Overtime: St. Cloud Hockey Series, page 8
“It’s what my dad did.” She laughs. “One of his childhood friends became a pretty well-known singer, and with the money from the autograph, he bought me my first car.”
I like Ryan. She’s a chatterbox like me when I’m not being an emotional butt. And she seems genuinely friendly.
A small smile plays on Aran’s lips. He must like her a lot too, huh?
Ryan picks up where she left off. “Anyway, that’s probably the most interesting thing about me. Other than that, I’m also twenty-one. I’m a bio major. And I’m varsity Strikes.”
“The captain,” Aran finishes off.
“What?” I whirl around as far as my seat belt lets me. “You’re the Strikes captain?”
“Yup. It’s how I met this weirdo.” She jerks a thumb at Aran. “Captains often have to share duties. Mainly, keeping our kids in check.”
“Whoa.” I glance between them. “I’m among St. Cloud royalty. I am not worthy.”
“Hush, you dork.” Ryan waves a hand. “The only royalty here is Aran, who is a royal pain in the—”
“And we’re here,” he interrupts, cutting the engine.
I missed the last stretch because I’ve been watching Ryan, but I recognize the place immediately. It’s one of the apartment complexes closest to campus. Even though it’s older than where I currently live, it’s always in higher demand because it’s cheaper. Not a single unit was available back when Rebs and I were looking.
They haul their bags and equipment up the stairs without issue. But I lag behind with my tongue hanging out like a cartoon character. I don’t know if I can live without an elevator.
After a moment, Aran climbs back down until he reaches me. “You good?”
Wow, this is embarrassing.
I close my mouth, although he could probably hear me panting all the way.
Ryan jogs back down too. “Don’t worry, it’s just one more flight. You’ll get used to it.”
“Will I?” I push myself to keep going. “Because I’m not an elite athlete like you two.”
“First month or so, I got winded too,” she says. I don’t know if it’s a white lie, but it does make me feel a bit better.
Finally, we reach her front door. Aran and I wait as Ryan takes off a glove and fishes in the pocket of her knee-length coat for the keys. I’m curious about why Aran doesn’t help, since he probably has a key too. Maybe he’s not a super affectionate boyfriend.
Ryan opens the door with a “ta-da!”
She walks in, and Aran motions at me to go first. I step into the apartment as Ryan flicks the lights on.
“It’s Spartan because I don’t actually spend a lot of time here. You can put your stamp on it as much as you want,” Ryan comments from the kitchen.
The whole place is painted white. The floor is imitation wood throughout, and the only furniture in the living room is a cream-colored sofa and a TV stand with a flat screen on top. Floor-to-ceiling curtains cover an entire wall. Probably a balcony.
“It’s pretty big,” I say.
Something bumps against my back, and I jump. But it’s only Aran’s duffel as he’s turned around, shutting the door.
“Let me show you what hopefully will be your room.”
I follow after Ryan, casting a glance back. Aran has set down his bag and stick and now has his head poked into her fridge. The boy is always hungry.
“This here is the bathroom.” Ryan points at the door immediately after the kitchen. “And the next door is the laundry room.”
“Oh, what a luxury. We have a shared laundry room at my current place.”
“Right?” She grins. “It used to be a storage room, but my previous roomie and I converted it. And the door across from it,” she says, pointing at the farthest one on the left. “Is my room. Yours would be this one.”
She opens the door across from the bathroom, with the shared wall to the living room. Even though it’s completely empty, I hazard a guess that it’s smaller than my current room, but it’s free of the Loris of the world, so it looks beautiful to me.
“Um, so what’s in the fine print?” I ask.
“Fifty-fifty split on everything except food because I eat like a horse.”
From the kitchen, Aran says, “She does.”
“You’re one to talk,” she retorts and shakes her head at me. “So, anyway, your rent would be about…”
My eyes bulge out. I make her repeat the sum. And once more for good measure.
“Are you pulling my leg?”
“Why? Is it over your budget?”
“No!” I gasp. “It’s a hundred fifty bucks cheaper than I’m currently paying, and that’s with one extra roommate.”
“So you’re interested then?” Ryan clasps her hands as if she’s praying. “Say yes, please. I like you and I really need someone to split the bills with, like, yesterday.”
“I’m about to say yes, but…”
“If your concern is Aran, he won’t bother us. Much.” She blinks cutely, which is in contrast to the whole badass look she has going on with her pixie haircut and ear piercings.
“No, I mean. You can have your boyfriend over as much as you want, that’s not—”
Someone chokes. Aran, from the kitchen.
Ryan starts cackling.
“What?” I ask, confused as heck.
“Boyfriend? Aran? Mine?” She screeches. “That combination of words is just—nope. Don’t make me drink bleach.”
I hear coughing from the kitchen. In the middle of the fit, Aran asks, “You thought Ryan was my girlfriend?”
“Well, I—Yes?”
The two of them laugh. Which isn’t shocking from Ryan, considering what she just said. But I haven’t heard Aran laugh a single time before, and it’s jarring. Because it’s a good laugh—hearty and entirely unhinged.
My face probably looks like a stop sign. “I take it I was wrong.”
“Severely.” Ryan smacks my shoulder a few times as she calms down. Wiping a tear off her face, she adds, “I mean, we did try to date during sophomore year, but it was like trying to date a cousin.”
“Do you want me to barf all over your kitchen?” Aran asks, his voice still weird.
“Anyway, if it’s not about this jerk, what’s the holdup?”
“Still money.” I bite my lip. “I don’t have enough for a deposit or for movers.”
“We got you.” She puts her arm around my shoulder, steering me back to the kitchen where Aran’s chopping up vegetables as if this is his house. “First, there’s no deposit.”
“For real?”
“Yeah, I’ll just add you to my existing contract. And second, you see that guy over there?”
I face Aran, who pauses what he’s been doing and raises his eyebrows.
“Um, yes?”
“See all those big muscles on him?”
“Well, no. He’s wearing clothes.”
His eyebrows rise another notch, and I wish I could’ve worded it a different way.
Ryan grins at me. “True, but you know they’re there just by how he’s built, yeah?”
And also because I saw them on a video, but this I have the decency to keep to myself.
“Well, guess what? He’ll help you move. And I’ll sweeten the pot. He’ll get all his goons to help you move as well. For free. How’s that?”
I blink hard. All Ryan is missing are twinkling lights around her. That’s how pleased she is with her own idea. Meanwhile, Aran resumes cutting vegetables.
“Uh, I couldn’t possibly—”
“It’s no big deal. Right, Aran?”
He shrugs a shoulder. “Sure, it’s not like she has a lot of stuff.”
My jaw hangs.
“Great! So when are you moving in?”
“I’m free this weekend,” Aran says with his usual gruff voice.
I flap my mouth closed. Open it again. Closed.
They’re both so strange. Just absolutely unlike anyone I’ve ever met. I’ve only known the guy for a day, and this girl for all of an hour. And yet here they are, casually offering to help me with something I’ve been agonizing over for months.
Oh, no. Here come the water works.
CHAPTER 11
ARAN
This is what I get for helping. Having to help more.
“You didn’t have to do all this,” Strawberry says behind me, watching as I unravel a wire tie from around a nail she used to hang lights around her room. “But,” she adds, “thank you for being tall.”
“I didn’t grow tall for you,” I deadpan, and she snorts softly.
“Okay, what’s next?” Archie walks into the room. I hear him shuffle something and then grunt. “Whew, this box is heavy.”
“Please don’t get hurt!” Her voice fades as she follows him.
I finish untangling the wire and stuff it into my pocket. Another section of the string lights falls to the floor. I’m done with one wall and have one more to go. The position is annoying because it makes my shoulders sting and I have to basically glue myself to the wall to reach. Strawberry probably had to get on a stepladder to do this, and I hope she had supervision. If she did this on her own, she could’ve really hurt herself.
“Captain, my car’s loaded up, so I’m headed to the base,” Mark says from the door.
I flash him a quick thumbs-up before getting back to work.
After Ryan volunteered me and the guys, and after seeing Strawberry’s eyes well up like fountains with a glitchy valve, I had no choice but to agree to help her move. This is why tears are my kryptonite. I get this visceral need to make them stop any way I can. Which is very annoying when, say, I’m trying to break up with a girl I haven’t clicked with. Can’t fix the tears if I’m the one causing them.
But this case was easy. All I had to do was get a few of the guys to haul her stuff in their cars and deliver it at Ryan’s. No biggie.
“Maddie, is this really necessary?” a voice calls out from the hallway. It’s one of the roommates, but I don’t know which one.
From the corner of my eye, I catch as Strawberry fully steps outside the room. But the walls are paper thin, and no matter how much she lowers her voice, I hear everything.
“Yes, it is.”
There’s an exasperated sigh. “We should’ve talked about this. What are we going to do now that we’re down a roommate? You should have at least given us warning so we could find someone.”
“Rebs, I told you last month that I was considering leaving,” Strawberry hisses.
“Your literal words were ‘I don’t think I belong here anymore’ and that’s not the same!”
“It is, because I don’t!” Strawberry grunts in a way that sounds remarkably like me.
I pause for a second, contemplating whether to close the door and give them privacy. But it’ll be quicker if I just finish this and go. If only this damn tie would just unwind, I’d be quicker. I yank it instead, and out comes the whole nail.
“Oops,” I mumble, picking it up from the carpeted floor.
“I’m sorry this is an inconvenience to you, but the way you and Lori have treated me for years has inconvenienced me more. So just move her in and be happy together. Bye.”
My tutor marches back into the room just as I’m winding the string lights around my fist. A flush has taken over her face, and there’s a dangerous sheen in her eyes. A door closes somewhere in the hallway, maybe from the other girl going back into her room.
“Are you going to cry?”
Strawberry presses her lips. “Probably. But not right now.”
I feel genuine relief as I busy myself looking around. The only thing left is the bed frame. Books, clothes, shoes, and even the mattress are already gone. “Do you have everything?”
“I think so.” She extends her hand, and it takes me a moment to understand she wants her silly lights. I place the bundle in her palm. “Can’t take half the couch with me, unfortunately.”
“What about bathroom and kitchen? I know the hand soap is yours.”
She winces. “I’m not that petty.”
Oh, I would be. I’d be the pettiest little ass if I’d been treated the way she has. I got a sample of that the night I was here, with that Lori chick making passive-aggressive comments that made even me uncomfortable. And then, when I took Strawberry to Ryan’s and she started crying, she shared some stories that made Ryan and me want to smash something.
Jamal strides in. “Truck’s ready downstairs. Let’s finish the job.”
“I’ll bring up the rear,” I say.
As Jamal and I pick up the metal bed frame, Strawberry scampers away to give us space. Maybe we should’ve disassembled the thing, but it’s the sturdiest bed I’ve seen, and Jamal’s truck is big enough that we can just tie it up. Even better, it has no headboard, so it makes the job of climbing down the stairs relatively painless. We’re still as slow as snails, because nobody wants to get hurt here.
My arms shake a little by the time we’re hauling the frame into the bed of the truck. We tie it up real tight and put the little flag at the end of the bed frame as required for long loads. Nobody wants to get a fine either.
Jamal brushes his hands off and stuffs them into leather gloves. “All right, I’ll see you both at Ryan’s.”
Strawberry holds her hands to her chest as she says, “Thank you so much, Jamal.”
“Thank me with food. I’m starving,” he says as a farewell. I stuff my hands in the pockets of my jeans and watch as he starts the truck. The ropes are secure, and the frame doesn’t move an inch. Good.
I turn to Strawberry. “Where’s my thanks?”
“How does pizza sound?” She smiles and sniffles against the cold. The tip of her nose is as red as…
I wonder if strawberries are in season. She’s making me crave them.
Then again, maybe I’m just hungry too.
“If they’re from Romano’s, I accept.”
She nods, all solemn. “I’m willing to fork over the cash today, so Romano’s it is.”
“Great. I want a meat lover’s,” I say, because I know it will gross her out. And sure enough, she sticks her tongue out in disgust.
“Fine, but first, let’s go. I’m freezing my butt off.” She whirls around and heads over to her yellow Beetle. Her butt is well covered by a long coat, though, which is a shame. I don’t know why she’s complaining.
Shaking my head, I head over to my 4Runner. Inside, I crank up the heat and take a few of my tutor’s boxes full of books for a joy ride back to her new place.
I drive right behind her. At a red light, I catch her wiping at her face a few times. I wince a little, because there’s nothing I can do about her crying when she’s in her car and I’m in mine and we’re in traffic. Not that I should do anything about it, either.
It takes us until well past noon to bring her bed frame into her new room and empty all the junk from five cars into her new apartment. But considering we started the move midmorning, right after practice, I’d say this was a record.
True to her word, Strawberry orders pizzas from Romano’s for all five Bolts, two Strikes, and for herself. She’s the only one with a small veggie pizza, while the rest of us ravenous beasts fight over pepperoni and meat lover’s.
“This is very generous of you,” Archie says with his mouth so full it’s hard to guess what he’s saying.
“This is nothing compared to all your help.” She offers a cute little smile that melts him like an ice cube in the desert.
I attack my pizza as if it owes me money.
“Maddie.” Jamal gulps down his food to speak again. “You should come watch us play tonight.”
“I’m sure she has better plans,” Ryan says with a shrug. “Like watching our game tonight.”
“You should definitely come watch us,” says Christine Freeman, one of the forwards on Ryan’s team. “Athletic girls are so much hotter than these knuckleheads, am I right?”
“Too right.” Ryan offers her forearm, and the other girl bumps it with hers.
I reach out for another slice of meat lover’s. The rivalry between the Bolts and the Strikes will probably go on until the end of time, but at least no one’s maiming each other anymore.
“Um, actually.” Strawberry clears her throat, sets her slice down on the almost empty cardboard box, and lifts wide eyes to us. “I don’t really know anything about hockey other than the names of your teams.”
One by one, jaws drop, eyes pop, and gasps come out.
I blink real hard. I get it. Not everyone in the world is obsessed with hockey. It’s not even the most popular sport in this country. And yet…
This town is in the middle of hockey nation. We’re halfway between two Original Six teams. Shit, my parents are Venezuelan and grew up in a baseball culture, yet two of their kids live and breathe hockey like it’s our family’s legacy. I couldn’t possibly conceive of a life without it. In fact, when I get too old to play it professionally and I have no other choice but to earn my living through accounting, I’ll still play for some minor league or coach kids or something.
I take a deep, bracing breath so I don’t spill any of this like lava from an erupting volcano. I guess it’d be the same if I admitted to her that I don’t really read books.
Ryan takes a big swig of her water and sighs as if she’s just guzzled a beer. “Girl, you shouldn’t have said that aloud in a room full of hockey nerds.”
“That’s it.” Archie smacks his own leg. “Let’s watch a game together. We’ll teach you all about it.”
“Will you?” Why does she look so hopeful asking this?
“Yes, let’s go.” He grabs a slice and relocates to the couch, pawing at the remote with his greasy hand. “Hey, Ryan! Do you have film from one of our games?”
“Why the heck would I have a Bolts game?”
“Try ESPN first,” Jamal suggests. “There may be some reruns from the pro season.”
Mark shakes his head. “Man, are you implying we’re not as cool as the pros? Because unfortunately, you’d be right. Did you see Max Cassiano’s game yesterday?”
“Off the charts, I admit,” Christine says.
