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

Levi

Grace was grimacing as she watched Eliza, or maybe it was just Liza, walk away. Unlike Liza, Grace didn’t have an inch of skin showing. Even her blonde hair was falling from beneath a black beanie. It wasn’t warm, but it certainly wasn’t that cold either.

“Where did you come from?” I asked.

“My dorm.”

“Is it snowing there?”

Grace’s eyebrows furrowed. “No.”

“Then what’s with the ski gear?”

“I haven’t acclimatised yet.”

“Australian, right?”

She nodded before gesturing to the door. “Should we do this?”

I really didn’t want to. Almost as much as I hadn’t wanted that girl to hang around all morning. I was a one-night guy. Not a one-night-and-part-of-the-next-morning guy. Luckily we’d set the time for this group catch-up for nine-am. It’d given me a well needed excuse to get the girl moving. I reached the door first and held it open for Grace. Her body temporarily brushed mine as she dodged a group leaving. Ryker was already inside. He was leaning against the counter, coffee in hand, while he talked to the barista. Despite the line of people waiting, she was giving Ryker her full attention. Her lips curved up as she twirled a piece of hair around her finger.

“You want anything?” I asked Grace.

“I don’t drink coffee.”

“Tea? A milkshake? Water?”

She shook her head. “I’m good. I’ll find us a table.”

After waiting in line, I placed my order then made my way to the table Grace and Ryker had found. Grace was balancing her water bottle on her lap while she listened to whatever bullshit Ryker was droning on about. The sight alone of him was enough for an ache to appear in my neck.

“Settled on a topic yet?” I asked as I sat down.

“The demographics of Phil-U students,” Ryker suggested.

“Boring. What about NHL stats?”

Ryker rolled his eyes. “A hockey player suggesting hockey stats. How groundbreaking.”

“Actually,” Grace chimed in. “I don’t mind that.”

I smiled smugly at Ryker. Take that asshole.

“Not hockey exactly,” she went on. “But sporting stats aren’t a bad idea.” Grace danced her eyes between us, testing the waters. “I mean, we all watch it and play it, right? If we pick numbers that are interesting to us, it’ll make it a lot easier analysing them.”

The barista appeared at my side, startling us all. You were meant to wait at the counter for your drink, but she’d been adamant about bringing it out to me. My takeaway cup was grasped in her shaking hand. Thank fuck there was a lid, otherwise I’d be wearing it. I took it from her.

“Thanks.”

She hovered a moment too long. Enough to make it awkward.

“You need anything else?” Ryker politely checked.

Her cheeks reddened before she giggled. At what I had no clue. Fake giggling grated my fucking gears. After another few moments of awkward silence, she finally scurried away.

“Anyway.” Ryker exhaled. “Fine. Let’s go with sport then. What about football?”

“Groundbreaking,” I shot back. “Soccer?”

“Nobody likes soccer.”

We agreed on that.

“How about footy?” Grace suggested.

Ryker looked at her quizzically.

“Mine,” she clarified. “Not yours.”

“Yours?”

“Australian Rules. The superior football.” Grace lowered her voice to a mock whisper. “Spoiler alert, we actually use our feet in our version.”

Ryker jarred back in mock shock. “We use our feet.”

Grace arched an eyebrow. “I’m sorry. What’s a quarterback’s role again?”

A playful smile tugged at Ryker’s lips. “We’ll have to agree to disagree on that one, Grace.”

He was definitely flirting with Grace. And she was either ignoring it, or she was completely oblivious. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was the latter. Grace didn’t seem fazed at all by the status of Ryker or me.

“Is that the game you were watching the other night?” I asked.

She seemed surprised by my question. “Um. Yeah. It was the Grand Final. Which means we’d have a full season worth of stats to . . .”

She trailed off when her phone went off. Someone named Seth was calling. Clutching her phone to her chest, Grace got to her feet.

“Sorry. I have to take this. I’ll be right back.”

She took all harmony with her, leaving Ryker and me in a tense silence. He broke it first.

“Your coach find out about Monday?”

“No. Yours?”

Ryker shook his head. The SOS message I’d received from Will had been the start of an argument between one of Ryker’s guys and one of mine. Over a set of fucking dumbbells. But when you hated each other as much as our teams did, that was enough to set you off.

“Two almost-fights in one week,” Ryker said. “It’s only a matter of time before something happens that we can’t stop.”

“I know.”

While I wasn’t a fan of Ryker, neither of us were the real problem. We sledged, but that was it. I knew when to keep my temper in check. Fighting off the ice was dumb. It came with too many repercussions. Especially when you were a college athlete. Bad raps meant coaches weren’t really left with a choice other than to bench you. And school suspensions had translated to being kicked off teams altogether.

I sipped my coffee before saying, “Maybe your team needs to go back to training in the old gym.”

Ryker’s nostrils flared at my suggestion. While the Athlete’s Centre had a state-of-the-art gym for student athletes, there was a regular campus gym all Phil-U students had access to. Last year Ryker and I had made a bet that the team who finished lowest in their league had to use it and keep out of the athlete’s gym for six months. We’d been Frozen Four champs. They’d been runner’s up. During scheduled trainings, when coaches were around, our teams kept their cool. But at open gym time, when there was nobody to keep them in check, the gloves came off.

“I think it’s the hockey team’s turn,” Ryker returned.

“Not a fucking chance.”

“Let’s compromise then, give our teams windows when they can train.”

“Won’t work. My guys all have different class schedules and commitments.”

Just like this group assignment, there was no way Ryker and I could come to a unanimous decision. Which only left one option.

“Let’s bet on it. Set some stakes.”

He held my gaze. “Like?”

“I don’t know. You choose.”

He was quiet while he thought. “Can’t be related to this year’s season. The end’s too far away and this needs to stop now.”

“Agreed.”

“And I’m not condoning any type of competition that puts any of our guys at risk of injury.”

“Of course.”

When Ryker and I were freshmen, the captains of our teams had planned an event which was, effectively, a pissing contest. The day had been hyped up, sold to students on the premise the hockey and football teams were hosting a friendly competition. But the players had known the real stakes. It’d been an egotistical show of strength. And it’d cost each team. Our centre and most promising NHL draft had done an ankle injury running to a keg, and their starting quarterback had broken his arm falling off a table. The conversation halted when Grace returned and set down her phone and another coffee with a number scrawled on it.

“Courtesy of the barista.” 

Both Ryker and I looked towards the counter. Sure enough, the barista hurriedly averted her gaze, knocking over a stack of cups in the process.

Grace sighed. “Maybe we should compare the stats how often you each get hit on.”

“Pointless,” I returned. “There’d be no stats to analyse for Richardson.”

I braced for the rebuttal, but none came.

“Who wants it?” Grace asked.

“While I’m sure it’s intended for me, give it to Richardson. He needs all the help he can get.”

“Cute, Holloway,” Ryker grit. “But that’s my order.”

Damn. He was drinking a hot coffee. I was drinking an iced one. And steam was rising from that cup. Grace’s phone began to ring again. Seth, whoever he was, was ready to go round two. Grace jumped straight back up.

 “I’ll let you fight over her while I take this.”

Ryker waited until Grace was out of earshot before murmuring, “We all know I have more game than you, Holloway.”

“Having zero standards doesn’t define game,” I volleyed back.

Ryker snickered. “Any girl here, hell on campus, would choose to give me her number over you.”

“Yeah? Wanna bet?”

Ryker sat up straighter, his eyebrows raising in question. I rolled my eyes back. I hadn’t meant it literally. 

“You want to gamble your team’s rights to the gym on the ability to get a girl’s number?” I asked, bewilderment leaking into my voice.

“Nah. It has to be bigger than that.” He picked up the cup with the scrawled-on-number and took a sip. “I know what the wager can be.” His eyes moved to the far side of the coffee shop, where Grace was staring out the window. “Her.”

“Grace?”

He nodded.

“And what?” I challenged. “What would the rules be?”

Ryker dismissively shrugged his shoulders. “First one to hook up with her wins. Other team moves out the gym until our senior seasons are over.”

That almost guaranteed no fights or suspensions. And I didn’t care what happened after that. I narrowed my eyes. It sounded pretty fucking easy. Something I could certainly handle if it guaranteed not having to see Ryker or any of his cronies in the gym. Across the room, Grace’s face broke out in a smile before she began to laugh. Two calls in two minutes from this Seth guy. Only obsessed boyfriends called that often.

“She clearly has a boyfriend.”

“You not up for the challenge, Holloway?” Ryker heckled.

He was baiting me. And I was biting.

“I’m always up for the challenge, Richardson.”