Page 16 of The Substitute
“Yes, why?”
“Ugh. I knew it.” The sound is pained, and he pushes me away. “Hockey players are the worst.”
“How many do you know?”
“More than I want to. I knew you were too good to be true.”
Now I’m confused. “What does that mean?”
He heads toward his room and stops in the doorway. “It means I have gone out of my way to avoid them for very goodreason. Sorry, puck boy. Forget I exist.” As he heads into the room, I hear him mumble, “Everyone else has.”
EIGHT
TOBI
Monday rolls around and I grab a sweater and pull it on, trying to sneak out of the room before Ambrose gets back from practice. Savage texted me all week, shockingly and I don’t want to tell Ambrose what I’m doing. I keep thinking about the hug he gave me and I desperately want another, but after kinda being a dick to him, I’m scared to ask.
My only excuse for letting Mr. Pre-Med take me out is I’ve barely left the dorm in weeks and it would probably be good to get out. So I walk down the block and around the corner before I get my phone out to text… I realize I don’t even know his name.
Tobi: What’s your name?
Mr. Pre-Med: Savage
Tobi: That’s an odd name.
Mr. Pre-Med: It’s a nickname. Everyone has called me that since I was a kid.
Tobi: A weird one.
Mr. Pre-Med: I’ve been called it so long I kinda forget how it comes off.
Tobi: Are you sure you want to be out? It’s so cold.
Mr. Pre-Med: I’ll help warm you up…with some hot cocoa. I know where you live, no ghosting me.
Tobi: I wasn’t trying to!
I thought about it all day, but I’m not going to tell him that. It’s not so much about him, more about not wanting to leave my room, but if I don’t want to fail out of college, I guess I have to start. Leaving my room also got me to shower, so there’s that. I guess letting a hot guy take me out has benefits.
Mr. Pre-Med: I’m nearly there. Should I come up?
Tobi: NO!
Tobi: I mean I’m already downstairs.
I send him my location so Ambrose doesn’t even see a glimpse of him.
Stylishly ripped black jeans and a black hoodie under a leather moto jacket give the cocky stride of the tattooed giant an ‘I give no fucks’ vibe. How does he just walk around with this much confidence? I want to sink into my hoodie, but he catches my eye and smiles at me. Why does it make my stomach fluttery when he does it?
“Good. I don’t have to track you down.”
“What? I sent you my location,” I say.
“You could have handed off the phone to some kid or tied it to a cat.”
I don’t have a response for that, so I just blink at him.
“So, what kind of studier are you? Do you need silence or background noise?” He crosses his arms, which only makes his chest look wider. Jesus fucking christ. I bet he gives amazing hugs. Why am I obsessed with hugs all of a sudden?
