Page 7 of Unlovable Player

He leans over and whispers, “this is the best spot in the class, don’t tell anyone." Even his whispering is loud and annoying.

"I know.” I don’t even look at him as I take my books out of my bag and start loading them on the table.

He whistles. “Are we supposed to have all those books?”

“The reading list’s on the student intranet.”

“Thanks, maybe I could borrow yours some time?”

“Or maybe you could buy your own?”

Prof comes in and everyone’s head snaps in his direction.

I ignore Huntington’s eyes on the side of my face as Prof starts speaking.

He scans the room and his gaze lands on my table.

“Ah, new student,” he says. “Why don’t you introduce yourself?”

Huntington clears his throat and smooths the front of his t-shirt down like he’s wearing a fucking tie. He actually stands up.

“Hello Sir, my name is Sebastian Huntington the third and I transferred here from Yale to play on the hockey team, this is my first day of classes and I’m finding it great so far.”

There are snickers from the back of the room and I’m getting second-hand embarrassment.

Even Prof smirks as Huntington takes his seat. “Thank you Sebastian, and welcome. I’m sure you’ll find our hockey team are far better than those fops at Yale.”

That wins him a few chuckles and Prof goes on with the class. Huntington’s face is blank as he pulls a notebook from his bag.

“What?” he asks when he catches me looking.

“Sebastian Huntington thethird?”

“Yes.”

“I’m not calling you that.”

He shrugs. “I’m sure you’ll find something to call me.”

I ignore him and try to focus on the class.

He doesn’t technically do anything to bother me again and makes notes with a pen that doesn’t even have a scratchy nib, but he’s still getting on my nerves, just by existing too close to me.

When Prof dismisses us for the day with a reading list, I try to put my bags away as quickly as possible to get away from my new teammate - and classmate apparently - but he only has his notebook to pack and he’s waiting for me by the door.

“Hey, wanna hit the ice later?”

“What for? We already had practise this morning.”

Huntington tuts. “Don’t you want to push yourself a little harder?”

I ignore him, but he keeps in step beside me.

“Oh that’s right, you were drafted by Boston, second round pick right?”

Third, but who’s counting?

“So you don’t need to practise.”

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