Page 25 of Something to Prove (Smithton Bears #2)

WALKER

The weeks leading up to the holidays flew by in the usual rush. I was so busy with classes that I was forced to shorten a few of my weekly segments and get creative. I did a bit where I strolled along Main Street and stopped students to ask about their favorite Smithton holiday pastime.

“Tobogganing on the hill by the Physics building.” We hadn’t had even a hint of snow yet, but…okay.

“Peppermint hot chocolate at Coffee Cave.” That was a good one.

“The tree-lighting ceremony.” Now we were talking.

Those interviews were practically cheating. Other than the occasional F-bomb, they edited themselves.

Robin wasn’t a fan, but he appreciated the break.

“I’m up to my eyeballs in astrophysics computations and calculations. And did I tell you my mother is planning a family jaunt to the mountains?” Robin wrinkled his nose in distaste. “She wants us to ski…on two thin planks of wood at top speed down treacherous inclines.”

I widened my eyes. “Calamity.”

“Precisely. If I happen to meet my demise on the slopes, I bequeath you my editing equipment and task you with the chore of publishing my thesis in my stead.”

“You’ll survive,” I assured him with a straight face.

“Will I, though?”

“If not, I’d also like first dibs on your signed X-Men poster.”

Robin glowered without heat. “Fine. What will you do during the holiday break?”

“I’m going to Toronto.” I didn’t bother hiding my excitement. It had been three months since I’d stolen away for a weekend of apple picking, and I missed everyone terribly.

Robin pushed his glasses to the bridge of his nose and smiled. “Most excellent. Give my warmest regards and felicitations to your family. How long will you be gone?”

“A week? Maybe ten days. I’m not sure,” I replied.

“Take your time. You could use the rest.”

True.

I’d spent Thanksgiving in Smithton, same as always. I hadn’t been able to justify a trip for a long weekend with finals looming. For me, it had been an ordinary Thursday.

Robin had invited me to come home with him, but I hadn’t wanted to intrude…

or fly to Maine with the threat of inclement weather on the horizon.

And I’d had a feeling it wouldn’t be easy to hide my near-constant communication with my “we’re only friends” booty-call with my nosy friend in close proximity.

So what was going on with Ty and me?

Well…

If you must know, I was in the midst of a secret raunchy sex-affair with the hunkiest hockey player on the planet, and it was amazing.

Not the secret part. However, the raunchy, lusty, tear-your-clothes-off-and-fuck-till-you-drop part was swoonworthy.

We were ravenous. We couldn’t be in the same room without being glued to each other. Could you blame me? Ty was anyone’s idea of a gorgeous male hunk. But every once in a while, I’d notice him staring at me as if I were something special. That was a new one for me, and I liked it.

I found myself rearranging my schedule to fit Ty’s, which was trickier than it sounded.

I ran a business out of my house, for Pete’s sake, and Shay and Robin came by frequently to work on the show.

They always called first, but I couldn’t chance them walking in on a porny soundtrack of, “Yes, yes, please, fuck me, Ty.”

No…no way.

Our modus operandi was to meet for coffee or lunch under the pretense of working on a segment in the new year…

should anyone ask. Funny enough, no one did.

If one of his teammates happened to be there, he’d invite them to join us because first and foremost, we were friends and that part of our relationship—or situationship, if you will—wasn’t a secret.

“People should know we’re friends, Red. I like you, I respect you. Why hide that?”

I’d blushed at the sentiment, even as I cautioned myself not to read too much into it.

But being the object of Ty’s attention and desire made my head spin.

He was a popular jock. Hockey fans of all ages adored him.

He couldn’t walk anywhere on campus without someone calling his name or wishing him good luck.

Yes, I was well-known too, but I wasn’t like Ty.

The world I’d created made me an outsider.

I reported what others did or might want to do in Smithton, but I personally didn’t do much.

My real world was painfully small. It was funny that Ty would be the one to draw me out with seemingly innocent invitations.

Meet me at Coffee Cave after class. I’m at the corner table by the window with Jett and Malcolm.

I’d stared at his text, worrying my bottom lip. Jett and Malcolm? I don’t think they want to have a latte with me.

Yes, they do. Get your fine ass over here, Red.

I’d been too distracted at the notion of sitting down with those particular friends of Ty’s to be bothered by the silly nickname. This could be a total disaster.

It wasn’t.

Jett and Malcolm were a bit of an odd couple. Jett was as tall and big as Ty with dark hair and brilliant blue eyes while Malcolm was slight, lean, and wore glasses. They looked like what they were: a hockey player and a physics professor.

I was a tad intimidated by them, but they’d been perfectly cordial. They’d asked about my classes, the house I rented, and somehow that had led to an in-depth conversation about gardening.

“I have rose bushes on the side yard, hydrangeas for days, and…peonies,” I’d gushed, aware of Ty’s knee pressed again mine. “Now it’s very blah, but you should see them in springtime.”

Malcolm had smiled. “I’m partial to hydrangeas myself. Did you know that each color has a symbolic meaning? Pink for love, blue for forgiveness, white for grace, purple for friendship, and green for renewal.”

“Green hydrangeas?” Jett had furrowed his brow. “There’s no such thing.”

Malcolm had gasped. “There most certainly is. As the sepals on the plant age, they naturally revert to a green hue and—oh, you’re teasing me.”

Jett had hooked his foot on Malcolm’s chair and drew it toward him, then draped his arm around his boyfriend and kissed his cheek. “Guilty. I don’t know what a hydrangea is, do you, Ty?”

Ty had nodded yes before shaking his head. “I’m not sure.”

They’d snickered when Malcolm and I had rolled our eyes in unison.

And okay…it had been nice. Really nice. I wasn’t sure if I’d been relieved or worried that the “outing incident” hadn’t come up.

Ty had shrugged. “They’re madly in love, Red, and everyone knows it. If you asked now, they’d say you did them a favor. I think it’s time to let it go.”

So I did.

And I made an effort to be more open to new social situations. For some odd reason, interviewing bare-chested hockey players in a locker room with towels tied around their waists was easier than being squished in a booth at Bear Depot next to Brady and Langley.

They hadn’t blinked twice or bothered questioning our excuse that we were brainstorming for a collaboration when they’d spotted us at the diner. They’d simply motioned for me to scoot over and proceeded to bombard us with ideas.

“Dude, I’ve got one word for you…DIY,” Langley had suggested, flagging our waitress down.

“That’s three words, genius,” Ty had taunted.

“No, it’s one.”

“Do it yourself. That’s three.”

Langley had frowned. “Okay, yeah, if you get technical about it. But if you smoosh it together and go by the letters, it’s one. Back me up here, Woodrow.”

“Walker isn’t gonna back you up, Guster. He’s got a fuckin’ brain,” Ty had razzed him.

I’d swallowed my french fry, darting a quizzical glance between them. Look, I’d made it my job to study sporty people. It was a matter of survival that dated to my boarding school days. But sparring with athletes outside of my capacity as a Smithton know-it-all was new territory.

I’d cleared my throat. “Strictly speaking, an acronym isn’t a word. Sorry.”

“Boom shakalaka!” Ty had made a mic-drop gesture and tossed a fry at Langley. “Told ya.”

“And neither is shakalaka,” I’d added.

The table had burst into laughter as Brady and Langley high-fived me while Ty had pouted from his side of the booth.

“I have a killer idea for you,” Brady had piped up. “Travel. No, wait, I’m serious. I follow this guitar player on YouTube who does tutorials out of his basement. Last month he went to Nashville for a wedding or something and did a whole show on the music scene there. It was really cool.”

“Oh, that’s a good one,” I’d commented.

Brady had offered a huge grin and a fist bump. “Make it somewhere close to Smithton, like Cooperstown or Syracuse or?—”

“No, it’s gotta be someplace cooler, add an activity too. Go river rafting.”

“Skydiving.”

“Paragliding.”

I’d snickered at the outlandish suggestions while reveling in their easy acceptance.

Was it cheating if we weren’t being completely honest?

Ty didn’t think so. To him, it was a simple matter of introducing new friends and old friends.

Maybe he was right.

I’d said my good-byes to Robin, packed my suitcase, and delivered Mabel to Shay, who’d kindly offered to watch her for me. My flight to Toronto left first thing in the morning, so I planned to spend the night with Ty…in bed.

We lay naked, entwined like human pretzels, panting and grinning like fools.

“I feel bad that I can’t take you to the airport,” Ty commented, tracing lazy circles on my hip.

“What time is your game tomorrow?”

“The bus leaves at nine. I’ll go home next week after the game in Granville.

My sister is flying in with her family and my parents are bringing my four-year-old nephew to the game.

It was supposed to be a surprise, but Wyatt couldn’t wait to tell me.

Kids are so funny, and not that I’m biased or anything, but my nephew is cute as hell. ”

I loved the way Ty’s eyes lit up when he talked about his family. “I bet you were cute.”

“I was a fuckin’ hooligan. Not the bad kind. I was just…mischievous.”

“Oh, I believe you. How so?”

Ty snorted. “I always came up with dumbass ideas. Like…the time my brothers and I washed my mom’s car and dried it with tissue.”

“You dried a car with…tissue?”