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noah

It’s fitting that the first week back from break would also bring the coldest day of winter.

“Who the fuck signed me up for a seven a.m. class?” Maverick grumbles.

Silas and I look at each other, and then back at Mav. “You.”

He pulls his beanie further down his head and falls back behind us as we cut through one of the campus libraries to avoid the cold.

“Hey, where were you yesterday?” Silas asks. “I don’t think I saw you once. Come to think of it, I don’t think I saw anyone yesterday.”

“I grabbed lunch with the parentals, and I’m fairly certain this one never got out of bed.” I point a finger back to Maverick.

“How is your dad? I haven’t seen him in a few days.”

Lucky you.

“I think Coach is one practice away from having him banned, in all honesty.”

When you only played two years in the NHL before getting cut, and you think you know more than the guy who has coached more players into the NHL than any other NCAA team, you’re bound to start ruffling some feathers.

“Please, if I have to listen to you two Beavis and Buttheads running your traps at this ungodly hour, I need caffeine,” Maverick says from behind us. “Also that barista from The Den who only owns leggings might help too.”

“I’ll see you guys at practice. I’ve got to grab one more book.” Silas lifts his fist and I tap my own against his.

“Come on, ya big baby.” I grab Maverick by the back of his neck and he must be dog-tired because he doesn’t bother trying to fight me off.

A class before nine has never been in the cards for me, so I’m taken aback by how packed the campus coffee shop is. Maverick’s head falls to the side as we wait in a line about five people deep.

A guy with a recognizable face, shaggy black hair and wire-thin, black glasses smiles at us when it’s our turn.

“Good morning, what can I get started for you today?” His voice is much too chipper for this hour.

“Who are you?” Mav blurts out.

“Chill.” I shove him and he drops his chin to his hand and an elbow on the counter. “Two Americanos please.”

Maverick stays staring at the kid the same way he does when he’s about to pancake someone into the boards.

“So where’s uh…” I scratch my eyebrow with the back of my finger pretending to think of the old barista’s name.

“The hottie in the yoga pants.” Maverick huffs, getting to the point.

“I— I’m not sure. I’m new.” He quickly taps his screen and marks our cups.

“Well, not new to the school, new to The Den. There’s a lot of new people here this semester, actually.

Most of the staff last year were seniors and well, graduation and whatnot.

” He shakes his head and shrugs his shoulders as he rambles.

“Right. That makes sense.” I smile, handing him my card.

“Awesome.” I don’t miss the sarcasm in Mav’s voice and I shove him again. This time he takes the hint and trudges off, plopping down on an open leather couch.

“Ignore him. He’s not really a morning person,” I say, offering him an apologetic smile.

“That’s alright.” He smiles, handing my card back to me. “Your order will be up in a minute.”

“Thank you.” I look through all the pins on his shirt, searching for his name tag.

“It’s Peter.”

“Peter! Nice to meet you, I’m Noah.”

“I know.”

I cock my head but realization sets in. At this point, I should be used to it.

When you’re named the youngest-ever MVP freshman year and you follow that up by becoming the youngest captain that Linden Creek University has ever had…

Yeah, people know my name. The real reason everyone on campus knows who I am though, is because six months ago the thing that every hockey player dreams of, and spends their entire life working for, happened to me.

On Friday, June 28th, at four p.m, I was drafted by the Toronto Titans.

All that’s left for me to do is to solidify my coach’s faith in me by bringing my team to the championships this year. That, and make sure Toronto doesn’t have a chance to regret their choice before I sign my contract.

I drop a Lincoln in the tip jar before joining my sleeping friend, who is slumped on the leather couch with his arms crossed over his gray sweatshirt and black puffer vest.

I step over his sprawled-out legs, waking him as I drop down beside him. “You’re going to have to figure something out, bud. How are you planning on making it through the day and to practice later? ”

“Oh, I’m not,” he says, pulling his hat off and running a hand over his buzzed hair. “I only have one class this morning, then I’m going back home and sleeping until practice.”

“Hey! That’s a great way to get on a sleep schedule.” I smile, giving him a sarcastic thumbs-up.

“Sleep schedule? Who are you? My grandma?”

“Noah!”

I look up in time to see Peter placing our drinks on the counter.

“Let’s roll.” I get up and Maverick drags his feet behind me.

“Thanks, Peter!” I call over my shoulder and notice the few heads that turn in his direction.

“I’m this way.” I tilt my head to the brick building across the dead grassy area, but don’t take my eyes off of my coffee as I lift the lid and blow into it.

“Hey, isn’t that your little cutie from the other night?

” I look up at Mav, confused. His eyes are focused on my building and I burn my tongue when I spot the girl from our party Saturday night.

The same girl who kissed me. Correction, the same girl who saved my ass, because Hazel was too pissed off to look at me for the rest of the night.

Unfortunately, it didn’t stop her from texting me the next day.

I watch the kissing bandit grab the giant brass handle to my building and head inside.

“Gotta go.” I take off across the lawn without waiting for his response.

LCU has been ranked the number one university in the state seventeen years in a row now and for good reason.

Our sports teams are top tier, our campus looks like a fucking postcard, we have the best on-campus ice cream shop, and apparently, all the dorms have their own bathrooms. Even our classrooms are over the top.

I scan the dome-shaped room, already filled with students, but my intentions are set on only one.

I have to sweep the room twice. If I hadn’t seen her walk in, I might have missed her.

She’s hiding in the second to last row, in the furthest seat from the door, with a baseball hat pulled so low it covers the top half of her face.

It doesn’t hide the two deep brown braids that flow down her back, though.

Between the way one of her legs is pulled up on her seat, and how her bag encroaches on the space next to her, she’s giving off a ‘don’t sit next to me. I bite,’ type of energy. So I tuck my hands into my pockets, smile to myself, and beeline it for the open seat next to her.

“First, you’re on my balcony and now you’re in my class, people are going to start to talk about us.

” I assume by the way her hand stops writing that I’ve startled her, but she doesn’t look at me, so I continue.

“So, Entertainment Journalism? I’m personally only taking this class to guarantee a spot in her Sports Journalism course next semester.

Do you think I’ll get a pass on the whole needing to volunteer for a sports team considering I’m the captain of one?

” Her writing resumes, and she continues to act as if I’m not here, which, unfortunately for her, only encourages me to push harder.

“Did you have a nice weekend? Get some relaxation in? Get a jump start on classes? Kiss any boys?”

“You know there’s no award given for the highest word count spoken before seven a.m. right?”

“Is there an award for being the most reluctant to talk?”

That gets a reaction from her. Unfortunately, it’s an icy side glare and not a friendly one.

“Okay.” I scoot my chair closer to her, catching a hint of her vanilla and citrusy scent. “I think we might have gotten off on the wrong foot. Let’s start over. Hi.” I extend my hand to her with my signature, never-fails-to-impress smile. “I’m Noah Kingston.”

Her eyes flick to my hand and then back to my face, but I think the annoyance in them has started to soften.

“This is the part where you say, ‘lovely to meet you, Noah. My name is…’”

“I already told you, my name isn’t important to you.”

“Because I play hockey?”

She turns her attention back to her paper. “You learn fast, young padawan.”

I should probably shut my mouth, right myself in my seat, and let it go. If I were another man, I would probably move to the opposite side of the room and try and forget this girl who clearly wants nothing to do with me, but that’s not my style. Her quick wit only intrigues me more.

“What’s your beef with hockey players?”

“I don’t have beef .” She mocks me. “I’m just not interested in them.”

“And why is that?”

Her eyes roll back and a slightly aggravated groan sounds from her throat before she shifts her attention to me. She studies my face for a moment before speaking. “Look, it’s nothing… personal. I’ve been around guys like you my whole life, and I’m just not interested.”

I briefly wonder what she means by ‘guys like me’ but she continues. “Plus, you all stink.”

An unexpected laugh sneaks out of me. “What?”

“Yeah, you all smell like grilled onions.”

My jaw drops in mock offense. “You think I stink?” I dip my nose to my shoulder. “There’s no way.”

I know our gear could make an animal fall over dead but most of us scrub our skin raw to make sure we don’t carry any of that smell around with us.

A ghost of a smile teases her lips before she inhales slightly. “Okay, fine. At this exact moment… maybe you don’t stink. But you’re the exception.”

“Oh, I am.” I lean in closer to her seat. “In every way.”

Her brown eyes narrow at me, contemplating maybe. I’m not sure, but I hold her stare all the same.

“Savannah! Darling.” She’s the first to break eye contact when a middle-aged woman with a warm smile stands in front of our table. “I’m so glad you finally ended up in one of my classes.”

The girl—Savannah, stands with an equally warm expression, her smile showing off a set of dimples in her cheeks that match the woman across from her. She reaches over the table, embracing the woman—who I’m assuming is our professor—in a tight hug. “Me too.”

The professor and Savannah might have oddly similar features, with their matching dimples, bronzed glowing skin, and dark brown eyes, but where Savannah covers her body in neutral tones, her friend has more of an eclectic style.

Bird feathers hang from her ears, silver and turquoise rings lace each of her fingers, and she wears a mix of animal, ocean wave, and colorful striped prints.

They engage in a short conversation, where one of her decorative hands holds Savannah’s cheek, and the gleam in her eyes never leaves.

I spin a pen through my fingers, rotating it over my thumb a few times before the professor heads down the stairs.

“Friend of yours?” I ask as Savannah sits back in her seat.

“Jealous?”

I grin, leaning back in my seat, holding my pen between my teeth.

“Good morning! I’m Professor Diaz, and welcome to Entertainment Journalism.” She beams. “Now, I know it’s early, but I have such a love and passion for teaching this course, so forgive me for my cheerfulness, but I am so looking forward to this semester.”

I crane my neck, looking over at the woman next to me, and suddenly, so am I.