beansiebaby

His smile is soft and charming as he looks you over. You’ve applied a light layer of makeup similar to your look at the party last weekend. Your hair remains in a ponytail, but you’ve thrown on your lucky, sparkly headband for good luck. Not that you needed any luck. Garrett had assured you there was nothing to worry about. 

You suddenly feel like you’re forgetting something. “Oh, my purse!”

You hurry back into your apartment to retrieve it. Your roommate, Paige, and her boyfriend are making pancakes for dinner in the tiny kitchen you share. She isn’t wearing pants, and he’s made himself completely at home in nothing but his boxers. The moment you told her you wouldn’t be back until later, she’d invited him over.

You climb over your neatly made bed to grab your purse from the side table, which leaves you more out of breath than it probably should. Even though it contains only lip gloss, your license, a stick of gum, and a debit card with approximately seventy dollars on it, you feel much more secure carrying it.

When you turn around, Garrett is standing fully in your doorway, his eyes roaming over your shoebox apartment before settling on the couple in the kitchen.

“No way, you're Garrett Graham, right?” Paige’s boyfriend doesn’t go to school at Briar. You remember her saying he was about five years older than her, although you thought he could easily pass for thirty. 

Your heart pounds as Ethan makes his way over to your date, hand out for Garrett to politely shake. He’s close to rambling about Garrett’s last game, and then he brings up the score and some more terms you have no clue about. And because Garrett’s so good at commanding a room and taking up space, which you’ve never been good at, he cuts through the conversation. 

“Ready now, Bunny?”

Paige’s mouth gapes at his words, and you’re left with no time to process your new nickname. “Yes.” You’re next to Garrett in a flash, and his hand becomes wrapped around your waist. “Uhm, I’ll see you guys later!”

You have to close your front door tightly to relieve the awkward tension. “I’m so sorry.”

He shushes you as he leads you down to the elevator, as if he’s already comfortable navigating the building. Once you were in the privacy of the old elevator, Garrett asked, “That’s her fucking boyfriend?”

You nodded quietly. 

“How often is he there?”

“Well, they just got back together–”

“Before she started fucking Dean. How often was he over?”

You shrugged, “A few nights a week, I guess. He works from home.”

You watch as his face twists into something close to disappointment. Or disgust. “And how often does he walk around with no clothes on?”

“Not often,” You say almost to soften the blow, “He’s just comfortable there, I guess. And it’s okay. She makes sure I’m okay with it before he comes over.”

“Ha,” He laughs softly before his lips form a thin line. Bad start to the night, you thought. And it’s all because of Ethan’s Ninja Turtle briefs. The elevator dings, and the two of you walk out to his car. Like a gentleman, he opens your car door for you, and you take the opportunity to get a few deep breaths in as the door shuts and he rounds the hood of the car. 

You’re not sure why it’s so much harder to breathe when you’re close to him. You chalk it up to the two of you practically being strangers and your nerves.

During the drive to Garrett’s house, he doesn’t push the subject of your roommate and her boyfriend, which you’re thankful for. He decides to talk to you about his own roommates instead. You knew Dean, of course, and Garrett makes the point that he’s sweeter than he looks. Although he’s just as sexual as he comes off. Logan is his hardworking best friend. Tucker is also kind and is an amazing cook, according to Garrett. You do your best to listen, but as he parks his car on the street in front of the house, you realize that you’re about to actually meet all of them. Not in the setting of a party being hosted, but a casual weeknight where they’re living life normally. 

The seriousness of the situation hits you. Garrett assured you that the night would be low-key, but what was casual about meeting all of his best friends? 

“You okay?” A smooth voice snaps you out of your spiral. 

You nod, nervously smiling back at him, “Sorry, I’m okay …hungry.”

“Good. C’mon, Tuck made stir-fry.” 

You find that you don't actually need the courage to go inside and say hello to his friends because Garrett's hand on your lower back does the work for you. You don't have to say much. You don't have to figure out where to walk or stand because Garrett guides you.

Tucker stands near the stove, an apron tied around his waist, while Logan and Dean sit on bar stools at the kitchen island. They've already started digging into their meals, and when Tucker presents the two of you with your dinner plates, you can't help but marvel at both the presentation and the amount of food piled onto each one.

"Oh my goodness, you really didn't have to, Tucker—"

"No worries at all. Our casa is su casa, Y/N," he says, his voice warm and welcoming. "And I won't be offended if you don't eat it all. We eat a lot here."

Garrett squeezes your hip, and it serves as a reminder to stop smiling at him like an idiot.

"Thank you so much."

"Thanks, Tuck." Garrett's hand finally leaves your waist so he can grab both plates. "You ready to go upstairs?"

"Yeah," you say, and Logan and Dean exchange a knowing glance.

Garrett tilts his head toward the stairs, and you take that as your cue to follow.

"I-It was nice meeting you guys," you manage to say, offering a small wave.

Logan and Tucker return it immediately. Dean, meanwhile, is already shoveling a spoonful of rice into his mouth. Before anyone can say much else, you hurry after your date.

Garrett's room is large and dark-toned. The windows are huge, but nighttime doesn't offer much light. You've only taken a few steps inside, but the air already feels intimate.

"Your friends seem nice," you say as you stand frozen, your eyes wandering over every poster and piece of memorabilia. "And this house is also... super nice."

"They are. And thanks." Garrett sets the plates down on his nightstand before patting a spot on the other side of the bed. "Sit down and get comfortable."

You'd already taken your shoes off at the door, even though Garrett insisted you didn't have to, so now you're walking around in socks covered with tiny strawberries. You take a seat where he gestures, leaning against his pillows and crossing your legs.

He hands you your plate of food before grabbing his laptop.

"So, what kind of movies do you like to watch, little bookworm?" Garrett asks casually as he settles beside you. He makes sure to close the gap between you, his knee brushing yours and his arm resting against your shoulder.

"We can watch whatever. I don't mind."

"Hmm, okay, but that's not what I asked."

You turn toward him and find that he's already watching you.

"What do you like to watch, Bunny?"

"Uhm." You're suddenly embarrassed as you think over your taste in media. "I like... romance. And historical dramas, I guess. But I understand if you don't want to watch—"

"So what's your favorite movie?"

And that's how you end up watching Little Women with Garrett Graham.

You do your best to tackle the mountain of restaurant-quality food Tucker provided. Garrett finishes his plate, and as the movie plays, he becomes more invested than you'd expected.

The movie reaches the Christmas scenes, where Beth is feeling better and their father returns home. Garrett asks a question—something about whether a certain moment happened in the book—when your phone starts to vibrate.

You pick it up to silence it, only to find five unread messages from your roommate. Worried something bad has happened, you open the text chain.

Paige: Are you still coming home tonight? Paige: Also, is it cool if Ethan stays for the rest of the week? Paige: Since you're gonna be busy with your new friend :) Paige: BTW I can't believe you're hooking up with Garrett Graham and today is the first time I'm hearing about it Paige: Oh and I need rent earlier than the 1st

"What's wrong?"

"What? Nothing."

You realize Garrett has paused the movie.

You know you should ignore her, but then you start thinking about what she'll think if you don't respond. You find yourself staring down at your phone.

"Your hands are shaking."

The deep timbre of his voice sends a shiver down your spine. His mouth is close to your ear, and he's looking down at your phone too.

Instinctively, you tilt the screen away.

"What did she say?"

"I'm sorry I interrupted the movie—"

"Y/N."

Garrett's voice is stern enough to silence the anxious thoughts racing through your mind.

Then he holds out his hand expectantly.

Your heart starts beating faster.

You hesitate—or at least it feels like you do—before handing over your phone.

You wipe your sweaty palms on your pants, uncrossing and recrossing your legs as you let him read the messages.

"So her boyfriend's moving in?"

"Just for the week."

"And she's making you pay half the rent when you sleep on the couch, and she's letting some asshole stay there?"

You can't meet his eyes.

"It pulls out," you mumble.

"Fuck that."

"You don't understand, Garrett. She's been there for me. She really has..."

"Do you even have the money to give her?"

"Yes. Well, I can use my savings until I get paid again—"

"Fuck that for sure. Tell her to fuck off."

A startled yelp escapes you at the shocking suggestion.

Garrett's jaw ticks.

You don't know him well, but even you can tell he's angry.

"Please, can we finish the movie?"

Your face falls as you pull your knees to your chest. Tears sting your eyes, and you know you can stop them from falling if he just... moves on.

Please.

Please.

Please.

You hear him sigh before you hear the click of your phone locking.

"C'mere."

His large arms wrap around your shoulders as the movie starts playing again.

You soften against him, resting your head on his shoulder.

His tone lightens.

"Just because she blows up your phone doesn't mean you need to answer. She can wait."

"Okay," you say, and you believe him. "I'm sorry I made you mad."

"You didn't do anything, baby," he reassures you.

You do end up crying that night, but it isn't because of Paige.

It's Beth March's death that gets you.

The two of you make it almost to the end of the movie. Mr. Dashwood is just about to publish Jo's book when your eyes begin to grow heavy. Getting up early for class that morning has finally caught up with you.

The rolling credits are the last thing you see.

And the last thing you feel is Garrett Graham pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

Garrett had no intentions of stalking you, given he’d already decided you were his now. And he could acknowledge that going through someone’s phone is bad behavior, but he had to understand this situation with your roommate more. How else was he going to solve your problem if you refused to admit it was one? 

Your roommate sent you the occasional good luck for a test, and there were a few times she told you to have a fun weekend. At least through text, he didn’t see any indications that she was supportive. Half your conversations were her just asking you to do the most outlandish things for her. Just two weeks ago, she asked you to clean the entire apartment, including her room, because she wanted to have friends over. A week before that, she asked if you could stay out of the apartment from seven o'clock to ten o'clock at night because a guy was coming over and she wanted privacy. 

And all of your responses were the same. 

So sorry!!

Of course!! 

That’s fine!! 

I really don’t mind!!!!

His hindbrain was telling him to find a way to escalate the situation, blow up your life, and let him pick up the pieces. The more logical part of his brain knew it was a matter of time before this bad situation got worse and that he could be the one to save you when that inevitably happened. And maybe, just maybe, he could help it hurt a little bit less. He could also make someone else suffer for hurting you. 

He watched you sleep for a short while, and when he inevitably settled against you, grabbing your waist and pushing your bottom against his crotch, you didn’t even stir. 

Garrett felt grateful that you were here with him tonight and sleeping peacefully in his bed instead of squeezed onto that pathetic pullout couch. His own anxiety felt better knowing you were safe. Whatever feeling you had planted inside of him at that party was only growing. 

Garrett pressed his face into your hair and closed his eyes.

He'd make sure this became a regular thing.

You were so embarrassed when you woke up the next morning and realized you'd fallen asleep. As if you were the one taking advantage of him. It took some time for you to regulate and for Garrett to convince you that you hadn't done anything wrong.

"I wanted you here, Bunny. You look good in my bed," he'd said.

Over the next week, the only time you spent apart from Graham was when you had class or work. Even then, he offered to pick you up and drive you everywhere. It just made sense. You had no car. He did.

"I want to send you money. I'm wasting so much of your gas," you said as the two of you drove back to the hockey house.

"I don't want or need your money, Y/N."

"There has to be something I can do." Garrett watched the wheels turning in your mind. "I know. I'll bake you something."

"You can bake?" Garrett's eyebrows rose.

"No, but I could try." You shrugged, and his eyes softened as he held your gaze.

"That would be nice, Bunny, but I know what I want."

"What?" you'd asked with a smile.

"A kiss."

You stared back like a baby deer caught in headlights. "A kiss? From me?"

"Yes, genius."

"I've never kissed anyone—"

Then it was Garrett's turn to blanch. "What? You're serious?"

"No, I mean, I've been kissed. I have. I've just never done the..."

"You've never kissed someone first?"

You nodded hesitantly.

"Then let me be your first."

A long silence passed between the two of you as the radio played softly through Garrett's speakers. After he parked the car and undid his seatbelt, he reached over, like usual, and unclicked yours. Garrett had started noticing more and more of your nervous tics. Right now, your leg was bouncing so hard it practically shook the entire car.

"I mean, you kinda owe me, right?"

You bit down on your lip as you pulled your knees onto the seat and folded them beneath you. Leaning toward the center console, your smaller hands found his shoulders. Slowly, they slid to his neck and then the sides of his face. Your thumb brushed over his stubble, and you watched his eyes darken.

Garrett's eyes closed when your lips pressed softly against his. The kiss was brief and sweet, but it still left his head spinning.

You were still holding his face when you asked, "How was that?"

Garrett answered by leaning in and kissing you again.

Your lips worked to keep up as Garrett set a steady rhythm. Your hands found his shoulders while he reached for your waist. Before you knew it, he was hoisting you over the middle console until you were straddling his lap.

If there was any control you had left, you let it go.

Making out was kind of like all your conversations. Garrett pushed, forcing you to open up, and he peeled back your layers slowly. And he decided when it ended.

His hands traveled up your waist and beneath your shirt, his large palms roaming over the expanse of your skin. You felt warmth gather low in your stomach as your hips shifted against him.

You only tried to pull away because you needed air.

He kissed you so thoroughly that your lips already felt sore and swollen.

"Garrett," you breathed.

Immediately, he loosened his grip.

"Can we... I feel..."

"You feel what, Bunny?"

"Overwhelmed."

"I'm not gonna fuck you if that's what you're scared about. I just wanted to taste you."

"Oh." You weren't entirely sure how to respond to such blunt honesty. "Okay."

Maybe you'd been wrong to assume he wanted some kind of relationship.

Maybe he wanted something in between.

You'd never been in a real relationship before, so it wasn't like you knew exactly what you wanted. But deep down, you knew you didn't want a casual situationship.

And if that was what Garrett wanted... how would you even say no to him?

"What's wrong? Do you want more, Bunny?"

He toyed with the waistband of your jeans before his hand slipped lower and grabbed a handful of your ass.

You couldn't help how flustered you became. Suddenly, the car felt far too small.

"I like you like this."

He pressed a soft kiss to your jaw, and your eyes threatened to roll back at the pleasure of it.

"Like what?"

"Squirming on top of me." His voice dropped lower. "I can't think about anyone else, you know?"

"You can't?"

"I'm crazy about you."

He kissed your cheek.

Then the other.

Teasing you.

And you found yourself melting against him.

"I hate when you leave."

"Why?"

"This feels right, doesn't it?"

A kiss against your nose.

"You with me."

Another brush of his lips.

"I think you need me."

"I do?"

He hummed as his lips hovered over yours.

"I'll take good care of you."

You leaned closer, but he still didn't close the distance.

"You'll let me take care of you, right?"

Your lips parted.

You knew you didn't fully understand what he meant.

But you knew exactly what he wanted to hear.

And somehow, you wanted to give it to him.

"Yes."

A dark satisfaction flashed across Garrett's face.

"Good fucking girl."

Then his lips were on yours again, and every sensible thought you'd ever had disappeared from your mind.

Paige is right. You find that you're barely home over the next month, mostly because Ethan has been there every day since they'd gotten back together. You have no privacy to study, no room for your groceries, and Paige and Ethan have sex loudly most nights. Worst of all, he uses up your favorite brand of overpriced conditioner, the only kind that helps tame your hair.

The hockey house, although it's full of rowdy college boys, ends up feeling more peaceful. Garrett protects your space, makes sure you always have quiet when you study, and even buys you another set of all your toiletries so you don't have to pack a toiletry bag every time you come over. Plus, there's a free dinner almost every night, and Garrett's friends seem to actually like you. They ask questions about your classes, and they don't talk over you even though their voices boom much louder than yours.

You've started to rely on Garrett so much that the situation with Paige becomes something you want to handle on your own.

It takes everything in you not to just give in. You throw up twice before you can bring yourself to face her, but you eventually do. You're logical. You explain that you don't think it's fair to keep paying half the rent for a quarter of the space and no privacy.

She agrees.

She actually hears you out and promises she'll find a split that's more proportional.

Your shoulders feel lighter when you finally tell Garrett. He's frustrated, of course, that you kept it from him, but supportive nonetheless. Feeling any sort of control in your relationship with Paige is strange.

And ultimately, short-lived.

A week later, you have a babysitting gig that Paige helped set up for you. A friend of a family friend of hers. It should be an easy night considering the child you're babysitting is less than a year old.

Garrett has a game that night at Harvard, and Paige promises she'll be able to pick you up from the nearby city when she tells you about the job.

So the clock turns to eleven, the baby's parents come home, and you expect to find Paige waiting for you outside the apartment building's lobby.

Except she's nowhere to be found.

The lobby doors lock behind you, and she isn't picking up her phone.

The bus isn't running anymore.

And Garrett is at least an hour away in Boston.

Maybe she's just busy driving.

11:20.

You sit down on the steps outside the building, glancing between your phone and the city street in front of you.

11:35.

Your body starts to shake, and your heart pounds so hard in your chest that you can feel it in your ears.

11:45.

Garrett's smiling face appears on your screen, and it takes you a long moment to muster the courage to answer.

"Hello," you say. Your voice sounds smaller than it ever has before.

"Why are you still in the city?"

You'd forgotten he could see your location on his phone, a feature you'd never particularly used before but that Garrett insisted was for safety reasons.

"I'm, uh..." You hiccup. "Waiting f-for... Paige."

"She was supposed to be there an hour ago."

Not a question.

An observation.

"Why didn't you call me? Shit. Are you just standing outside?"

"I'm sitting outside the building."

"Jesus. Here's what you're going to do. Are you listening, Bunny?"

You nod before realizing he can't see you.

"Y-yes."

"Stand up. Turn to your right and start walking."

Although your knees wobble, you manage to do as he says.

"There's a fast-food place two blocks over. You're going to go inside and sit there. Don't talk to anyone, okay?"

You do your best to avoid eye contact with everyone you pass, from the twenty-somethings enjoying their night out to the shadier characters lingering on the sidewalks.

"Okay, Garrett."

You hold your bag tightly against your side. The night air has turned frigid, and your light blue crewneck does little to keep you warm. The cold motivates you to pick up your pace.

"I'm stuck here. I don't have my car, but I'm gonna call Jules, okay? I want you to wait there for them."

"Okay. I-I'm sorry I can't do anything right."

You're close to sobbing. You want to throw up. You're embarrassed, cold, and miserable.

"You just won your game. You should b-be celebrating."

"You're okay, baby. I'm gonna make sure you get home safely. I'm not mad at you."

His voice is deep and eerily controlled.

"Are you inside yet?"

The neon sign comes into view. It's still chilly inside, but you can finally breathe a little easier when you slide into an empty booth. A few people are scattered around the restaurant, but it's mostly quiet.

"I'm inside."

"Okay. I'm gonna call Jules. Stay put, okay? I'll call you right back."

"Okay. Thank you so much."

"Yeah, of course, baby."

It crawled into your lungs on every inhale, settled into joints and fingertips until you body either adapted or suffered. 

Most people suffered. 

The hockey team clustered together near the center ice in layers of Briar hoodies and thick jackets, their breath fogged faintly beneath the fluorescent lights overhead.

One of them wore gloveds beneath his hockey gloves. Another kept rubbing his hands together between complaints like he could bully warmth back into them through friction alone. 

You could tell they weren't used to being on the ice without their padding and protection. 

You stood beside Coach Lauren without a jacket at all. 

Black compression fabric hugged your arms from wrist to shoulder, the long sleeves ending in thumb holes worn soft with use. Your leggings flared slightly at the ankle over pristine white skates, your hair slicked back to avoid flyways. 

The cold had barely registered anymore and really it hadn't in years. Three in the morning practices in nearly empty arena had cured you of that weakness before you were old enough to drive. 

Coach Jensen blew he whistle once. The sharp sound cracked through the arena loud enough to bounce off the rafters. Conversations died in uneven waves across the team. 

"That game against St. Anthony's was embarrassing."

Groans answered him immediately, no doubt to argue their side of the events that transpired during last weeks game. You tune most of it out. Excuses sounded the same no matter the sport, you'd come to learn that. 

Coach Jensen folded his arms over his chest. "You lost edge control every time the pressure shifted. That's sloppy work, gentlemen."

"That's bullshit," Garrett Graham muttered. 

You knew who he was before Coach Jensen had even said his name to you earlier that morning. Everybody at Briar knew Garrett Graham. Captian of the schools prized hockey team, campus golden boy. The kind of athlete whose face got plastered across university banners while your own championship medals sat locked inside display cases most student never bothered looking at. 

Not to mention his reputation as an absolute manwhore. So yes, you knew Garrett Graham, but only by reputation because he would never associate himself with someone like you. 

Jensen had insisted Garrett could rally the troopes and get them to listen to what you had to say. Though the look on his face made you think Coach Jensen didn't know Garrett as well as he thought he did. 

“It’s skating, Graham,” Coach Jensen replied flatly. “I can teach you hockey, but I can’t teach you to respect the ice.”

A few players snickered. Garrett rolled his eyes so hard his eyebrows dusted the top of his black beanie, wholly unconvinced. Jensen then jerked his chin towards you and your coach.

“This is Coach Lauren from Briar’s figure skating program and this—” his hand gestured toward you briefly, “—is one of his championship skaters. She’ll be helping with edge control, balance, and overall agility.”

There was a brief silence. Then Dean Di Laurentis, another hockey boy you only knew by reputation, blinked confusedly. "Wait," he said slowly, genuine confusion all over his face. "We have a figure skating team?"

Laughter broke across the group. It didn't matter whether Dean had meant it seriously or as a joke, his teammate had taken it as one. Beside you, Coach Lauren sighed through his nose like a man profoundly tired of hockey players, you knew because you felt his same frustration. 

Garrett shook his head once. "With all due respect, Coach, we don't need skating lessons from some . . . ," he gestured vaguely in your direction, "Ice princess."

You didn't react. Years ago comments like that used to crawl beneath your skin. But by now they mostly just exhaused you. Coach Jensen continued anyway, entirely unimpressed. 

"She has medaled nationally three years running and just returned from internationals."

That quieted them more effectively than the whistle had. 

You hated hearing accomplishments listed out loud like that. They never sounded real coming from someone else's mouth. Just neat little bullet points people could clap for without really understanding the years behind them. 

The six hour practices that you had endured with stress fractures and taped up ribs. The way your skating partner monitored every ounce you gained before competition season like your body belonged more to the sport than it did to you now. 

Garrett tilted his head back, but you didn't understand what was running though his head. But you surmised it was probably a lot of what he'd already said out loud. Dean, however, looked at you properly now for the first time. "Wait, so you're like famous famous?" he asked. 

The question caught strangely against your ribs. You didn't answer in fear that you would say something to harsh. Because really it shouldn't matter if you were objectively famous. Whether or not they listened to what you had to say shouldn't be determined by how many gold medals you had sitting on your shelf. 

So, you began with what you knew, what you understood better than anyone. The ice. "We're starting with outside edges and weight distribution."

Again, Garrett scoffed quietly. You continued anyway. “Hockey players rely too heavily on power skating, which means most of you compensate poorly when your center shifts unexpectedly.”

Dean nodded along with exaggerated seriousness. 

“Ah yes,” Logan said solemnly beside him. “My center.”

Tucker bit down on a grin.

A few more laughs scattered through the group as you kept talking. 

You could feel their attention drifting anyway. Not toward your instructions but lower instead. Toward the curve of your hips beneath thin leggings. The compression top you suddenly wished you’d covered before coming out here.

Garrett crossed his arms over his chest. "Like I said," he drawled, "we don't need this princess. We just need ice time."

Coach Jensen's expression hardened instantly. “She has absolutely nothing to gain from being here,” he said sharply. “You do.”

"Coach—" Garrett started to protest once again. 

“She took time out of her own training schedule to help you idiots after last week’s disaster.” A few players looked appropriately chastised.

Garrett did not. 

Jensen pointed towards the team. "You will give her your full attention and respect. Anyone with a problem can spend next game on the bench."

Without another word, Coach Jensen pushed off across the ice alongside Coach Lauren, leaving you alone with the team in the sudden hollow quiet that followed.

The atmosphere shifted almost immediately.

You brushed your hands together once.

“We’ll start simple.”

Garrett snorted. “No offense, princess, but if we wanted dance lessons we would’ve signed up for ballet.” The team laughed automatically. You didn't.

The laughter thinned awkwardly after that. You tilted your head slightly. “You think figure skating is easy?” Garrett smirked. “I think hockey players don’t need rhinestones and makeup to take to the ice.”

“Oh shit,” Logan whispered under his breath.

You inhaled slowly through your nose.

“Do you even know how much money my competitions bring into this school?”

Garrett’s smirk slipped.

“What?”

“No, like genuinely.” Your voice stayed perfectly even. “Do you know?”

Silence answered you. Of course he didn’t. You nodded once anyway. “Of course not. Because it isn’t hockey and that’s all Briar cares about.”

Nobody spoke. 

“My team doesn’t even have our own rink,” you continued. “Our practice times change depending on your schedules. We train around you. Compete around you. Fundraise around you.”

Garrett straightened slightly now, defensive instinct taking over.

“Okay, hold on—”

“No, it’s alright.” You gave him a small polite smile that somehow felt sharper than anger. “I’m used to hockey players treating my sport like a joke.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“It’s what you meant.”

The rink went quiet.

Even Dean looked uncomfortable now.

Garrett glanced around suddenly aware every single person was listening. Embarrassment flashed across his face fast enough to almost miss before irritation covered it again.

“Well maybe,” he said, sharper this time, “there’s a reason hockey gets more attention around here.”

Dean closed his eyes briefly. Logan mouthed, holy shit. Tucker physically winced. You stared at Garrett for a long moment.

Then you pushed off the ice without another word, skating toward the exit.

Garrett frowned immediately. “Where are you going?”

You didn’t look back. “I have better things to do than hang around trying to teach a bunch of wannabe skaters how to respect the ice. Enjoy warming the bench.”

satoru’s obsessed with understanding you—your moods, your fears, your hopes. but instead of just asking, he tries to “figure you out” like a puzzle, quietly pining as he studies your expressions from afar, wishing you’d notice him just as much.

every time you’re distant or distracted, he spirals inward, muttering to himself about “losing the hypothesis of us.” he can’t bear the thought that maybe, just maybe, you might stop loving him.

he’s terrified to tell you how much he needs you, afraid it’ll push you away. so he masks his yearning behind awkward jokes or nerdy comments, but the cracks in his facade show when his voice falters or his hands tremble.

satoru keeps a stash of little gifts—books you mentioned wanting, or weird trinkets from his research—but he’s too scared to give them to you directly. instead, he leaves them in places where you’ll find them, hoping you’ll understand the silent confession.

when you laugh with someone else, his jealousy isn’t loud or angry—it’s quiet, painfully lonely. he finds himself comparing himself to them, hating that they get to share moments he can only dream about.

you sleep over one night and when he thinks you’re asleep, he whispers your name, almost like a prayer, a desperate hope that you won’t forget him in the storm of your life.

when he finally confesses his feelings, it’s a messy, trembling admission—he’s not proud of how much he yearns for you, but he can’t keep it inside any longer. it’s both heartbreaking and painfully sincere.

his texts start sweet and hopeful, then gradually unravel into desperate pleas—“please don’t leave me,” “i’m nothing without you,” “you’re the only constant in my chaos”—and then he hides his phone, ashamed of his own obsession.

his love is a tangled web of obsession, hope, fear, and devotion. he’s begging you not just to stay, but to see him—the real, broken, yearning satoru beneath the blinding smile and cool exterior.

after confessing, satoru’s usual playful confidence softens into something more tender but also clingy. he checks on you obsessively—texts, calls, little “just thinking about you” messages—because now that he’s laid his feelings bare, the fear of losing you feels even more immediate. he wants constant reassurance that you’re still there, still his.

he’s still the goofball, but the teasing has a new edge—sometimes it’s his way of masking how overwhelmed he feels inside. if you try to pull away, even briefly, his tone might turn desperate or pleading, making it clear that his heart is tangled up in yours in a way that’s hard to shake.

satoru can’t stand the idea of you being alone, so he shows up unannounced sometimes, bringing your favorite snacks or a dumb movie, just to make sure you’re okay. he’s slightly pathetic in these moments, fumbling over his words when he’s worried, but you can see the genuine love behind it all.

he obsessively remembers little things you say—your favorite flower, a song stuck in your head—and uses them to surprise you, trying to prove he’s paying attention, that you matter. it’s both endearing and overwhelming, but it’s how he tries to hold onto you.

at night, he’s restless, sometimes whispering your name when he thinks you’re asleep, caught between hope and anxiety. if you comfort him, he finally lets some of that tension go, clinging to you like a lifeline.

his protectiveness spikes—he’s intensely watchful whenever you’re near anyone else, but instead of lashing out, he becomes quietly possessive, subtle but unmistakable.

when you talk to someone else, even casually, a cold shadow flickers across his expression, barely hidden behind his usual grin.

he might joke at first—snarky comments like, “oh, you having fun over there? don’t forget who owns your time,” but there’s a sharpness beneath it, a warning you can’t quite ignore.

his eyes follow you closely, calculating. if he catches you laughing or sharing a moment with someone else, his smile tightens, and his voice lowers. “they don’t deserve you. only i get to see that side of you.”

satoru’s clinginess becomes more intense, borderline suffocating. he’s constantly needing to be near you, “accidentally” appearing whenever you meet other people, his presence looming like a shadow that’s hard to shake.

when you’re on the phone or texting someone else, he gets restless and tense, sometimes snatching your phone away with a smirk that doesn’t reach his eyes. “let me see who’s so important.”

if you push back or try to set boundaries, he becomes eerily calm—almost sinister. his tone drops to a quiet, dangerous whisper: “don’t make me prove how far i’ll go to keep you.”

he starts keeping tabs—subtle but invasive. knowing your schedule, who you talk to, even the times you try to have space. it’s his way of holding the world at bay so no one else can take you from him.

his teasing becomes laced with possessiveness. “you belong with me,” he murmurs, fingers tracing your wrist with a pressure that’s equal parts comforting and controlling.

despite the darkness creeping in, there’s still that desperate yearning beneath it all—the terrified hope that you’ll stay, that you won’t leave him alone in his obsession.

 satoru becomes almost unbearable when you talk to anyone else. if you so much as glance at another person, he’s instantly sulking or whining, like a kid who’s been caught losing his favorite toy.

“hey, what was that?” he pouts, voice dragging out the words like it’s the worst crime imaginable. “you smiled at him? seriously? i’m right here, you know.”

he clings to you like a barnacle, wrapping his arm around your waist or grabbing your hand and refusing to let go. “don’t go anywhere,” he whines softly, eyes wide and pleading, “please? i get scared, okay? what if you forget me?”

he’s constantly texting you when you’re apart—bombarding your phone with messages like, “who are you with? are you thinking about me? don’t leave me alone!” and then immediately sending a follow-up: “sorry, i’m just… i love you too much.”

when you hang out with friends, he tags along uninvited, pretending it’s casual but really watching your every move with this awkward, clingy intensity. if you’re laughing or talking without him, he pouts and mutters, “that should be me.”

he gets whiny over the smallest things, like you not answering his calls right away or taking too long to reply. “are you ignoring me?” he asks, voice breaking a little. “you’re not mad, are you? please don’t be mad.”

even when he’s being annoying, there’s this pathetic, desperate neediness that makes you want to soothe him, but sometimes it’s exhausting.

he tries to mask his jealousy with jokes, but they come out bitter and clingy: “guess i’ll have to up my game, huh? no one else better try to steal you.”

at night, he gets extra needy—dragging you close and burying his face in your neck, whispering, “don’t leave me. you’re the only thing keeping me sane.”

and when you finally tell him he’s being a little much, he gets all pouty and defensive, like a sulky kid, “but i can’t help it! you’re mine, and i’m scared you’ll leave me for someone better.”

beneath all that whiny, clingy, annoying behavior is a scared, fragile guy who’s terrified of losing you and just doesn’t know how to handle it gracefully.

His schedule was simple. He worked as a cashier when he wasn't otherwise disposed, and he was used to the bare-bones interactions it entailed. Just enough to feel like he wasn't entirely cut off from society while staying at an arm's length. It was a dreary life, but he didn't care for much else. That was all he needed. That was until you came through, practically flooding the place with warmth and light.

It was storming, ironically, on the day you came into his life. You'd ducked under your jacket as you raced inside, almost slipping on the linoleum. His eyes were drawn to you as soon as you passed his station, and much to his surprise, you met his gaze. "It's raining cats and dogs out there!" you grinned at him, wiping away the stray droplets on your sleeve. His mouth went dry as he nodded, at a loss for words. He was supposed to be offering a complimentary greeting, yet he was left blinking and stunned.

You paused to wipe your feet so courteously on the mat by the door before approaching his station. "Are you having a good day?" you questioned as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Suddenly, he wouldn't mind hearing you ask that every day of his life. He nodded again, cursing himself for how uninterested he probably seemed, but how could he possibly find the words to describe his heart beating for the first time? You moved away just as quickly, busy with shopping, but his mind stayed on you.

The feelings that flooded him were overwhelming and even contradictory: he wanted to drain the rain right out of the sky for daring to soak you, yet he envied it something fierce for roaming your skin. Maybe it was your kind smile that made him fall first, the faint smell of your perfume in the air, or just that you spoke to him. He abandoned his station; he needed to see you.

Even rain-soaked and casual-clad, you were the most gorgeous person he'd ever seen. You were a beam of light, smiling to every person you saw. Selfish as it may be, he wanted to keep that smile for his own. It was maddening to even think of you walking out like any other customer and your world returning to dullness. He couldn't let that happen.

As you made your way back to the front of the store, he slid back into place at his cashier station, twiddling his thumbs as if he'd merely taken a break. He peeked from the corner of his eye at your whereabouts, heart hammering in his chest. As you approached, his head swam, worried that you'd seen him, but his stupor was broken by your voice flitting through the air. "Hi again," you kindly said, smiling and placing your items on the belt.

He swallowed hard, willing away the nerves. "Hi," he breathed out, hands stagnant in his lap. The usual numbers in his brain for ideal times and customer satisfaction went in one ear and out the other in favour of staring at you. "Did you find everything alright?" he stammered, flushed. He hoped you did; what he really wanted to say was that if you didn't, he'd go to every store in the state to find what you needed. That was a little much, though.

You hummed affirmatively, those twinkling eyes still on him as you smiled so sweetly. He wanted to memorise that expression; he'd tattoo it on the insides of his eyes if he could. He was so enthralled, in fact, that he hardly realised he hadn't scanned a single item, but you didn't seem to notice either, so patient too.

He returned to quickness to scan your items, lips curling into a frown as the total rose. Such a darling thing shouldn't have to worry about paying for anything, but he could hardly offer to pay for it as the cashier. He paused before reading the total, instead putting on a shocked expression. "It says here that you're our millionth customer! Y-you get these for free," he stammered over his words, fearing either you or one of his coworkers would see right through the lie.

Your eyes lit up at his words, and his heart wrenched at the sight of your joy. "That's lovely!" you chimed, none the wiser. He discreetly took out his own card, covering the fee. The fact that he was able to make you smile made warmth bloom in his chest. He wanted to be the one always making you smile; he needed it. As the receipt tutted out, his heart rate went up with it; this couldn't be the end. His mind raced, thinking of an excuse.

"Do you need help bringing these to your car?" The words came out rushed and laboured, his eyes still wide. You giggled as you hefted the bag over your shoulder, shaking your head. He could listen to your giggle forever, but the words that came next sealed his fate. "You're sweet," even as you shook your head; the words were like a physical arrow pointing into his heart. You thought he was sweet. "I walked here, though." Plans foiled.

He gave an almost dazed nod, heart clenching at the thought of you carrying home the few bags all by yourself. He almost kidded himself thinking of convincing you the store had a delivery programme, but he'd already pushed the limits. "Ah, of course. Have a safe trip," he smiled, even as it pained him.

"You too!" you grinned, and just like that you were walking out the door. He didn't even know so much as your name, but he knew he needed you more than breathing. The rest of the workday became trivial in his mind; he needed to see where you'd go after this. He put on a staggering gait as he approached his boss's door. "I've got to take the rest of the day off, I'm—" He cut himself off with a convincing retch, clutching his stomach. His boss was quick to nod, shooing him away before he made a mess on the floors.

As soon as he left the room, his eyes darted around near frantically. Already it felt like drowning to not have you in his sights. He rushed outside, letting out a sigh of relief at the fact that the rain had settled and you were walking not too far ahead. He just wanted to make sure you got back safe, that's all. As he trailed behind, he reasoned with himself that he was doing a good deed, following up with a customer.

That afternoon was the first of many. He made a habit out of following your every move, waking up early to walk with you wherever you went (albeit a few feet behind). He didn't even bother going back to work; he took his night jobs still, but the days were for you. It made his day to see you so happy, even though he wasn't the one causing it. In a way he lived vicariously through watching, imagining if the two of you walked hand in hand. After two days of following, he found out your name from a discarded coffee shop cup. Y/N. It was like music to his ears.

It felt almost silly to grow to love someone he’d only spoken to once, but every time he saw you, it just furthered his conviction that you were meant to be. He tried to ignore it, but you ignited something deep in his heart, something so primal he had no choice but to act. He fancied himself a protector of sorts, getting rid of anything that could harm you. The definition of 'harm' was slightly loose, but nobody who bothered you at all would last.

He never dared to approach, but he began to look forward to seeing you every day. It was basically like dating, only you were far away for most of it. Once he started viewing it like that, well, of course he had to take pictures of his girlfriend. He was too respectful to peep in through your window, but he wasn't above photographing you from afar in public. He needed more than his thoughts to tide him over when he finally went home. The house never seemed empty before, but now it was only intensified by the fact that you weren't there.

You'd never even been in his home, but you haunted the halls like a ghost, every area lacking the light you'd bring. Once he spotted what perfume you bought, he'd spray it all around so he could pretend you'd just been there and would come back any moment. Over time, he started decorating it like you were going to live there. When he followed you through stores, he'd pick up every item that you wanted but had to put back. He stocked the shelves with the foods you bought, fantasising about cooking them with you. He even had renovations done to match the housing magazines you flipped through; the place was a physical love letter to you.

When it had gotten to be months, his once barren house was bursting with colour, decorated just for you. Only he wasn't sure when he'd bring you home. He hadn't even worked up the nerve to talk to you again, but it was all in due time. That was what he told himself, anyway. He often considered how he'd do it, what he'd say. It would be lovely if it were some big romantic moment; you deserved as much. The only problem seemed to be his courage.

He lamented these thoughts as he walked far behind you, making sure you got home safe. Even though he craved the feeling of holding you tight, it was just as fulfilling to be your protector. He let out a sigh of relief as you stepped into your house, safe and sound another night. Nothing had happened any night, but wasn't it a good thing he was there anyway? He turned to leave, satisfied with the day, until suddenly he heard shouting.

His blood ran cold. He turned back around with a quickness, hoping the noises weren't coming from your house, but your own raised voice followed. Somebody dared to insult his beloved. He'd never followed you all the way home, not wanting to intrude on your most personal space when he'd already taken so much, but now he was cursing himself for not listening in sooner. His heart hammered in his chest as he crouched in the bushes, wincing at the back-and-forth argument. How foolish he felt for spending so long being proud about keeping you safe on the streets when the real trouble was in your very home.

He'd sworn to only use his training for work assignments, but this was a special case. Fate had thrust him into the perfect position, and he had to save you. The door swung open, and he caught a glimpse of you in a condition he never wanted to see. Your face contorted in distress as tears streamed down your cheeks, movements hasty. His hands shook with the force of not taking you into his arms right then and there, but he hunkered down out of view. For once, he didn't follow, even as you stormed off down the street. He had something far more pressing at hand.

You arrived back home hours later after walking off the steam. You were so tired that you went straight to bed, assuming everyone else had done the same. From your closet, he held his breath, peering out from the slight gap in the door. He'd handled everything; now he just waited for you to fall asleep so he could take you home. It was almost overwhelming being surrounded by your scent, your clothes hanging around his head, and having you just a few feet away. He'd have to get used to the feeling, but for now it was new and euphoric.

He waited for what felt like hours, not wanting to ruin it by scaring you. Eventually, soft snores flew from under the blankets, and he knew it was safe to come out. You looked so peaceful sleeping, much nicer than that sadness from earlier. As he leant down next to you, he vowed you'd never shed another tear, pressing a featherlight kiss to your forehead. It was time to go home.

You woke up groggy, wiping sleep from your eyes. A long yawn escaped your lips as you stretched. Like every morning, you opened the blinds to let some light in, but this time you almost fell off the bed in shock. Instead of the usual suburban neighbourhood view, there were rolling valleys of green grass, with the forest encroaching at the edges. You rubbed your eyes, wondering if you were still dreaming, yet you felt more awake than ever. You walked curiously around the room; it was 'your room' in the sense that it had all your things more or less where you left them. Yet it was in a different room. In a different place.

Before you had time to further think, the door creaked open. You froze in place, and the man behind the door looked just as shocked. His hulking form would almost be intimidating if not for the fact that he was wearing an apron and carrying a tray of breakfast. He entered slowly, practically tiptoeing the perimeter to give you as much space as possible. Each movement almost cartoonishly slow, he gingerly placed the plate on the bed before retreating to standing in the doorway.

"I made your favourite," he stammered, gesturing to the plate. Admittedly, it was your favourite, but his nonchalance made it feel like you'd woken up in an alternate universe. "I figured you'd be hungry." You didn't know how to react, still looking almost dumbfounded around the room. He just stood patiently in the door, his gaze fonder than anybody had ever looked at you. It still didn't explain where you were, though.

"Where am I?" you murmured, just before a whisper. His brows furrowed as he cooed at you, still smiling softly. "You're home, sweetheart. Is your room different from how you wanted it?" He gazed around the room with a watchful eye, genuinely appraising as if the furniture were the issue. When your expression stayed perplexed, he snapped his fingers, like it'd somehow slipped his mind.

"Silly me," he laughed. "This is your new home; I saved you," he reiterated, voice soft. His gaze never left yours as he spoke. "You don't know me, but, Y/N, I love you more than words can describe. You're my entire world. When I realised you weren't being appreciated where you lived before, I had to fix it," he began rambling, his hands flexing around nothing, before shaking it off and returning to gentility. "You're safe here." He nodded, hands stuffed into his pockets to stop himself from reaching for you. "You'll always be safe with me."

Objectively, this was a scary situation, but everything about him made it hard to be scared. He'd taken the time to fully re-create your room and make breakfast; you hardly thought the average ransom kidnapper would go that far. Before you could react, he was gingerly stepping out the door. "I know it'll take time to get used to things," he said, shaking his head. "I'll let you eat your breakfast...I'll be in the living room if you need anything." He stopped to get one last glance at you, face flushed and expression near giddy, before he closed the door.

Still shocked, you practically fell back into the bed, head swimming. You almost felt crazy for considering that this was a better deal than where you were before. It seemed a foreign concept to be safe and completely cared for. Your heart swelled as you fully took in the plate he left behind, each item cut into fun shapes and arranged in a little scene. Maybe it was your inner child that yearned for things like that or the hunger pawing at your stomach, but you ate them up.

Afterwards, though, you didn't quite know what to do. A part of you was curious about your...saviour? kidnapper? You weren't quite sure how to refer to him. He'd stayed in the living room, though, waiting for you to come out. You decided to get dressed at least, striding over to open the closet. Your jaw practically hit the ground as you opened it; one side was filled with all the clothes you already owned, but the other was your dream closet. You were incredulous as you entered, thumbing through all the clothes you'd circled in magazines or saved on Pinterest, now hanging in front of you.

It was like running through a luxury mall specified for you, and you had to wonder how big this house was. An entire wardrobe surrounded you, from pajamas to evening wear. Considering you didn't have any plans, though, you settled on some casual day clothes. Gazing at the mirrored wall, you couldn't help but smile. Not to say you could be bought, but you didn't have to twist your arm to appreciate a safe house and expanded wardrobe.

As you exited the closet, you found the discarded breakfast tray had been cleaned off. The only evidence of someone entering being the bottled water that sat on the tray now, accompanied by a single flower, one of your favourites. You tucked it behind your ear, letting your hair frame the petals. He'd thought of everything and hadn't even demanded anything from you but to relax.

Taking a breath, you finally took the courage to open the door. It wasn't even locked, opening right out into a hallway. The walls were painted your favourite colour, with ornate frames showcasing photos of you. Mostly printed out from social media, but some from far away with a zoomed-in lens. You couldn't help but stop in your tracks to stare at the photos you'd never seen. The way he photographed you wasn't voyeuristic; it was quite the opposite. Each photo had you bathed in light right in the centre, whether it was caught in a laugh or with a nose in a book. It was like seeing yourself through somebody else's eyes for the first time, and his gaze was so loving.

Your hand trailed over the carefully hung glass frames as you made your way to the living room, following the light sound of music. He sat on the couch, nestled between the cushions with a book in his lap. The moment you walked in, though, his eyes lit up, face softening. "Hi, darling...You look beautiful," he sighed out before correcting himself. "Do you need anything? More water? Different clothes?" He inched to the edge of the couch, leg tapping as if he wanted nothing more than to do whatever you asked.

"I just wanted to say thank you... for all of this," you stammered, almost unable to meet his gaze. It felt foolish to be nervous when it was already clear you could do nothing to sway him, but nonetheless he was handsome. He did a double-take at your words, breaking into a grin.

"Oh, you're so welcome, baby. I'm glad you like it." He ran a hand through his hair, seemingly incredulous that you were talking to him at all. You stepped further into the living room, finally taking a proper look around. It was like a fantasy come to life, the entire thing ripped out of the pages of your favourite magazines. He watched with prideful eyes as you looked around, hungrily drinking in your expression. "This entire place is made for you, every detail," he proudly proclaimed, gesturing around.

"Can I give you the tour?" he questioned with hopeful eyes, bouncing in his seat. As soon as you nodded, he eagerly stood, turning with a flourish to the living room. "You've already seen this much, but there's a lot more," he grinned, pulling back a curtain. He took you through all the winding halls of the manor, still staying at an arm's length while devoutly describing each detail. There was a room for each one of your interests, big or small. Even hobbies you'd only touched for a day, the facilities were there if you ever wanted to take them up again.

Throughout the walk, you felt like you got to know him a little more. He regarded anything related to you with reverence, and it was sweet in a way. He was more than anything just nervous about scaring you off, taking his time to not overcrowd you or make any sudden movements. His eyes never left you, though; so warm and fond, like this was the happiest day of his life. The thought was crazy, but as he stayed away, you sort of wanted him closer.

He noticed you warming up to him. Of course he did. It took everything in him not to leap with joy as you walked with him through the halls of your shared home. He knew you'd be grateful for all he'd done; your smarts were what he liked most about you. Now it was only a matter of time until you'd love him back, sit with him on the couch, or maybe even lie next to him at night. His face flushed as he guided you, his mind clouded with the ideas. After months of watching you from afar, he finally had you all to himself. It was almost too much to handle.

"Do you really like the place?" he softly questioned as the two of you came back to the main room. He nearly held his breath waiting for your reaction. You turned to him with a smile, and his heart soared because he was able to make you so happy like he always wanted. "I do," you nodded, your voice small but dripping with sincerity and laden with meaning. You liked the house; you liked him. He could pass out. Hell, he could pass away, it'd all be worth it now. Although if he did that, he wouldn't be able to pursue more with you.

There he was, award winning smile, John Logan, sitting across from her. His hair was messily styled as he threw his head back laughing at something Allie had said, his pearly whites showing through.

For the first time in Y/n’s life she was speechless. John Logan was hot, Y/n knew that. She had seen him around campus several times but having him so close by made Y/n malfunction with his beauty. He was sculpted by God and being near him made Y/n feel things she couldn’t say on air, maybe Allie could.

Y/n wasn’t going to survive an hour of talking, she glanced at the timer that was behind the cameras noticing the 00:10  on the screen. Ten minutes and she hadn’t said a single word. Ten minutes of her staring at Logan while he talked about last nights game with Harvard. The only thing viewers could possibly see was her staring lovingly at Logan and if she had to see a compilation on a gossip page of her staring at Logan she was going to lose it. 

“Damn, Y/n. Cat got your tongue? See people…Y/n likes talking shit about how much game she has. But as of right now she barely said hello to John over here. May I remind you guys that in the  last episode she said that Logan was her dream man and that she could take h…” Allie started pulling the microphone towards her as everyone focused her eyes on Y/n, including those damn puppy dog eyes. Y/n could feel her body tense up but she quickly analyzed where Allie was going, so she slammed her hands on the table interrupting her. 

“Mister Logan, Do you have a girlfriend? The people want to know” Y/n managed to get out. But after hearing herself in her headphones  say those words she felt herself cringe instantly regretting asking that.

Mister Logan? Who the hell did she think she was speaking to? Y/n moved on her bean bag chair noticing how it sucked her up. Y/n closed her eyes not wanting to face even more embarrassment while she heard Allie and Hannah behind the booth attempting to hold in their laughs. 

“My boy here? he is single, not ready to be tied down and he’s ready to fuck. So people on the air be ready he’s as good in the sheets as he is in hockey” Dean answer pulling the mic toward himself.

“How do you know he’s good in bed? Have you guys..?” Allie starts but gets cut off by Dean.

“I live with him, babe. I have ears and I can clearly hear the five star reviews he has.”

“They say hockey players fuck. I’ve heard your name countless times, supposedly you're a pussy pleaser in the community. Opinions on that.” Allie read from her notes trying to stir up the pot for the episode. Y/n stared at Allie agape not believing the words that were slipping out of her mouth. Logan laughed and pulled the mic towards him, quickly shifting on the bean bag crossing his leg on top of the other one resting his hands. 

“The original question was if I was single, not how much I got laid. Isn’t this podcast about hockey?” Logan asked hiding his smile.

“Look around and see if that answers your question, Logan” Allie says pointing at the logo.

“Okay, okay. Fine I’m glad you’ve done your research. Not a lot of people mention my supposed pussy pleaser ways in interviews, which makes this one intriguing. So thank you for putting that out there” Logan said sarcastically while attempting to hold in his laugh. 

“Supposedly?” Y/n let out looking at Logan slightly. She quickly gripped on her head regretting letting that slip noticing the cocky look on Logan’s face. 

“Well, I can’t confirm the rumors myself but if you want, we can test that theory and you can give a review to answer the rumors.” Logan replied, sending a wink towards Y/n’s direction. Allie gasped loudly hitting the table once again. 

“You're good at leaving them speechless. I’ve never have I seen Y/n this quiet. What is going on?”  Allie said in between laughs while looking all around the set.

“I don’t want to be cocky but if we get past this pod, I’ll promise you she’ll be really vocal and loud when I’m done with her. But that’s not important right now…How about you? Are you single Miss L/n? The viewers need to know” Y/n looked up, her face completely flushed as Logan grinned towards knowing the effect his words had on Y/n. 

“What are you  supposed to be?” Y/n said quickly trying to change the subject off her once again. Logan looks down at her outfit trying to hide her smile while Allie instantly notices her discomfort so she takes the lead clearing her throat. 

“What Y/n is trying to ask is,  what is your costume? For all of you guys that don’t know we are doing halloween in may so. We have been doing different themes for each episode to dress up and all that.  By  the looks of it you two clearly dressed up. But if that’s what you regularly wear that’s fine, we don’t judge here. So why don’t we go around the room and say what we are dressed up as. The theme this week is crush. It can be a fictional crush, celebrity crush, real crush, whatever crush you want. So I decided on dressing up as my lovely boyfriend , Ryan Gosling. My biggest crush in the whole world. Shout out to you, babe.  I did my makeup and styled myself this morning. Who’s next? ” Allie said as she fixed her white button down as Dean applauded obnoxiously loud making Y/n cringe once again. Logan reached towards the water in front of his arms slowly grazing Y/n’s leg making her tense up once again. 

“Y/n, why don’t you go? Who are you supposed to be, A freshman hockey player?” Dean asked in a joking tone while turning towards her. 

“First off all, Fuck you. Second of all I was told that our costume today was going to be to dress up as one of the players not crushes.” Y/n started while fixing her hockey Jersey. Allie chuckled, pulling out her phone to check  the email while Hannah shook her head. 

“Don’t worry, Y/n. For you it’s the same person that’s why we didn’t tell you anything. We didn’t want you to be a more blushing mess than you already are. So don’t be such a baby and tell the camera who are you dressed up as” Allie continued pointing at the camera while Y/n rolled her eyes.  

“I’m dressed up as number 22 on Briar’s hockey team” She muttered into the mic while glaring at Allie ignoring Logan’s eyes. 

“Wait isn’t that, Logan’s number?” Dean started making Y/n groan throwing her head back clearly embarrassed. 

“You know what I want to know, what the hell is Dean dressed up as. Who’s your crush” Y/n said quickly, making Dean look down at his outfit. 

“I’m dressed as a JLO, obviously. I know Logan being here has taken your common sense but we need you to be attentive. Now, Logan. Who did you pick?” Dean asked, turning to Logan. He smiled widely, turning to Y/n, not unlocking their eyes. 

“Well, I decided to dress up as my favorite podcaster. I thought my outfit was pretty obvious.” Logan said standing up, giving an awkward turn. Y/n could feel her face turn completely red noticing that his outfit mimicked one that was recently posted on her instagram story. 

“You see guys, this is how we make love in this podcast. In the next episode we will probably talk about all the puss Logan’s going to get” Allie said screaming into the mic. 

If he were anything like Dean, he would've approached you already and figured out your deal.

Why did you smile politely when partygoers pushed past you?

He watched as a dude fully grabbed your hip. Your body jolted at his touch, and he could read your lips as the word sorry left them.

Sorry.

To the guy who'd touched you.

Your eyes lit up when a tall redheaded girl in an impossibly short black dress approached you. She stood in stark contrast to your mom jeans and light pink tube top.

Your friend, Garrett assumed.

She leaned down to whisper something into your ear. Your face fell for only a moment before you nodded.

He was almost sure your response was:

"Okay, that's fine."

He understood your disappointment moments later when Dean made his appearance, shirtless and drunk off his ass. He swept up your redheaded friend and started carrying her toward the back hallway.

Garrett had no excuse for not approaching you now.

If you were waiting for your friend to finish hooking up with Dean, you'd be waiting a long while.

Garrett took a swig from the one beer he was allowing himself on a night before a game.

Unfortunately, someone else had the same idea.

He recognized the guy immediately. Tall. Lanky. One of Beau's fraternity brothers. A senior on the swim team.

Mark.

Or Mateo.

Probably not Michael.

Whatever his name was, he wanted to fuck you.

Curious, Garrett decided to keep his distance. He watched from across the room as he approached the speaker blasting '80s rock music. He grabbed Logan's phone from the table and changed the song, all while keeping one eye on you.

It was almost offensive how forward the guy was being.

He had a hand on your shoulder, and he was standing so close that you were forced to tilt your head back to look at him.

"Yeah... we talked upstairs. Remember?"

You politely shook your head.

"I don't think it was me."

Your voice was sweet.

Garrett could tell that much.

Wanting to hear more of the conversation, he lowered the volume of the music.

"I know I'm so fucking drunk right now, but we ran into each other outside the bathroom. I remember. You're so hot I know I'd remember you. You don't want to kiss me again?"

He grabbed your hand.

"Uhm, no, thank you. B-but... I really don't... uhm—"

The guy started pulling.

And your feet followed.

Your eyes were panicked, but your body moved anyway.

Jesus Christ.

He wasn't getting the hint.

It didn't help that you still had that polite smile on your face.

Fuck.

Were you seriously so polite that you were going to let this idiot drag you away even though you'd clearly never met him before?

Absolutely fucking not.

Garrett's feet moved before his brain really registered what he was doing.

He shoved himself between you and Swim Team Whatever-His-Name-Was and forced your hands apart.

He wasn't trying to embarrass the guy.

He shoved his shoulder just hard enough to make him stumble.

"She said no."

"What the fuck?"

Bold and clearly running on liquid courage, the guy took a step toward Garrett.

The standoff lasted all of three seconds.

Then recognition dawned.

Because Garrett Graham was standing in front of him.

"Are you dumb?" Garrett asked. "Can't you tell she doesn't want to talk to you?"

The guy gritted his teeth.

"I was just..." He looked at you. Then back at Garrett. "She's all yours, man."

And just like that, he stumbled away in search of another vulnerable girl.

Your eyes looked just as panicked when Garrett turned back toward you.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to cause a scene."

Garrett savored the chance to finally look at you up close.

Your makeup was soft. A light dusting of blush colored your cheeks. Your lips were glossy and glittered faintly under the kitchen lights.

Your hair was pulled back with a floral headband.

Worst of all, you smelled like lavender and vanilla.

Garrett stepped closer.

Shielding you from the crowd.

Blocking you in until your back met the kitchen counter.

He wasn't sure how subtle it was when he leaned closer just to breathe you in.

"I know it's your party..." you whispered.

Your voice trailed off.

You stared up at him as if he were a wolf and you were prey.

Honestly?

The comparison wasn't far off.

If Garrett had to compare you to an animal, it would be a baby deer.

Wide-eyed, nervous and completely unaware of how vulnerable you were.

"You're..."

"Garrett," he finished for you. "What's your name?"

"Y/N."

The answer came out almost too quickly.

Too trusting.

Y/N.

It bounced around inside his head while his imagination immediately started building a picture of who you were.

A picture he already suspected he'd be thinking about later tonight.

"You're not really sorry, right?" he asked. "Because that asshole was the one trying to trick you into hooking up with him."

"I don't think he was..."

Garrett stared.

You genuinely seemed to be considering it.

As if you'd only just realized the guy had been hitting on you.

"I think he was just confused."

All Garrett really knew about you was your name.

But he'd already decided you were perfect.

Seriously lacking in street smarts.

But perfect nonetheless.

His jaw ticked.

He regretted not putting the guy through the floor.

"I think he's lucky I'm a nice guy."

You completely missed the meaning behind that statement.

He could tell because you immediately replied:

"Your house is really nice too. Thank you for having me. I mean, you didn't really invite me. Dean invited my roommate, but—"

You stopped yourself.

Realizing you were rambling.

"I mean, it's a good party."

Garrett grinned.

"Thank you. Your roommate is the redhead?"

You nodded.

"She just disappeared with Dean."

"Is she your ride?"

Garrett planted a hand on either side of you.

Close enough to feel your breathing change.

Close enough to know he was overwhelming your senses.

"Yeah. I was just gonna wait for her to... you know. Get done."

"You might be waiting a while."

Your mouth parted.

Then closed.

Had that possibility genuinely not occurred to you?

"Well, that's okay." Your smile was small. "If it gets too late, I can call someone. There's this guy in my Instructional Tech class who said he'd give me a ride if I ever needed one."

Garrett's brows immediately knitted together.

"A random guy in your class?"

"He's not random. We have class together."

"Have you ever hung out with him outside of class?"

"Well, no. But he's nice. And I can't really afford an Uber all the way back to my apartment."

Another guy who wanted to fuck you.

And you had absolutely no idea.

Garrett was beginning to notice a pattern.

He was already starting to hate the idea of letting you leave this house and return to your own devices.

"Your friend kinda sucks for bringing you here and then abandoning you."

The words came out before he could stop them.

Instantly, he regretted it.

Your face fell.

"I-I wanted to come."

"You like parties?"

"I like parties."

You practically struggled to force the words out.

A terrible lie.

Your discomfort was written all over your face.

"And she's a good friend."

"Hmm."

Garrett pushed away from the counter, finally giving you room to breathe.

"There's a good chance they're going to fuck all night, Y/N. If you want to crash here, there's a spare bedroom. If not, I can drive you home. I've only had one beer."

"You don't have to do that, Garrett. It's so out of the way. I'll find a ride."

Say my name again.

Please.

"You're adorable, you know that?"

You smiled immediately.

Embarrassed.

"Are you making fun of me?"

"Never," Garrett replied sincerely. "Let me drive you home."

Because an adorable little bunny like you wasn't getting into a car with some random loser from class.

"I..."

You pressed your lips together under the weight of his stare.

Had you ever told anyone no before?

"I should check in with my friend first—"

Garrett's hand found the small of your back.

"Sure."

He guided you toward the hallway.

"If my predictions are correct, they're probably in the laundry room."

Not a single word of protest left your mouth.

The irony of the situation dawned on him. He didn’t want someone else to take advantage of you, and yet he was practically doing the same, but Garrett was nothing like the guys who only wanted to fuck you. He actually had substance that backed up his bravado. Everyone at Briar knew that, and Garrett was watching as you came to the same revelation. Hockey captain. Six-foot-whatever. He was someone not to be fucked with. Maybe that’s why your body relaxed under his touch, and you let him lead you to the end of the downstairs hallway. 

Garrett would bet a million dollars that his best friend Dean was fucking your red-headed friend with the door wide open. He pushed you ahead of him, his other hand finding the other side of your hip, holding you as you peeked into the doorway. As if you’d seen a ghost, Garrett watches as your hands slap against your own eyes. 

Garrett couldn’t hold back the deep rumbling in his throat as he laughed. He took his own peek and found your red-headed friend bent over the running dryer as Dean pounded into her from behind. You turned around quickly, practically pressing your face into his chest, “Oh my goodness. Why did they leave the door open?”

“As you can see, your friend is occupied. Are you ready to go now, princess?” Garrett grabbed you by your chin, forcing your frightened eyes to look up at his. 

You nodded, long eyelashes batting up at him. He takes another mental picture for later. He imagined his cock down your throat, that same look of fear and wonder in your eyes. He clears his throat, pushing the lewd thought out of his mind, “Then let’s get you home.” 

Your apartment building might as well have been condemned.

It was a rude thought born from privilege, but Garrett couldn't suppress the uneasy feeling creeping up the back of his neck.

Of course you lived on the worst side of town.

During the twenty-minute drive, he'd learned how you'd ended up at Briar and, subsequently, at the hockey house.

You'd transferred in January and had been forced to find housing at the last minute.

That's how you'd met Paige, the redheaded puck bunny.

Apparently, she was renting out her couch and charging you half the rent.

“It pulls out.”

“What?”

“The couch.” You glanced over at him. “I'm not just sleeping on her couch. It pulls out and turns into a bed.”

Garrett shot you an incredulous look, taking his eyes off the road for a second.

“Where do you keep all your shit?”

“We turned the coat closet into my personal closet.” You smiled proudly. “It's actually more convenient than you'd think. And I don't have that much stuff anyway.”

You paused before adding softly,

“The important thing is that I'm here. You have no idea how long I've wanted to go to school here.”

Your eyes were bright and hopeful, standing in sharp contrast to the darkness outside the Jeep.

“And you're an education major?”

“Yeah.” You answered quickly, pleased that he'd remembered. “Elementary education.”

“That's cool.”

Garrett pulled into a parking space in front of your building and shifted the Jeep into park. The engine died and silence crept inside the vehicle. 

He tucked his keys into the pocket of his sweatpants before leaning across the center console and unclipping your seatbelt.

His face ended up a little closer to yours than necessary.

“I'll walk you up.”

“You don't have to, really.” You offered him a small smile. “This is already too much.”

Too much.

The phrase irritated him more than it should have.

Was basic kindness really that foreign to you?

“I'm a gentleman, princess. Of course I have to.”

You laughed softly.

“Paige talks all the time about how hockey players are the exact opposite of gentlemen.”

Your roommate is an idiot, princess.

“Then let me prove her wrong.”

The words came out low and certain.

Garrett realized, as he climbed out of the Jeep and rounded the front of the vehicle to open your door, that he'd never meant anything more.

“Oh, I get it now. This is the same girl from the party.”

Garrett watched as Dean dug into the huge pile of food on his plate. The dining hall was bustling at lunchtime, and the conversation his friends were having was almost loud enough to cloud his thoughts of you.

Almost.

Until Dean brought up Garrett's new favorite subject.

You.

“Maybe you can invite her friend over again tomorrow since Tuck has people coming over?”

“Who’s her friend?” Dean asked, and Garrett stared back at him, forcing his gaze to remain steady to prevent his eyes from rolling.

“The redhead? Kinda moans like a goat?”

Dean’s lips pulled into a mischievous smile.

“Ah, I see. Freaky Paige. She said her roommate was, like, a super religious virgin and then something else about her growing up in a cult. Which kinda tracks. She just stood there alone smiling at everyone the whole night.”

“What the fuck? Y/N did not. And Paige is full of shit.”

Dean chuckled.

“It doesn’t matter. Paige said that was the last time we were hooking up because she’s getting back with her boyfriend.”

Your roommate really sucks, Bunny.

“Here’s your opportunity, G,” Logan spoke up, abandoning whatever conversation he'd been having with Tucker. He jerked his head toward one of the double doors.

You walked through alone, your hair thrown up in a high ponytail and a pink backpack slung over your shoulder. Although you weren’t smiling, you looked happy, and Garrett could only assume you’d just gotten out of class.

You headed toward the salad bar.

Garrett stood immediately.

He patted Logan on the back in gratitude before making his way over to you.

Your eyes widened in surprise before quickly brightening with unmistakable joy.

You were happy to see him.

“Hey,” he said, even though there was so much more on his mind.

You almost forgot you were filling your tray.

“Hi. How are you?”

“Good.”

Amazing, actually. More like it, now that you’re here.

“What about you?”

“I’m really good. I love Mondays. No afternoon classes.”

“So you’re free the rest of the day?”

Your lips parted in surprise.

You glanced down nervously as you added more toppings to your salad. Garrett followed alongside you.

“Well, yeah. I was gonna do some homework and then... start a new book.”

Jesus.

He even found the idea of you reading alone in your apartment adorable.

“I, uh, wanted to get your number. Totally forgot to ask when I dropped you off the other night.”

“My number?”

“For chauffeuring reasons, of course. Don’t want you getting stranded and having to call Instructional Tech Guy.”

That made you giggle.

“Really?”

“Really.”

You reached the end of the salad bar and started toward the register.

Garrett grabbed the tray from your hands.

“Let me get this.”

“I-I have dining dollars, Garrett. You don’t have to—”

“Save ’em.”

He’d do any small thing he could to take care of you.

At least until he figured out how to have all of you.

Garrett could practically feel his friends’ stares as he carried your tray away and abandoned them completely.

They knew this was more than him trying to score.

Girls threw themselves at Garrett.

In all his years at Briar, he’d never had to chase one.

“Let me see your phone.”

Garrett was already reaching for it before it was halfway out of your pocket.

Your lock screen was a collage of pink aesthetic photos and an orange cat.

“You have a cat?”

“Oh, yeah. That’s Mouse. I’ve had him since middle school, but it didn’t feel right bringing him here. Taking him away from his home.”

“He’s cute,” Garrett commented as he held the phone in front of your face and unlocked it. “Hey, are you religious?”

You blinked up at him.

Up.

Because Garrett was sitting beside you and was still massive even while seated.

“No. Uhm, not really. Wh-why do you ask?”

Stupid, freaky Paige.

“I was, uh, just wondering where you’re from.”

Garrett quickly learned you were from a small town in upstate New York.

From what he gathered, your home life was far from cultish. Nothing toxic.

You just seemed sheltered.

An only child.

He took the opportunity to enter his number into your phone and send himself a text.

“I’m serious about calling me if you need a ride somewhere.”

“You make it seem like Briar is a scary place. Everyone I’ve met is very nice. Including you.”

“I’m flattered, princess. And I agree that most people are nice. But this place has freaks and weirdos, and I’d prefer it if you weren’t anywhere near them.”

He was entitled.

What did it matter what he wanted for you?

He didn’t own you.

He’d met you two nights ago.

And yet you didn’t argue.

Almost as if you already trusted him.

“I’m working to save up enough money for a car, so hopefully I won’t have to bother you or Paige.”

“Where do you work?”

The question came out a little too quickly.

Garrett reminded himself he might scare you off if he didn’t pace himself.

And you did look a little nervous.

But you were an open book.

“I always work game days at the campus bookstore, so I’ve never gone to a game. And then I nanny during the week.”

“Well, if you’re free tonight, let me take you out.”

“Take me out?”

“To dinner.”

“Oh.”

You stared at him, eyes wide and beautiful.

“Why?”

“Why dinner?”

“A dinner date?”

“Yeah.”

“As friends?”

“The opposite, actually.”

Your lips parted, then closed again.

Garrett watched as you intentionally took a deep breath.

In through your nose.

Out through your mouth.

“I’m really trying to keep up here, Garrett.”

Too much.

Too fast.

He was pretty sure that’s what you wanted to say.

You just didn’t want to hurt his feelings.

“Hey. Relax, okay?”

His tone softened immediately.

The deep quality of his voice remained, but there was something undeniably gentle underneath it.

“It’s not a big deal. Just dinner. If you want, you could come over to my place and we could order something. Watch a movie.”

Another deep breath.

“Uhm... and then what?”

And then he’d probably kiss you. And touch you as much as he could before you became a bundle of nerves. So you weren’t completely innocent. Part of you, deep down, knew what dinner and a movie often lead to. 

“There’s nothing to be nervous about. I like you, Y/N.”

“I like you too. I mean, I think you’re nice and...”

“And...?” Garrett prompted.

“Handsome.”

You winced as soon as the word left your mouth.

Not because you didn’t mean it.

Because you were worried it was the wrong thing to say.

“I’m sorry. If I’m being honest, I haven’t really been on a date since high school. And I’m a little confused that, out of all the boys at Briar, you—”

Garrett immediately shook his head.

“Are you questioning my taste?”

“Of course not!” you whisper-shouted.

“You’re pretty. You’re sweet. And I haven’t met anyone like you.”

His gaze settled on yours.

“I’d like to keep seeing you. So, I’m gonna drop you off at your apartment. You can read your book and do your homework. Then I’ll come back tonight and pick you up for our date.”

“Are you sure?”

Garrett gave you a look that was just stern enough to make you squirm.

“Okay, okay. That sounds... good.”

You waited until his expression softened before taking another breath.

“Now finish your lunch, baby.”

You nodded quickly and picked up your fork, finally beginning to eat.

dividers by @/strangergraphics

pls reblog with your thoughts to be added to my off campus taglist :)

I walk into the medical office of Briar’s gym expecting a crabby medical student ready to throw an ice pack my way and send me off without a second glance. I don’t blame them. I’ve probably been here more times than the library, and I like to consider myself a good student. It’s also ten minutes until the gym closes.

An apology is on the tip of my tongue for Marcus, the student who is normally in on Thursday nights, however, I’m surprised to see a girl. She’s sitting behind the desk, eyes glued to the desktop in front of her.

She looks around my age, her hair is pulled back in a ponytail and wearing scrubs. Probably a newbie. Most assistants have ditched scrubs for sweats by the first week realizing the most intense injuries they’d be dealing with is providing ice packs for black eyes and tape for sore shoulders.

She’s pretty. Really pretty. Her lips are glossy with a bit of a tint which I can assume is from the lip balm she’s playing with in her hand.

“Hi, how can I help you?” she asks, glancing up at me which snaps me out of my ogling.

I can’t tell if she’s being polite, but I point to my cheek where Eastwood’s defensemen fist collided with. I hear her mumble an “of course” as she gives a curt nod before standing.

“Umm you can sit down so I can take a closer look,” she says, gesturing to the medical bench.

I raise my brows in both confusion and amusement. Marcus would’ve already sent me on my merry way with an ice pack in hand by now.

Definitely new, but I find her commitment to the job a bit endearing. So I take a seat, the wax paper crinkling underneath me while she walks over with a basket of medical supplies.

She stands in front of me which gives me an amazing view of her entire self now. Now standing at her full height, I can tell she’s tall as she has a good few inches over me as I’m sitting. Long legs which are unfortunately hidden by the baggy scrubs.

Her glasses are off and she’s fumbling with a pair of gloves. Once they’re on, she gently brings a hand underneath my chin to tilt my head to the side. I can’t help but watch her brows furrow as she assesses the damage.

“That’s a nasty bruise,” she mutters, gently brushing her glove fingertips over my cheekbone.

“You should see the other guy,” I joked, which made her eyes dart up to mine. I don’t think I was supposed to hear that comment.

“You got into a fight?” she asks, surprised before quickly adding, “Sorry that was rude of me to ask.”

“No you’re fine,” I chuckled, “I think it was a pretty tame brawl compared to others.”

I wonder what her reaction would be if she saw the infamous Garrett outburst last semester.

“Are you a boxer?” she asks with genuine curiosity.

I almost try not to laugh at her comment and also try to keep my ego in check. Not that I expect everyone at Briar University to know who I am but I like to think the majority of the student body has some idea of me.

Sometimes girls will try to play dumb about who I am in an attempt to get with me. Sometimes it works.

“No, I play hockey,” then I felt the need to add, “For the school.”

“Oh cool,” she comments with a smile, “You guys just had a game right?”

I give her a nod. So she’s kind of aware of the team.

“Isn’t there a medical office in the rink?” she asks while she raises a Q-tip with a mysterious goop on it, “So your skin doesn’t get infected,” she explains.

My eyes flutter as the ointment is cool on the blazing skin. Marcus has really been skimping out of the medical treatment.

“Yeah they’re a bit backed up. Someone got body slammed pretty bad, concussions pretty much take priority,” I explain.

“Oh, that sucks,” she says with eyes focused on my cheekbone but I can’t help but watch her lips, “Did you win at least?”

“Yup.” I don’t add the fact I scored one of the three goals, feeling like that would come across as too cocky. Wait, when did I ever care about being perceived as cocky? I am cocky.

She takes a step back to observe the bruise and gives herself a satisfied nod before tossing the Q-tip into the trash. I’m ready to hop off the bed before her eyes fall to my hands. There’s a couple of cuts and scars from some mechanical work but nothing serious.

“Let me clean up your knuckles while I’m at it,” she says, to which I allow her to hold my right hand up to inspect the injury, “I heard your team is really good.”

“I like to think we are,” I say, trying hard not to sound too flirtatious. She doesn’t look up from my hands. Damn.

“I’m not really into sports but I always get the newsletters about your games and wins,” she says politely.

I appreciate her honesty. And for some reason, now I have an urge to change her mind about hockey.

Her hand is soft against my calloused one as she dabs the cuts on my knuckle. She’s close enough that I can get a whiff of her perfume.

“So are you in med school?” I decide to ask.

“Nope I’m actually in undergrad. Third year.”

“Really? I’m a senior,” I say, a bit too eagerly, “Wow I thought only medical students were able to work here.”

“I had to cross a few bridges,” she says with a smile, “Do you want an icepack?”

I nod before saying, “Surprised our paths haven’t crossed, what are you studying?”

A girl who looks like, surely I would've noticed. And I would like to hope she would have some clue about me. Maybe she’s a transfer.

“Well it is a big school,” she shrugs, “Human phys. What about you?”

“Business.”

She makes a face but quickly turns to the fridge.

“What’s with the look?” I chuckle.

“Nothing,” she squeaks, “I’ve just–You guys definitely have a reputation.”

A reputation because of my business major, not because of the sport I play. That’s definitely a new one. My ego is hanging on by a thread.

“I feel like I have a bigger problem with hockey guys’ reputation,” I say.

“Well you’re the first hockey player I’ve met but not the first business major,” she smiles, handing me a cold pack.

“Fair enough,” I shrug, accepting the pack.

“You’re all set to go,” she says, returning behind the desk.

Two voices are currently arguing in my head. One is telling me to ask her out because she’s honestly the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen. But the more sensible and louder voice is saying to keep quiet.

She’s focused on something on the desktop and I think my moment has passed.

“Umm thanks uhh,” I say, my voice trailing off because I realized I hadn’t caught her name. Wow I sound like a nerdy high schooler who’s never spoken to a woman before.

She gives her name with a light chuckle and a soft smile, “And no problem…”

“John Logan,” I say, too quickly. I need to leave.

“First and last name,” she chuckles. I pray the bruise is covering up the heat rising to my cheeks.

“Everyone calls me Logan,” I explain, “There’s two Johns on the team.”

“Well good luck on your next game John Logan. Hopefully no injuries,” she smiles, giving me a wave.

“Hopefully,” I say quietly, before exiting.