What Are The Odds?: A college hockey romance. (Phil-U Book 1)

Levi.

I dropped my bag by the front door. Loud music was coming from the kitchen. I groaned. I didn’t have the energy to entertain. My body was sore from this morning’s practice, and each class I’d had today resulted in a stack of homework.

“Everyone better be decent,” I shouted before walking into the kitchen.

You never knew what you were going to get in this house. There’d been too many questionable encounters. The safe thing to do was announce your arrival. I was surprised to find Grace in the kitchen with Tripp. They had their backs to me as they fussed over something on the bench, bickering like siblings.

“You can’t taste the vodka in this batch, Hughesy,” Tripp complained.

“That’s a good thing. You shouldn’t be able to taste the alcohol,” Grace snapped back.

I cleared my throat. They turned my way. As usual, Grace was dressed in too many layers. She was wearing black leggings, which tucked into white socks and chunky sneakers, an oversized grey-hoodie, a thick brown vest and a black beanie. Tripp on the other hand was in nothing but a pair of gym shorts. He towered over Grace as he sloshed his drink around. The kitchen counter was a mess. It looked like Strawberry Shortcake had thrown up in here. Countless ingredients were half-open, and a yellow liquid was dripping down the splashback.

“Perfect timing,” Tripp said. “Try this.”

He thrust a frozen yellow drink in front of me. Grace watched me, her eyes wide and eager. Reluctantly I took the glass from Tripp and took the smallest sip. I coughed. It was strong. The alcohol burnt my throat as I swallowed. I screwed up my face before handing back the drink.

“Is there anything in there other than vodka?”

Grace cheered, triumphantly. “Told you. Let’s do my recipe again.”

Groaning, Tripp threw back the vodka-heavy drink while Grace started prepping the next one.

“What’s going on?” I asked, sitting at one of the barstools.

Wait, I was meant to be going upstairs. Why was I sitting down?

“Hughesy is helping me perfect a passionfruit daiquiri.”

“And why are you trying to perfect a passionfruit daiquiri?”

Tripp arched an eyebrow. “Why do you think?”

Grace tucked one side of hair behind her ear as she lined the ingredients up. It smelt like a candy shop in here. I was getting high off the sugar alone. When Tripp suggested they free-pour the vodka, Grace snatched the bottle from his hands and measured out the right portions. The bottle looked a lot emptier than it had in our liquor cabinet last night when Ryan took inventory. Whilst Tripp blended the ingredients, Grace removed her beanie and vest. She combed her fingers through her hair, messing it up. If I were to hazard a guess, these two had taste-tested a few batches already. Grace’s cheeks were rosy as she leant on the island in front of me.

“So, you two are friends now?” I asked.

She shrugged. “I think so. Is that weird for you?”

“Not at all.”

I liked how well Grace got along with my friends. And it was nice having a girl in our house who wasn’t here purely to, for lack of a better explanation, satisfy me or one of the guys. Tripp had warmed to Grace really quickly. So long as he didn’t try to cross the friendship line, I was cool with this. I didn’t want him scaring Grace off. Not to mention, he’d mess up the wager if he did. I doubt Ryker would accept the technicality that one of the hockey boys had still beat him to it. Music competed with the blender. Whatever was playing wasn’t as aggressive as Tripp’s normal playlist, which told me this was Grace’s doing.

“Who’s this?” I asked.

“Sticky Fingers.”

“Sticky Fingers?” I parroted, arching an eyebrow.

“Head out of the gutter, Holloway.”

It hadn’t been. But it was now. After cutting off the blender, Tripp grabbed an extra glass for me. Usually I would be cautioning him, and myself, against drinking the day before a game, but I didn’t want to kill the mood.

“Cheers to this drink getting me laid,” he announced, clinking our glasses together.

Both Grace and I rolled our eyes. Maybe he wasn’t low-key trying to impress Grace if she was here to help him perfect a drink for another girl. That was a relief. This version was better. It was fruity and refreshing. But still sweet as hell.

“God, I’m good,” Tripp said.

“Hey.” Grace smacked his bare stomach. “We’re good.”

Will and Ryan walked into the kitchen. I hadn’t heard them come in over the music. Will froze in the doorway, doing a doubletake. I merely shrugged. I had no explanation for this.

“Great,” Ryan quipped. “You’re all here.”

There was one specific reason Ryan liked us all being home at the same time. I was going to need another of those drinks to get through this.

“And Hughesy’s here. Perfect. You can be our videographer, Grace. My followers have been demanding more roommate content.”

Grace frowned. “Huh?”

“He’s an influencer,” I filled in. “He has, like, 100-thousand followers or something.”

“Ugh, try two-hundred-and-fifty-thousand on Insta and another 500-thousand on TikTok,” Ryan corrected.

“Wow,” Grace quipped. “Impressive.”

“There’s a new dance and–”

“No,” Will groaned. “It’s always a dance.”

Ryan shrugged, innocently. “They bode well with my followers.”

We’d given up refusing to be in Ryan’s TikTok’s. He’d caught us all doing super embarrassing shit and used it as leverage for us to always play nice. Maybe he was calling our bluff. But with over 700-thousand people following him, I wasn’t going to risk it.

“Or we can do a red flags video.”

“Red flags?” I questioned.

“Yeah, you know, like.” He panned his phone to Tripp. “Tripp’s a ten, but he vapes in the locker room.”

“It was one time,” Tripp snapped back.

“Or Will thinks he’s a ten but he’s more like a 7.5.”

Will flipped Ryan off.

Ryan turned his phone on me. “Levi’s a ten but he thinks he can fix anything that breaks.”

“And he has commitment issues,” Will added.

“And he always brings home screamers that keep me awake,” Tripp finished.

Grace chuckled. “I don’t think the ability to get a girl to scream is a red flag.”

I raised my eyebrows at Grace.

“Alright Hughesy,” Tripp drawled. “Don’t act like you don’t have red flags, too.”

Grace crossed her arms over her chest. “Go on. Name one.”

“You’re a music snob,” I said simply.

She picked up her drink. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

We ended up doing the stupid dance. The red flags Ryan was thinking of were absolutely outrageous. I didn’t embarrass easily, but that didn’t mean I wanted lots of people knowing the scar on my lower back was from falling from a two-storey window when the girl whose legs I’d had my head between had received a message from her housemate saying her boyfriend had just arrived. Did I care finding out she had a boyfriend? No. Did I care I’d left one of my favourite hoodies there? Shit yeah. I’d lost too many good hoodies to girls who didn’t deserve to wear them. While we learnt the dance, Grace patiently sat cross-legged on the lounge, pointing out all the things we were doing wrong.

“Why am I the only one without a shirt?” Tripp asked.

“Because you weren’t wearing one when we started, idiot,” Will seethed.

“Maybe you should all take them off,” Grace chirped in. “Extra views, right?”

I narrowed my eyes at her. Of course Ryan and Tripp jumped at the idea. During the final filming, Tripp went the wrong way. He knocked into Ryan who ended up kicking Will in the nuts. It was tragic, but I knew Ryan would post it anyway. These videos weren’t popular because they were good. Heck, I didn’t know why they were popular. All I knew is we’d done countless stupid shit for Ryan. At home. At the barn. Even at parties.

“Do I look hot, Hughesy?” Tripp asked.

She shrugged, nonchalantly. “I think Will is rocking the no-shirt best.”

“No way,” Tripp, Ryan and I said at the same time.

Will snickered. “Not bad for a 7.5.”

Will’s entire right arm and part of his right peck were covered in tattoos. There was a collection of tattoos on his left arm too. Not a full sleeve, but enough that you noticed them. Tripp snatched the phone from Grace’s hand. He huddled around it with Ryan and Will, replaying the video with the song I was sick of hearing.

“You good, Hughesy?” I asked, falling onto the couch and throwing my arm over her shoulder.

She smiled. “I like being around you and your friends. You remind me of my brothers.”

“Yeah? Why don’t you stay for dinner then?”