Page 11 of Overtime
His brown skin gleams with a sheen of sweat under the gym’s harsh lights. It marks deep shadows in the ridges of his muscles, which shift and flex under the effort. Thick drops of sweat trickle from his chin, but his expression is exactly the same as when he’s sitting at a library, watching me rant my head off. Calm but intense. And even though he’s more or less crouching as he lifts the ropes up and down, his stomach doesn’t bunch into a little tire like mine. No, sir. His is a map of tight muscles that belongs to a museum. I can even see the V shape that disappears into his sweatpants.
Wait, his sweatpants are quite tight. Are those muscles around his knees? I didn’t know knees could look like that.
Would it be creepy if I paused the video to stare?
Bah, no one’s watching. I hit pause and even make the video full screen.
“Oh no, Maddie. You shouldn’t have done this,” I mumble to myself. It’s going to be hard to face him tomorrow and not imagine what I’ve now seen is under his clothes. Maybe Wyatt’s concerns weren’t as unfounded as I thought.
Keys jiggle outside the door, and it opens with a bang. I slam my laptop shut, looking like a deer caught in the headlights.
“Gee, are you looking at something for adults?” Tiff asks with a laugh she tosses over her shoulder. Sure enough, the other two also cross the threshold into the apartment.
“Of course not.” But almost. I curl my hands around my warm mug of tea and take a casual sip. “Why are you all back early?” Unfortunately, my question goes ignored.
“Wow, Maddie. I didn’t know you were into that.” Rebs wiggles her eyebrows at me, playing along with her friends. Their twinkling little laughs chafe me raw.
Sighing, I start collecting my stuff. Meanwhile, Lori throws her bag at the foot of the couch and plops onto the cushions as if she were the owner.
“Aw, you don’t have to go!” Lori pouts in an exaggerated manner. “But then again, if you prefer privacy to watch your naughty videos, I understand. Just don’t let us hear you. Am I right, girls?”
Tiff snorts. “Ew, yeah.”
I wish I didn’t have paper-thin skin that so easily gives away when I’m feeling a strong emotion. But as I clutch my laptop and journal against my chest with one arm and pick up my mug with the free hand, they can all see how red my face is, and they laugh even harder. But actually, this is a flush of anger.
I slam my bedroom door shut with my heel. I’m angrier at myself than at them. I wish I could tell them off once and get them off my back for good. But every time I try to stand up for myself, Lori’s comments get more and more insulting, and Rebs and Tiff get meaner too. It’s worthless to even try anymore.
I don’t want to max out my credit card to move out, but I may have to. Even taking in an extra student won’t get me there quick enough. I sit on my bed and open my laptop back up, about to check my bank balance when there’s a soft knock on my door.
The only one who’d ever bother is Rebs, the lesser of all the evils. Taking a deep breath, I say, “Come in.”
She pushes the door open and pokes her head into my room. “Hey, we’re heading out to O’Malley’s soon and will probably be out of your hair all night, okay?”
Not an invitation. Not an apology. Or even an acknowledgment that her friend was awful—again.
“Yeah, whatever” is all I say. My door clicks shut, and Lori’s laughter echoes from the living room, disrupting the quiet in my room.
I’m officially done with this.
CHAPTER 5
ARAN
Shit, Coach drove us too hard today. Even I’m eyeing the infamous puke barrel. Assistant Coach Thomas brings it out every time practice is going to be more medieval torture than hockey training. At least half of the team has left their own offering to the barrel today, but I can’t let myself join their ranks. As the captain of this team and as a senior, I have a reputation to uphold. I swallow down the rising bile and focus on breathing through my mask.
“If you think this is hard, wait until you make it to the championship,” Coach Green says from the center ice, frowning as another of the freshman guys dashes for the barrel and empties his guts there. “You’ll be facing gradually stronger teams that will be trying to crush you. One mistake, and you’ll wish you hadn’t skated like an absolute ninny today.”
“Anyone else need the barrel?” Assistant Coach Thomas asks, knocking his knuckles against the metal frame of the nightmare vessel.
A chorus of groans answers him.
Coach Green shakes his head. “Fine, get some rest now, you tender little babies. I’ll see you tomorrow bright and early fordryland.” Coach Green blows the final whistle, and the staff are first to file out of the rink.
I rip my mask away and draw in a big gulp of air. I blink hard under the steady stream of sweat trickling down my forehead. Unbidden, the image of a massive, juicy burger pops into my mind. It’s what propels me to slide my ass away from the ice, even when my gear feels ten pounds heavier while sopping wet.
“Is this what death feels like?” Archie asks while we trod slowly down the hallway to the locker room.
“Bro,” Jamal says while panting. “Pretty sure death feels like nothing. But this? This feels like too much.”
