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“Stop squirming.” He drops the papers and leans back in his chair. “This isn’t an interrogation. I just wanted to check in with you.”

“Check in?” I repeat. In three years he’s never ‘checked in’ on me. “Did I do something wrong?”

“Christ.” He rolls his eyes. “I’m meeting with all the seniors. Things can get a little tense heading into the final weeks of theseason and with the playoffs on the line, I want to make sure everyone is steady.”

“Oh.” I relax a little. “Well, then, sure, everything is fine.”

“The PR department told me you offered to help out on some design work for the fundraiser in a few weeks. How’s that going?”

“Good.” I nod. “Everything is finished. I submitted the designs last week.”

“I’ve seen your work. You’ve got talent, Reid, but just being a student-athlete is hard enough. You didn’t have to take on this extra work.”

“It’s not a problem, I enjoy it,” I reply truthfully, although I don’t add that anything extra to buffer my portfolio is worth the time and energy. That portfolio is tangible.Real.

Like he’s reading my mind he says, “I heard from New York. They like what they see. Do you still feel comfortable with the deal?”

“New York has a good program, anyone would be lucky to get a position from them or the farm team.”

It’s a side step, because even though playing for the NHL is the plan, I’m never going to be comfortable when my life is on someone else’s terms. But I want to do something big. Not just for my parents, but for Coach, because he gave me a shot when no one else would.

The expression on his face tells me he’s aware I avoided the question, but thankfully he doesn’t push. “Just make sure you stay balanced. And by balanced I mean that until that trophy is in the case in the lobby, hockey is your priority, got it?”

“Yes, sir.”

I don’t take another breath until I’m dismissed and out in the hall. Some guys on the team have the benefit of focusing on one thing, one girl, one future. I know all too well how easily it is for plans to get yanked out from under your feet.

So yeah, I’ll give the American Dream a shot–give the team what they need, and I’ll sign deals to make my family proud, but I’ll always have some kind of back up plan in the works.

Because at the end of the day, guys like me, don’t ever get what they want.

13

Shelby

Out of a massivedouble dose of humiliation and shame, I spend the next few days avoiding everyone from the Manor. I don’t know who I’m hiding from more: my brother who I’m terrified can read exactly what I’ve done on my face? Or Reid, who is the one that did it to me?

Itas in giving me an orgasm.

Myfirstorgasm.

That little fact alone is enough to keep me in my makeshift room until the guys leave every morning and sneak back into it before they get home at night. I’m thankful for their long practice schedule at the arena, but after a day or two, I’m bored. Sitting around alone, watching daytime TV, and cleaning up after my brother and his roommates, I had to acknowledge that this isn’t why I left Texas and broke up with David.

After my sixth episode of Judge Hatcher doling out ridiculous consequences to ridiculous people, I catch myself shouting at the TV, “You’re both idiots!” at a broken up couplefighting over damage to a car, and realize I need to get some air. For my sanity.

That,andto escape Reid’s scent that seems to linger in the air.

Since I have no car, I bundle up in layers and start the walk toward the small strip of shops and establishments near campus. There aren’t many people around as I pass Twyler and Nadia’s cute little teal house, but it gets busier with students heading back and forth to class, the closer I get. I blend in, looking the part of a college girl with my new clothes–even if I’m freezing without an appropriate coat.

I stop for a coffee at a different shop on the strip, and continue on my way. There’s a car outside the Badger Den and I see the owner, Mike, struggling with a large box in his hands while trying to open the door.

“Let me get that,” I call out.

Mike looks up and grins in recognition. “Axel’s sister Shelby, right?”

“That’s right,” I open the door wide enough for Mike and his box to get through.

“Thanks,” he says, carrying the package to the bar and setting it on top. Mike is a little older, with more bald spot than hair, but he’s got the same swagger I’ve noticed my brother and his friends carry. It’s a confidence I can’t really comprehend. Mike nods back at the door. “Any chance you can hold that while I get the rest of these things in?”