It's Pucking Complicated

How To Piss Off A Hockey Player

ISADORA

Here's the thing:

Guys? They rub their d***s against their mattresses in the morning and do weird things under their sheets, and when I say weird, I mean they do things that leave residue behind.

Honestly, I don't understand why he got so upset by what I said. Isn't it true? Beds are intimate. Maybe other people don't take that seriously but I do.

Sleeping on his bed would be the same as sharing underwear with him, and I wouldn't touch those, so why would I happily lie on his sheets?

Sure, I just remembered that his teammate mentioned to Rodonia that he doesn't bring girls here, but Cleo could've been lying just to demoralize her and get her into bed with him. I know every girl on campus would kill to be with him, so how is it possible that he never brought a girl here when some of his teammates are complete sluts and disregard all dorm rules?

Am I just supposed to be okay with the fact that there might be dried-up fluids all over the place where I was going to sleep?

I shake my head and watch his sleeping figure in the dark. He's really asleep, too. He's not acting. And here I am, seated on this stiff-ass chair and unsure of what to do. The worst part? I'm starting to feel sleepy and my neck won't survive spending a night on this chair. It's too small to do anything, and it moves around because of its wheels.

There's a small space on the side of the bed. I'm not sure if he left it in case I wanted to get in with him or not, but that's not the point. I'd fit.

The question is...Do I dare?

It doesn't matter how polite Knox seems—I don't know him well enough to trust him with my sleeping body. I didn't get creepy vibes from him, but I could be wrong. Then what? What good will it do me to wake up assaulted and hurt because of a careless mistake?

My eyes drop shut and I jolt awake. I prop my head on my hand and sigh loudly.

It's gonna be a long night and my back's already killing me.

I eye the bed, tempted, then decide to go for the blankets instead, hoping that they're washed. I open the cupboard, not caring that I'm being a little nosy. Not that he stirs anyway. I bring them up to my nose, decide they're good enough because I can actually smell detergent on them, then lay them on the floor, right against the wall. As soon as my side touches the ground, I wince. The jerk wasn't kidding.

This floor's harder than regular floors. It's like there's nothing underneath me!

Whatever.

I need to sleep. I don't want to, but it's a risk I'll have to take. I can't keep my eyes open much longer.

I manage to sleep through the whole night and only wake up because of the strong feeling of being watched.

One thing about me? I know it when there are eyes on me. And sure enough, when I crack an eyelid open, I see Knox Mohrelian standing over me, watching me with a look of pure exhaustion on his face.

"I'll drive you to your dorm. Your roommate just left."

I sit up and rub my eyes while he rummages through his closet for a shirt. He finds a gray one with his team's logo and throws it over his head.

"You know, where I'm from, we say good morning before talking to people."

He ignores me and grabs his car keys from his nightstand's drawer. As he moves toward the door, I stand up, ignoring the aches and pains all over my body, and start folding the blankets.

Impatiently, he asks me, "What're you doing?"

"Cleaning my mess."

"Just leave it. I'll do it."

I ignore him and continue folding. If there's one thing my mother taught me, it's to clean up after myself. I can't leave these lying around, even though he'd probably pick up after me.

Once I'm finished, I meet him at the door, and he still looks pretty annoyed. But I had a crappy night, so I'm not in the best mood either.

On the bright side? I woke up in one piece and he didn't try anything funny.

At last, he unlocks the door. A blast of fresh, male-cologne-free air hits me and I breathe a lot easier. I keep rubbing my eyes as we head down the corridor, willing the sleepiness to leave my body.

We don't come across Justin. Thank God. I'm definitely not in the mood to deal with him this morning.

When we're in the elevator, Knox turns to me and says, "The barbecue starts at twelve. That's when I'll stop by your dorm to pick you up."

I nod. "Maybe we should exchange numbers to communicate more easily."

"Sure."

Sure. Why's he always so stiff? Honestly, I don't get the appeal. Maybe it's a bitchy thing to say, but I only think he's popular because of his height, his looks, and the fact that he's currently the captain of the hockey team. Personality-wise? There's not much going on for him.

He's a grump hiding behind a mask of politeness, and when it slips, I know we'll have row after row.

Hopefully by then, we'll attain our goal of pissing off Justin and go our separate ways.

He unlocks his car, which so happens to be a black Range Rover Sport—typical—and we get in. The drive to my dorm isn't that long by car, so in no time, he's right outside the building. Sternly, he says, "Twelve. Don't forget."

"I won't."

I open the door and climb out, then storm toward the entrance as he speeds away. Once inside, I call Rodonia and tell her to come get me downstairs. She's dressed in pajama shorts and a tank top, and her cherry red hair's all wet. "Isadora? Oh my God! Where were you? I was so worried."

Yeah. So worried that she didn't even bother to call once she left Cleo's room in the early hours of the morning. I don't mention this, though, because my mood is so s**t that I'll probably be really rude about it, and again, she's the only friend I have around here. Do I really want to go through college all by myself?

I tell her, "Don't worry. I spent the night somewhere safe."

Safe. Like that floor didn't try to break every single bone in my body. Maybe I'm being dramatic, but I'll need painkillers.

"Where?"

I part my lips to tell her about Knox, but I hesitate. Just last night, she was trying to hook up with him. How the hell can I tell her that we're seeing each other? Also, telling her that we're fake-dating probably isn't a good idea.

I don't think I'd trust anyone with that bit of information.

I choose to ignore her question and she doesn't repeat it. Once we're in the room, I throw myself on the bed and fall asleep immediately, in my dress, shoes, and all. I don't check the time or set an alarm.

So, what happens?

I'm woken up at exactly 12:05 by a seriously pissed-off hockey player.