It's Pucking Complicated

The Third Wheel

ISADORA

Rodonia can't hide her disappointment. She really thought that Knox would be here with the other hockey players, celebrating the night's win, but he's nowhere to be found, and according to one of his teammates, Cleo Smith, Knox just isn't the partying kind.

"Oh, yeah?" Rodonia asks in a flirty voice as she props her chin on her palm. We're standing by the bar and Cleo plus a few of the other players are seated on stools lining the wooden counter. "What's he like, then? Better yet, what does he like?"

Cleo flashes her a dimpled smile and chugs his beer down before wiping a large hand across his wet lips. Humor gleams in his dark gaze. "Knox isn't the kind of guy you know."

"What does that mean?"

He shrugs.

"Come on," she whines. "You have to give me more than that!"

"Cleo means he's secretive," the guy sitting next to him quips. "You can't really figure him out. He does what he wants when he wants. He's unpredictable."

I can't deny that I'm curious to hear the rest of this conversation even though I'm acting anything but. My nerves are shot to hell, my arm hurts, and I've been nursing the same drink all night. I just can't stop thinking about Knox's outrageous offer.

Gosh, it didn't even occur to me that he could be lying. And why not? What made me so sure that he was being genuine?

"Okay, but do I look like the kind of girl he'd hook up with?"

The two exchange a look and now, I'm really curious. Why're they being so vague? Is this really the truth? Rodonia's mouth falls open and she shoots me a disbelieving look. A knot forms in the pit of my stomach when we make eye contact.

How do I tell her about what happened tonight?

Here she is, dying to know more about him, and I just had a whole conversation with him outside, and he even offered to be my fake boyfriend to get back at my piece-of-s**t, cowardly half-brother.

She's the only friend I made. We’re roommates. Am I really going to give this up in the name of revenge and let Justin take yet another thing from me?

"Like I said," Cleo continues, "nobody knows his type. I've never seen a single girl in his room. He lives to skate and that's that. But hey, you're my type, if that counts for something."

Rodonia inches closer to him. "It could. What're you suggesting?"

His voice lowers an octave. "Come to my room. We'll have a great time, I can promise you that."

Rodonia twirls her cherry-red hair around her index finger. At this point, I have to look away. "Sounds like a plan to me, Smith."

He slides a bill to the bartender before standing up and hooking an arm around her waist. I watch, wide-eyed, as they walk right past me.

"Rodonia?"

At the sound of my voice, she throws me a look over her shoulder. Surprise widens her eyes. "Oh, Isadora! Smith, wait for me outside, okay?”

He heads toward the exit and she moves closer to me. I try not to feel offended by the fact that she forgot all about me when I was standing right next to her the whole time. Hell, she looked at me not too long ago! "You're really leaving with him?"

"Yeah," she answers as she tugs at the sleeves of her leather jacket. "Knox isn't here, in case you haven't noticed."

"But you like Knox? I don’t get it.”

Rodonia lets out a laugh. "Who doesn't like him? He's the hottest guy on campus! But I won't waste a perfectly good outfit. If Smith wants to have fun with me, then why not? It's not like I'm looking for a serious relationship. Besides, maybe I’ll see him there. They’re on the same floor, you know.”

“Oh.”

She smiles and wraps her arms around me. "You're sweet. Hey, you need a ride back to the dorm? My car will probably stay here. I’ll fetch it tomorrow.”

I nod and we leave together. Smith’s standing next to his convertible and he smiles at us both. “Oh, you’re bringing a friend?”

“Don’t get your hopes up,” she answers dismissively as we get in his car.

When we reach the dorm, Rodonia realizes that she left my key and my card in her car. They’d crowd my purse, so I left them in the glovebox. She lost hers a week ago and hasn’t reported it yet, so we’ve been making do with mine.

“Oh, crap! Now what?”

Cleo shrugs. I’m starting to think that’s his thing. “I don’t really feel like driving all the way back to the bar, babe. I had a long night and I just want to…relax, if you know what I mean.”

Rodonia glances at me. “Well, what about my friend?”

“She could hang around the dorm until we’re done.”

My mouth falls open. Are they really suggesting I do that? “Oh, I’ll just get out here. Thanks for the ride.”

“And do what?” Rodonia retorts as she turns in her seat. “Walk around in the cold until I get back? They’re not gonna let you in.”

“Yeah,” Cleo agrees, smirking. “You could always wait in the living quarters. There’s a couch. A TV. And it’s warm.”

So, we head to Cleo’s dorm and I’m fuming, but there’s no one to blame but myself. My head’s so full that I didn’t even think about getting my stuff from her car.

Cleo parks the car and we get out. Technically, guests aren’t allowed in dorms past a certain hour, but I’m guessing things are different for these guys. We head inside and I make sure to stay way behind Cleo and Rodonia. They’re starting to get all touchy and I just don’t wanna see any of it.

In the elevator, they start kissing. I look away again while trying to block out the sounds they’re making. When the elevator opens on his floor, they head down the hall to one of the many rooms on one end of the floor and I head to the other, where there’s a common lounge area.

The walls are all covered in framed jerseys, posters, and bulletin boards with schedules and announcements. Surprisingly, the place is clean. The carpet is well-maintained and there aren’t any crumbs anywhere.

I thought the hockey floor would resemble a pigsty.

I sit on one of the bright orange couches and shove my hands deep in my pockets. At least it’s comfortable. I hear a door opening somewhere behind me and sink deeper into the couch so I’m not seen.

No such luck.

Footsteps approach me and I try not to feel nervous. Who cares? I’ll just explain what I’m doing here and it won’t matter. Besides, who would interrogate me?

It doesn’t cross my mind that it could be Knox Mohrelian until he speaks.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you until next week.”

I throw him a look over my shoulder. His hair’s disheveled, possibly from lying down, and he’s barefoot and shirtless.

Great. This is just what I needed.