Page 93 of Goalkeeper
I’ve got to make it right. The least I can do is apologize for being an awkward-as-fuck asshole.
I check in with my dad and let him know how my morning training went. It’s crazy, I know. I’m nearly twenty years old. But if I don’t text him updates, he’ll pester me until he gets them. It’s just easier this way.
I finish my coffee and hightail it to class. I spot Paige in the front row, so I head in that direction and snag the seat right next to her. She looks at me with surprise. For once, I actually know what to say. I open my mouth to apologize, but Dr. Winslow chooses that exact moment to start class.
Perched on the edge of his desk, he rattles on about our upcoming speeches and then begins to explain the final project. I do my best to focus as I furiously type notes on my laptop.
Winslow announces that we’ll be paired with a critique partner for all of our speeches. We’ll give each other feedback and pointers. And, for the final project, we’ll present in those same pairs, that way, we have a vested interest in our partner’s success and are more likely to take the whole process seriously.
I glance back at my teammates. There are four of us in this class, so that should work out easily. Between practice, games, workouts, and living together, we should have ample time to coach each other. I’m just about to send Herrera a message, when Winlsow clears his throat.
“To make the partnering process simple,” he says, “you’ll pair up with the person closest to you, starting from the left. Amanda’s recording your seating assignment and pairings now,” he says, referring to the TA who’s walking the aisles.
Poleaxed, I look at Paige, just as she bursts out laughing.
What the hell? I guess I’ll have the next 15 weeks to figure out this woman and her quirks, since we’re partners now.
“Lookin’ good out there, Briggsy,” JD says as we walk into the locker room after practice and I nod my thanks.
A new season always takes a little adjusting. We’ve lost some of our best players to graduation or the pros and the new guys are still acclimating and finding their places. Our season opener is only a few weeks away, and we still have some work to do as a team to get ready for the season, especially if we plan to make it to the Frozen Four.
We had a decent practice today, but the coaches worked us hard, as they should have. Still, I’m ready for a shower, a protein shake, and my bed, in that order. It’s way too early to sleep, but I’ll turn on a movie and zone out for a little. Who am I kidding? I’ll probably watch old footage of some of our biggest rivals.
“You coming?” Vonne asks, and I realize I’ve spaced out a little.
“What’s that?”
“A bunch of us are meeting at the Biscuit to talk about the upcoming year. A strategy session, I guess you could call it, and we want you there. So shower up and we’ll see you in twenty, all right?”
“Sounds good,” I tell him, because although it doesn’t sound nearly as good as what I had planned, he’s one of my captains.
Less than half an hour later, I walk into the Biscuit in the Basket, a favorite hangout for the team and most of the Moo U student body. The guys are seated at what we like to refer to as ‘our table,’ so I make my way over and take a seat next to Vonne.
When a server comes by, I order my usual grilled chicken salad, hold the croutons, and check my phone to see a text from my dad. I swear, my hockey career is like a part-time job for him and when I do get called up, I wonder what he’ll do with all his free time.
The guys are chatting about the upcoming season and I’m tuning into their conversation about possible line changes when Vonne elbows me. “Don’t look now Briggsy, but your girl just walked in.”
So, of course, I turn and look. And there’s Paige, looking prettier than anybody in the Biscuit ever has. It’s a college bar, so nobody gets dressed up to hang out and eat wings, but Paige looks like she just stepped off a runway with her jean skirt and silky-looking tank top. She’s with her friend—Lily, I think—and they’re walking right toward our table.
“Hey guys,” Paige calls and her eyes land on mine, almost as if she’s challenging me to look away. It’s fair—that’s kind of been my MO around her. I don’t look away. Instead, I give her a hint of a smile. If we’re going to be working together until the end of the semester, I’ve got to start somewhere. And that’s probably with a real apology.
I wait for Paige and Lily to move to a booth, so I can snag a few moments with Paige, or at least without an audience comprised of my teammates, but I’m out of luck. Herrera and Doyle invite the girls to sit with us. Lily takes the seat between them, and suddenly, the seat on my right is empty.
“Sit here, Paige,” Vonne says, motioning to the seat he just vacated. He grabs a stool from the bar and slides up to the table between JD and Noah. Yeah, they’re settling in to watch the show.
As if apologizing for being an idiot isn’t enough, I’ve got eight pairs of eyes watching my every move.
“Look, I really need to—”
“Since we’re working together, we might as well—”
“Sorry,” I smile. “You go first.”
“I was just going to say that since we’re partners, we should probably exchange numbers.”
“Oh, yeah, of course.” I grab my phone from my back pocket and I swear I can hear Herrara saying, “Score!” in the background. Jesus.
“I, uh, actually have your number already.” At her arched eyebrow, I hurry to explain. “Not in a creepy way, but Vonne got it from Megan or one of the other guys’ girlfriends the night we met. After the whole...mess, I —”
