Page 46 of The Alternate Captain
“In here,” I say, moving to hang my clothes up in a rickety wardrobe opposite the fireplace.
Tom bounds in, dropping a holdall in my doorway before collapsing on the bed.
“I’ve just finished making that.”
“I can tell. It’s been a long day,” he says. “Can I sleep here?”
I eye his bag. “Is that all you’ve brought?”
Tom props himself up on his elbow, facing me as I stand at my wardrobe.
“No. My car is crammed full of stuff. I’m going to need some help—wait...”
He scrambles to his feet and strides towards me, pulling Johnny’s hoodie from my hands, examining it.
“Did your brother make captain?” His eyebrows pinch together, and he looks as if he’s trying to work out a complex maths problem.
Shit.
I open my mouth to reply, but Tom’s eyes widen as the answer comes to him. “This is Johnny’s hoodie,” he gasps, slapping a hand over his mouth. “Number ‘56.’ That’s not your brother’s number.”
“Yeah,” I say, reaching for it.
But Tom turns away and moves it out of reach. Then, to my horror, he pulls it to his nose and inhales.
“Don’t you dare. You’ll take all the smell.” I fight him for it, and thankfully, he releases his grasp.
“Why do you have Johnny Koenig’s hoodie? And that’s one of those team-issue ones. And it smells divine, so there’s no way you bought that online.”
He’s right. It smells incredible, and despite my efforts to resist, I’ve been giving it daily sniffs. I had no intention of handing it back to Mike to pass to Johnny. And I figured, worst case, Johnny would have to message me and ask for it if he wanted it back.
I wanted him to message me.
The memory of the last time I saw him appears like a movie in my head. The kiss. His arm wrapped around me. The clean, fresh scent that is so distinctly...Johnny.
Tom catches my eye, looking at me with an expression of complete bemusement.
“Okay, so something happened,” I say, moving to my bedroom door and dragging Tom’s holdall inside.
I close it, then turn to face him. He’s like a child waiting for someone to open the sweet wrapper.
“Tell. Me. Everything,” he says, kicking his shoes off and making himself comfortable on my bed.
One thing I’m excitedabout is the new hockey season. One thing I’m dreading is the new academic year. And since I’ve been back in town, it’s all I’ve been worrying about. I’ve spent the past few years working on my master’s degree and I’m left with my final year to get through.
Except I’ve been too relaxed. I completely forgot about my pending thesis until an email popped into my inbox, inviting me to a meeting to discuss my topic. And now I’m here, it’s more horrific than I could have imagined. This room is so damn hot I can’t wait to get the hell out of here.
“So, any further thoughts about your thesis? Because you really don’t have long. I need your proposal by this Wednesday.”
Dr Wells is the lecturer I’ve been assigned to support me with my final year assignment, and the way he’s looking at me right now gives me the idea that he doesn’t give a shit about it.
“Yeah, I’m just getting it down on paper. You know, get it presented properly for your consideration,” I say, but I can tell by his eyes he doesn’t believe me.
He averts his attention to the clock over the door and purses his lips before reaching for a pen he has stowed inside his jacket pocket.
“Johnathan, I can help you flesh some ideas out if you need the support. But I can’t do it all for you. Do you not have a single idea?”
“Well, I have a few vague ideas noted,” I say, reaching for my notebook.
