Page 92 of Goalkeeper
The odd one out.
The ugly duckling. Except, well, I don’t mean to sound arrogant, but I put my face on the internet daily. I know I’m not hideous. So, the glam duckling? Is that a thing?
Remember that song from TV? “One of these things is not like the other…” Yep, that’s my soundtrack. You know how athletes take the court or the field and their signature song is playing? When I’m at home, I swear I hear that tune begin to play every time I walk in a room.
Whereas Nate looks just like my dad, and Sophie and Jake could be my mom’s clones, I don’t really look like anyone. Sure, I have the same nose as my aunt Lorie and my hair is the same blonde shade my dad and Nate had as teenagers, and blue eyes run in my family, but I just don’t look like I belong. No one ever sees me and says,You must be Sophie’s sister!Or,You’re the picture of your mother!
And in a family of tall, willowy types, I’m a solid 5’ 4” with curvy hips. Hurray for recessive genes.
And then...there’s my personality. I’ve never met a stranger. My mom was apparently horrified that, as a toddler, I’d wave to random passersby in the mall or at the grocery store. I chat people up; it’s what I do. I’d much rather talk with a stranger—connect with someone—than just coolly go about my business.
My family is...decidedly not like that. They’re just not the social sort. Not that they’re anti-social or anything. They just keep to themselves. My siblings each have a close friend or two and our family circle is pretty small.
For my twelfth birthday, my parents relented and agreed I could invite some friends to the local skating rink for a party. When I calmly reported that we were out of printer ink and I needed some to print 100 more invitations, I thought my mother would faint. It never occurred to menotto invite everyone at my school.
And it’s not just that. I laugh loudly and they chuckle. I go to parties to dance and they go to mingle and exchange pleasantries.
So, it was a weekend of shopping (who knew sweater sets came in that many color combos?), and family dinners (note to self: no one else likes Thai— too spicy) and quality time (as in, we sat around the pool and while I got some sun and scrolled through social media, they sat in the shade and scrolled through the latest world news).
So, it’s good to be back at Moo U where Paige Underwood is not an oddity, but someone worth knowing. It’s a Tuesday morning and that means two things: a livestream of my morning makeup routine, and a stop at the Green Bean for a latte.
Emma and I exit the dorm together and start the walk to campus. When we arrive at the Green Bean, she doesn’t even slow down. “Sorry, Paige. No latte for me. I have a meeting with my advisor.”
I cringe inwardly, knowing I should probably have a meeting with my advisor, too, but I just smile and tell her to have a good day.
Stepping into the Bean is a homecoming in and of itself. At first glance, I see about a dozen friendly faces, including Haley, my roommate from freshman year. We catch up for a minute, and then I spot a guy from my Psych class last spring. He’s over in the corner, next to half the hockey team. I swear, those guys take up major real estate wherever they go. Part of it is that they travel in packs and the other part is that they’re built like Mack trucks. I wave in their direction and a couple of the guys—Birdy and Lex—wave back.
And yep, there’s Spencer Briggs, the starting goalie, the guy from my Speech/Comm class, and the man who left me dripping wet in the middle of his kitchen after having his hands all over my best parts. He still hasn’t acknowledged my presence, not here or in class. And I told myself I was letting it go, but clearly, I was lying. I’ve just chalked it up to the fact that he’s shy, or doesn’t want a repeat, but nope not today. Any other day, I’d leave well enough alone. But whether it’s from feeling like a pariah all weekend or that I hate being treated like I’m invisible, I don’t know. But damn it, I’m Paige Fucking Underwood and I will not be ignored. How hard is it to wave? To say hi? Is conversation such a burden that he has to avert his eyes? Does he not know that you can kiss someone at a party and still make eye contact days later, without it having to mean some big important relationship is on the horizon?
I turn with purpose and walk in his direction. But, at the same time, he takes long, quick strides toward the door, which just happens to be right behind me. I slow down to sidestep him, but bam! I run smack into the solid brick wall that is Spencer’s chest. And in doing so, I knock loose the scalding cup of coffee he’s holding.
I feel the disaster coming as though it’s in slow motion. Clearly, the universe is telling Spencer and me to steer clear of liquids, or each other, or both. I shield my eyes, and my bag, from the imminent attack…
But it never comes.
Cautiously, I open my eyes just in time to see Spence grab the cup in mid-air, catching it soundly and balancing it effortlessly so not a drop gets on me.
I’m stunned, but I guess I shouldn’t be. Smiling, I look up into his warm brown eyes and say, “Nice reflexes. I guess there's a reason you’re the hotshot goalie.”
But instead of a smile in response, or god forbid, a witty response, all I get is a nice view of his backside as he, once again, beats a hasty retreat away from me.
Spencer
I walked away. Paige Underwood was standing in front of me, looking like a cover model and being all friendly and sweet, and I walked away without saying a word.
Ten days ago, I had my hands on her ass and my tongue down her throat, and now I’m acting like a fucking dick and darting away when I see her.
Jesus.
What the hell is the matter with me? Yeah, she’s probably the prettiest woman I’ve ever seen, but still. I’m no slouch. Hell, I’m the starting goalie on Moo U’s hockey team. That’s reason enough to hold my head up high on this campus.
But every time I see her, I freeze up. Completely. It wasn’t this way at the party— at least not initially. Sure, I hung back a bit, but Paige has this way of coaxing you into having fun. And she did. Before I knew it, I was laughing and relaxing, and just having a good time. And not like last year— not with the goal of being crazy or going nuts at my first taste of freedom. Just good fun.
I don’t have much relationship experience, really. I dated a little in high school, but my hockey schedule left almost no time for a normal social life. And I had a couple of hookups after parties last year, but once my semester started to go down hill, I began living like a monk. And that’s where I’ve been ever since. Guys on the team used to give me shit about it, but when I started shutting out games, they shut up.
My eye is always on the prize— it has to be. Not only would my dad accept nothing less, but neither will the pros. So, I’ve pretty much put blinders on.
But I can’t ignore Paige. My eyes find her when we’re in the same room. It’s like she’s magnetic. Yeah, I can’t deny I’m drawn to her, but apparently, all I can do is walk away from her, instead of sticking around and having a conversation like a normal person. .
