Page 9 of Shots on Net

Three dots appear as he types, but then disappear. This happens twice more before a pair of text messages come through.

Carter: Why?

Carter: Sure. What do you want to do?

I decide to ignore the Why? and focus on the other. I hadn’t actually thought far enough ahead to come up with any ideas. Would Carter want to go see a movie? Grab dinner? What do hockey boys do on a Friday night?

Zeke: Whatever you want.

Carter: I have afternoon practice. Meet at the rink at 4?

Zeke: Sounds great! ?

There is no answer after that, and no bubbles to indicate that I should expect one. I wonder if the smiley face emoji was too much. Beside me, Jefferson finally comes up for air and looks over at my phone in surprise. He’s usually the only person I text regularly.

“Who are you talking to?”

“Carter. We’re going to…well, do something tonight. What do you think he does for fun?”

He laughs, shaking his head. “Aren’t you living with him? You’d know better than I would. What does he do at home? Video games?”

“I don’t know, work out? He works out a lot. His muscles all have muscles.” I cut off as the professor walks in. Jefferson sends me a look that says good luck with that before turning to face the front of the classroom. I try to focus on class, then, and push thoughts of Carter out of my mind. It’s a problem for four o’clock.

Unfortunately, four o’clock seems to come around a lot quicker than expected; with a campus map pulled up on my phone, I head over toward the rink to meet Carter, still unsure of what we might do. I haven’t spent much time on this side of the campus—hence the map—but the rink is hard to miss once you’re in the right spot. Also hard to miss is Carter, standing near the building talking to another man. His blonde hair is bright gold in the late afternoon sun, and his inked arms are on full display in his short-sleeved shirt.

Slowing, I hesitate to approach him. He hasn’t noticed I’m there yet, and seems to be deep in conversation with the other guy; I don’t want to interrupt. Luckily, before I have to decide what to do, he turns his head and notices me. I wave my hand awkwardly and he jerks his head in a come-hither motion.

“Hi,” I say, once I get within hearing distance. I have to look up to see Carter and his companion’s faces; why are all sporty guys so tall?

“Hey. Vas, this is my roommate, Zeke.” Carter waves a hand at me and his tall friend nods his head in a way that looks oddly like a bow.

“Hello. It is nice to meet you.” He’s got a hint of an accent. Something Eastern European, if I had to guess. “My name is Henri Vasel, but you may call me by my last name if you’d like. Everyone does.”

He smiles and I return it easily. Carter scowls. “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.” He turns back to Carter, still smiling. “See you tomorrow, then. Enjoy your evening.”

Carter grunts in a ‘you too’ sort of way and glances at his friend’s retreating back before looking down at me.

“He’s nice,” I tell him, and get a grunt of my own.

“Yeah, he’s cool.”

I nod. This is probably high praise, coming from him. I take a second to adjust the straps of my backpack where it’s digging into my shoulders. “So, what do you want to do?”

“This was your idea,” he reminds me, and lifts his arms to adjust where his hair is tied back in a small bun.

“Right…” Casting about for something—anything—I look around for inspiration. There is a group of posters pinned to a board not far down the sidewalk and I squint at it. “Mini golf!”

Carter’s eyebrows rise in response. He looks in the direction of the notice board and then back at me. I might be projecting, but I think I can detect a hint of amusement in his eyes.

“Mini golf?” He asks.

“Yep. Mini golf.” I’m feeling pretty confident about this choice. It’ll keep us outside, and it’s just enough of a physical activity to hopefully keep him interested. We’ll be able to talk, but won’t have to maintain a conversation the way we would over a table at a restaurant.

“Okay. Do we have to change?” He waves a hand at his basketball shorts and t-shirt, and my jeans. We’re both wearing sneakers.

“Uhm, no?” What the hell does he think mini golf consists of? “Haven’t you played putt-putt before?”

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