Page 25 of Crossing the Top Line

“Hey, what’s up?” he asks casually, picking up his fork and digging into what’s left of his meal.

I grunt out a reply, but my focus is on Tori. Whatever warmth and comfort had wrapped itself around this table are gone, replaced with tension so thick I could cut it with a spoon. Tori is on the edge of her chair, as far from Spencer as she can get without physically leaving her seat, her arms crossed tight over her chest. I glance at Oli, trying to make sense of this sudden shift, but he’s staring at Spencer with furrowed brows.

“I’ve got to go,” Tori announces suddenly.

Spencer stops eating and looks up, lips pulled down in an honest-to-God pout. What is that about?

“You sure? You haven’t even fini—”

“I’m full. I’ll catch y’all later,” Tori snaps, cutting across Spencer’s protest.

She gets to her feet, grabbing her mostly full plate and striding away, the ends of her hair swaying in time with her steps. I turn back to look at Spencer, equal parts confused and irritated. And judging by the look on Oli’s face, he’s on a similar train of thought. But our roommate is either more oblivious than I’d originally thought or doesn’t care that his mere presence made someone so uncomfortable that she left at the first possible opportunity.

“What was wrong with where you were sitting?” Oli snaps, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms over his chest.

Spencer doesn’t even look up as he continues to shovel food into his mouth. “Didn’t feel right. This is better. Wish Tori didn’t have to run off, but you know her,” he says, a light chuckle lifting the end of his sentence.

Neither Oli nor I return the sound, instead staring at the top of his head with similar expressions of exasperation. Oli told me about his lunch date with Tori this past Tuesday, and he mentioned that she had some sort of past with Spencer, but was mum on the details. Right now, I can’t tell if I’m more irritated that his mere presence makes her so uncomfortable that she feels the need to run, or that Spencer seemingly doesn’t care.

"A simple ‘hey can I join you’ wouldn’t go amiss, you know. Or do they not teach manners this far past the Mason-Dixon line?” Oli snipes, more heat this time.

That gets Spencer’s attention, and he looks up, stopping mid-chew to look between me and Oli before swallowing. There’s a little crease between Spencer’s dark brows, his ocean-blue eyes swimming in thought as he tries to puzzle through what’s going on.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know I was interrupting something,” Spencer says at last, voice slightly distant as his mind continues to work.

“You seem to do that a lot, and someone might get the wrong idea,” Oli goes on, words clipped and pointed.

“Well, that someone shouldn’t make any judgments, especially when they might not have the whole story,” Spencer returns, eyes narrowing.

“They may not need to have the whole story, because what they’re seeing speaks volumes.”

Oli and Spencer glare at each other, disregarding me entirely as their chests expand, spines curl, and low growls start to emerge. I sigh and run a hand through my hair.

“Or maybe these somebodies are overreacting and should focus on what’s really important, hm?” I suggest, speaking before either of them gets a chance to.

There’s a tense beat of silence when I’m not sure if they’re going to listen to me, or if they’re going to continue this alpha-hole posturing charade. But then Oli grunts, picks up his plate, and walks away, dumping it in the trash before heading down toward the equipment room. I look at Spencer again, my eyebrows shooting up as I see the glare that’s been turned on to me. I raise my hands in a gesture of peace before picking up my fork and continuing to eat. It takes a few moments before Spencer does the same.

Thankfully, by the time we’re done eating, and we find Oli again, both of them have decided to drop the matter for the time being, agreeing without speaking to put the game first over whatever personal squabble. But knowing them as I do, I’ll eat my entire hockey stick if today is the last time those two get into it over Tori.

Idon’tknowifI’ll ever get tired of seeing my name on the back of a New Orleans Mystic jersey.

The blocky white letters against the rich purple background, not too dissimilar to jerseys I’d owned growing up, back when playing in the NHL was just a dream in a child’s head. But here I am, suiting up with my teammates to face our most nontraditional opponent: Media Day.

We’re only a few days out from the home opener, and we’ve been summoned to run the gauntlet. I can hear the dull roar of conversation outside the locker room door, along with the pleasant chatter of my teammates around me, as well as the low undercurrent of music. A very different atmosphere than with the Wardens, almost party-like as opposed to an annoying obligation.

Laughter to my left draws my attention as I pull my jersey over my head and over my pads. Eli is talking animatedly with the Pair of Ovs on defense, Evgeny Petrov and Grigori Voronov, and I can’t help but smile. Most people think that making the main roster is all about skill, but the chemistry in the locker room is just as, if not more, important than what you can do on the ice. Hockey is a team sport, with little room for braggarts and the arrogant. There’s no denying Eli’s talent, but I almost envy his natural charisma. That sort of stuff can’t be taught, but if it could, my roommate would make a killing passing on his ways.

“Ready for this, Spencey?” a voice I recognize as our newly crowned captain Dallas asks from my right.

He’s half bent over, lacing up his skates, looking up at me with a small smile. I cringe as I turn to face him, but try to morph it into a smile before he can notice. By the wrinkle of his brow, I’m not fast enough.

“That’s what they called me back in San Fran,” I explain, answering the question in his eyes.

Dallas lets out a noise of understanding before giving me an apologetic smile. I return the expression before pulling on my gloves and grabbing my helmet.

“I can’t wait to see what they came up with this year,” Caleb comments from Dallas’s other side, a grin pulling at his cheeks.

“Yeah?” I prompt, curiosity rising.

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