Read online

  “I don’t know. You know how Heath looks like a giant thumb?” This earned a laugh from her. Lyrical and heart breaking all at once, it was the farthest thing from obnoxious. Why the hell were all the seats around her empty? Hell if he ever found out, he was just the lucky bastard that got to sit with her. He leaned over to her a little and she didn’t pull away. “He’s like a dumpster on the inside. You don’t want to mess with that level of insanity. It’s not worth it.”

  “I treat my body like a motherfucking temple, asshole.” Heath ran a hand over his head, scowling. “And I don’t look like a thumb. Take that back.”

  “I can take it back, but it won’t make it untrue.”

  “Sellout.”

  A whole seven minutes late, Jackie finally tumbled in the room as erratically as she had their first day. Excuses poured from her mouth as she dumped her bag on the table and started pulling up her Powerpoint, rambling on the entire time she messed with the computer. Tyson was still sitting closer to Layla than he probably should’ve been, but she wasn’t making any big moves to get away and the smell of her coconut perfume was digging its way under his skin.

  Finally satisfied with the way everything looked on the projector screen, Jackie turned and looked around the room. Probably seeing if everyone showed back up. Her eyes landed on their table and he swear she winced. No luck getting me to drop now. No way in hell. Plus, how hard could it be? He skimmed over the syllabus to get the name of the short story they were supposed to read and everything seemed pretty easy. A lot of reading, some in class writing and workshops. As far as pain in the ass classes, it could be worse.

  “Typically, we’ll be discussing stories on Tuesdays. You may or may not receive surprise quizzes so I know you’re doing the readings. Since it’s our first week and we’re off schedule, you guys are all off the hook. I’m hoping we still have an open and inspiring discussion today, so if everyone would pull out their copy of the text…”

  So he looked at the syllabus and he definitely Googled the story… but Tyson didn’t actually read it. Or print it out, for that matter.

  How the hell Heath knew to have a copy was beyond him. Tyson leaned over. “Let me read off yours, dude.”

  “Fuck off. You called me a thumb.”

  Well, shit. He had him there. Tyson stretched in his seat before hunch up next to Layla and whispering, “Hey, can we share?”

  Jackie cleared her throat. “Problem over there?”

  “Printer jam this morning,” Tyson offered his best smile, but it just seemed to piss her off even more. “Sorry.”

  Begrudgingly, Layla slid the paper between them. Once Jackie’s attention was back on the entire class and not their merry little band of misfits, Layla muttered, “So you didn’t read it?”

  “I mean, I meant to read it.”

  The PowerPoint changed at the front of the room. Around him, everyone started taking notes. Even Heath. Tyson didn’t do the reading, but he at least remembered to bring a notebook and a pen. He copied down the slides word for word while Jackie talked about character development and setting. When she opened up the lecture to a discussion, Tyson scooted a little closer so he could try to scan the story. The photocopied letters were smudged and strung together in the most unreadable sentences.

  “Just take it,” Layla muttered, sliding the pages over more. “And try not to look so obvious about reading it for the first time.”

  “Sure.” He stayed right where he was, though. “Hey, you really should come this weekend. The party isn’t as crazy as Heath made it out to be.”

  It was.

  “I went my freshman year. I don’t really want to repeat that weekend. Besides, I’m busy. I have to work.”

  “Are you sure there isn’t a problem over there?” Jackie asked again.

  Layla’s head whipped up, her cheeks tinted the colors of peonies. “No problem.”

  “Well, if there isn’t a problem would either of you care to explain the relationship between the grandma and Sophie?”

  “Uh,” Tyson stuttered, dipping his eyes to the page.

  Layla spoke up, saving the day. “It’s obvious the piece overall is about generational and cultural differences, and I think Gish Jen accomplished showing that in this particular story through their relationship. Even just one dimensionally, the polarity of the two screams…”

  That’s right about where she lost him. She finished her train of thought a few seconds later, appeasing Jackie enough that she didn’t look their way the rest of the class. That probably had something to do with the perpetual cold shoulder Layla was giving him. It wasn’t like Tyson was actively trying to disrupt the class by talking to her. She wouldn’t answer if he tried, and as much as he really wanted to ask her about experience at the welcome bash her freshman year he kept his mouth closed. Even so, Layla scooted her chair away from his enough so their arms weren’t brushing.

  With a few minutes left in class, she quietly pulled a folder out of her bag and pulled out a stapled stack of papers. She jotted something on it and slid it over to him. Tyson smiled as he pulled it to him. Maybe she was into him. He could deal with the hard to get types. No biggie. Instead of her phone number at the top of the page, though, it was a note scribbled out in purple ink.

  Assignment for Tuesday

  In case your printer is still jammed

  When he looked over at her she was smiling like the cat that ate the canary. He went to say something to her but she shook her head and put a finger to her lips to silently ‘shush’ him. How she managed to pack her shit so fast when Jackie dismissed the class was a miracle, honestly, because one second she was there and the next she wasn’t.

  Heath grabbed the packet and snorted and then dropped it back on Tyson’s notebook. “That’s cold hearted, man.”

  Tyson: 01, Layla: 01.

  chapter two

  “Just come over. We don’t even have to go out. I need help finishing this cake.”

  Cradling her cellphone against her ear, Layla unlocked the door to her apartment. “Sounds like you don’t need help finishing the wine at all though.”

  “Oh, no. Absolutely not.”

  “I don’t know. My feet fucking hurt.”

  She was grasping at straws at this point, but she really didn’t want to go anywhere at midnight after working a full eight hour shift. Emma, her best friend and the tipsy voice on the other end of the line, had a hard time taking no for an answer when it came to hanging out. She was the type of person to show up uninvited if a text went unanswered. Stage five clinger? Most definitely. But she was also Layla’s best friend, and Layla was a stage three clinger so they balanced each other out.

  “Okay, but I need to tell you everything Elias did today so you can psychoanalyze it and tell me if he’s into me or not.”

  Elias, AKA the TA in Emma’s Critical Issues in World Art class. The very Swedish TA who, if Emma’s stories had any merit, was kind of into her. It was the first week of class and Layla already received two phone calls from Emma about his behavior. She had to admit, it did seem like Elias wanted to get a little more than friendly with Emma. Encouraging anyone to enter a forbidden relationship wasn’t really Layla’s style, but it seemed harmless enough. Plus after the year Emma had she deserved to have a little fun. It was easy for Layla to forget Emma was climbing her way back up from hell when she was wine drunk on the phone, but there was no way she would ever truly forget the vacant look in Emma’s eyes when they were alone in the hospital months ago.

  Plus, living vicariously through Emma would keep her mind away from what kind of dirty things she could get into with Tyson. Just saying his name had her feeling a little fluttery. No, it’s not him. It’s the lack of sleep and the two cans of Redbull you drank. She was going to go with that one, for sure.

  “I’m putting you on speaker,” Layla announced, balancing her phone on the edge of her dresser. She peeled her uniform off. As gross as it was to not shower after baking in the fumes from gas pumps and hot d
og dispensers, she was really fucking tired. She’d just wash her sheets when she did her laundry and it would be okay… whenever she got around to doing her laundry, that is.

  “I think I’m going to give it to Labor Day. After that if I don’t get any sign from him that he’s into me I might just drop by his office.”

  “Wearing nothing but a trench coat and stilettos?”

  “He got this really dreamy look on his face when I started talking about the problems Euro-Americans have created in terms of determining what is marketable when it comes to native art –”

  “Did his eyes get glassy? Because mine just did.”

  “It’s fascinating,” Emma defended.

  “I believe it. I either had a heart attack driving home or almost fell asleep at the wheel, so I’m not really sure I can make sense of Western standards in the art community.”

  Emma ‘tsked’ on the other end of the phone. “You have to learn to say no at work. It’s the first week back and you’re already picking up everyone’s slack.”

  Per usual.

  “Okay but money.” When Emma didn’t say anything, Layla took the call off speaker and held it back up to her ear. “I’m going to have to cut back my hours next semester, so I need to save as much as I can.”

  For the past year Layla somehow balanced two jobs and a full course load. Granted, one of the jobs was an ‘internship’ at the school’s IT department ten hours a week tops. Alongside a dozen other lucky top noggins in the Computer Science program she got to play help desk for professors who didn’t understand how to use the systems in the classrooms. She spent twenty five hours a week – if she only worked what she was scheduled – at a Grab n’ Go gas station a few blocks from campus. On top of eighteen credit hours, it was a miracle she was alive.

  Staying in Stanberry the summer between her junior and senior year helped keep her bank account out of the red even though it pissed her parents off. More upset than pissed them off, really. Her brother was doing an overseas tour with his band, Beneath the Sea, so it wasn’t like she was missing out on family cook outs or anything. Plus, she got a twenty cent raise at Grab n’ Go since she was one of the only people to stay over the summer months. The raise plus a full forty hours was enough to make her feel a little less guilty about not going home. Layla needed to save as much as she could, though. Her last semester was a full capstone semester, meaning she’d be working an unpaid internship somewhere in a sixty mile radius and taking no classes. As excited as she was to get out there and experience the field, an unpaid internship wasn’t going to keep her in her apartment.

  And it was only her. Her studio apartment was small, but it was three hundred square feet that was all Layla’s. For the same cost splitting a nice two or three bedroom with other students she got peace and quiet. It was worth the added stress of everything being her sole responsibility.

  “Promise you won’t work every weekend and we’ll be able to go to a few parties? I’ll take a bar crawl. I’m desperate to hang out with you. It’s sad.”

  Layla knew the feeling. Emma did go home over the summer, back to Indiana. So far since the semester started they only managed to hang out once for a good two hours.

  “I did get invited to the football team’s welcome bash,” Layla mentioned as she flopped on her bed without turning the lights off.

  “What?” It was a screech more than a question. “Why aren’t we there right now? Who invited you? I need details, Layla. I swear if you’ve been holding out on me I’ll find a new best friend.”

  “Good luck,” She muttered.

  “I heard that. Now tell me why we aren’t getting sweaty and drinking shitty beer out of plastic cups.”

  “Before Shayla even called off I had to work until eight –”

  “The party doesn’t get good until ten at the earliest. Right now is primo welcome bash time. I bet they haven’t even started the pong tournament.”

  “I didn’t really want to go after work. Plus, I’ve already gone. I feel like it’s like seeing the Mona Lisa; it seems like it’s going to be cool, but everyone hypes it up and in the end it’s just a tiny little painting that’s way too crowded.”

  “Surprisingly good analogy, but as someone studying art history I’d like to mention I’m the type of person who likes to stand there and stare at the Mona Lisa. I only missed the party last year because of he who shall not be named.”

  Nolan, Emma’s ex. The ex she – hell, who Layla – thought she was going marry. After two years of dating and a shared apartment, it seemed like a natural relationship progression. A few weeks before their junior year started Emma found out she was pregnant, though, and her loving boyfriend decided that was too much for him so he dumped her and left her to fend for herself. It stressed her out to the point of miscarrying at the beginning of the semester.

  Ever the badass bitch, her best friend picked up what she could of her life while giving Nolan the middle finger and morphed into an even better human being. There were a lot of nights they curled up together in Layla’s bed and just cried together, but Emma bounced back the best she could. Layla didn’t think it was possible, really. Emma was already the coolest chick she knew; an activist with great taste in heels and a love for art, there was no way Layla didn’t follow her around the dorm their freshman year until she gave in and befriended her.

  After winter break last year Layla noticed a shift in Emma, though. She left for break with a little heaviness surrounding her and came back with a dangerous smile that had her hungry for every experience, like she was determined to make up for all her lost time. There was no way Layla could fault her for that. As much as she didn’t want to hit up parties or the bars after work or class, she typically went where Emma went. It wasn’t like Layla didn’t enjoy letting loose at a party… just now at twenty-two, it seemed a bit stale.

  Probably because you’re working your ass off and the semester has barely started, she thought bitterly. There would be time to play when she had her diploma and was out of Ohio. Leaving the Midwest was always her end game. In high school, she dreamed of London. New York. Miami. Los Angeles. Anywhere but Cleveland, Ohio. It didn’t help her brother was out there follow his dreams in a tour bus. When his band got signed and started to get popular enough to do a European tour the wanderlust went into overdrive. If Wade could make it out there screaming into a microphone and showering at rest stops, she could make it anywhere with her degree. Right?

  All she had to do was cross the finish line.

  “How about this: we can go out next weekend. Dan already promised he’d get my Saturday covered so I have two days off in a row.”

  “Just like he promised you he wouldn’t keep pushing his responsibilities on you. Seriously, Layla, there are so many other jobs you could get in this town. You’d make bank waitressing. I could talk to Gidget and get you an interview at Seed in a minute.” The Good Seed, the ultra-hipster vegan restaurant Emma had been working at nearly a year, was one of the top rated dining choices in Stanberry. It was delicious and out of her price range, and as tempting as it sounded to work in a fancy cool restaurant she had her reasons for staying at the gas station. “Just say the word and I’ll hook you up.”

  “I appreciate it,” Layla muttered. On a yawn she dropped into bed. The light overhead was blinding, but she was too tired to get back up and flip it off. “It sounds like you’re eating that cake you said you, and I quote, ‘Could never fucking finish even if gluttony himself shoved his finger up my asshole’. Still trying to pick that one apart.”

  The clanking silverware on the other end sounded like Emma was in the middle of an episode of Iron Chef. “Did I say that? I meant to say if you didn’t get over here I’d be a gluttonous little bitch and eat it all myself. Your loss.”

  She definitely didn’t say that. Laughing sleepily, she said, “You never planned to share in the first place. C’mon, you act like I’m not your best friend.”

  “You’re right.” The response came so quickly it c
aused Layla to break out further in giggles. Maybe that was the lack of sleep, actually. She always got goofy when she was sleep deprived. “But I like to think I’m the type of person to share my cake.”

  “It’s the thought that counts.”

  “You know,” Emma said, voice full of clarity and a pinch of wistfulness despite her state of semi-drunkenness. “I honestly feel kind of pathetic being home alone right now. It’s the first weekend of my last year of college and I’m wine drunk at home eating a whole cake by myself and watching Zac Efron movies. My entire college career has been tainted by him –”

  “Emma…”

  “You’ve been so supportive, Layla. Everyone has been. So I feel bad being upset still. It’s not all the time, but I don’t even want to tell anyone because I feel like I should be over this by now.”

  “You can’t get over something like that in a few months.”

  “It was a year exactly last Saturday,” Emma muttered, sniffling.

  And suddenly, Layla felt like the biggest piece of shit best friend. How did she miss it? She’d been in the fucking hospital holding Emma’s hand while she miscarried and the anniversary passed by without a blimp on her radar. Fucking hell. A thousand excuses – she’d been busy with work, preparing for the upcoming semester, visiting her parents on the three day ‘vacation’ she requested off months in advance – popped to mind but she kept her mouth shut.

  “I’m sorry,” She finally said. She should’ve been there with Emma, crying over wine and Zac Efron’s eight pack. Instead she was bitching about how tired her feet were. “Do you want me to come over?”

  “No.” Emma cleared her throat. Layla imagined her laying upside down on her couch. It was her favorite way to sit. “I didn’t make a big deal about it. I’m trying not to make it a big deal, I guess. I feel better, honestly. It was just a little zygote. After everything that happened with him, it was just so much. I don’t think I fully processed everything for months. I’m just emotionally drained this year already, and I’m starting to freak out about graduation.”