Page 8 of Unlovable Player

I try to ignore him. Hope if I pretend he isn’t there he’ll disappear.

“I’m sure they’ll sign you soon. If not to the NHL then at least to the AHL- what are they called again?”

I open my mouth, but he goes on before I have a chance to say anything.

“AHL team names get worse all the time don’t they? It’s like band names. Eventually you're going to run out of good ones that haven't already been taken- but the ECHL, that really takes the biscuit-”

“What do you know about bands?”

He perks up. “You like music?”

I shrug. I don’t trust anything this guy says.

“I like some bands, but I’m not big into it or anything,” he says.

“I’m sure ‘Daddy’ took you to see U2 at Madison Square Garden when you were a kid.”

He snorts. “Yeah right. If I wasn’t at boarding school in Switzerland or with the nanny.”

“Boo hoo, let me get my violin.”

He’s grinning when I look at him.

“I have a sport’s nutrition class now, please don’t tell me you do.”

“No. I’ve got a free period, then finance.”

“Of course.”

“Finance could be a good class for you to take, to help you figure out how to spend all your money when you’re an NHL all-star.”

Did he just say something nice?

“I’ll get an accountant, but thanks.”

“Not all accountants can be trusted.” I’m nearly at my classroom, but he won’t stop talking. “Let me know when you’re in the market for one and I’ll recommend someone.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“No problem,” he beams. I don’t know whether he really didn’t pick up on the sarcasm or he’s just pretending not to.

“K bye.”

He’s still talking, right up to the moment the door closes in his face.

SEBASTIAN

Ilike seeing Captain in his baggy hoodies, with that fluffy bit of hair sticking out. He has this look like he always just got out of bed, except when he’s on the ice, then he comes alive.

I had always thought he hated me because of our rivalry on the ice, but I’m starting to see it goes a lot deeper than that. He doesn’t likeme.Not the rival hockey player - theperson.

I show up early to our next practise and Austin’s out on the ice already, taking shots at an empty goal.

“It’s a lot easier without a goalie,” I shout.

He was in the zone and he flinches when he hears my voice. His face like thunder when he turns around.

He’s wearing his helmet without the cage or a mouth guard and his cheeks are red from exertion. I imagine that’s what he looks like after sex, without the helmet, probably.

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