by Elle Kennedy
My folks are incorrigible when it comes to this. “No, we’re not together.”
“Why not? Along with making your mother very, very happy, dating Hazel would be good for you. Keep you grounded when you move to Edmonton.”
I sit down at the counter. “We’re just friends, Dad.”
“I know, but maybe—”
“Something smells amazing,” Hazel declares, and I’m grateful for the interruption.
My mother comes up behind me and ruffles my hair, then kisses the top of my head. “You didn’t hug me hello,” she scolds.
“Yeah, because you were so eager to show Hazel the family room.”
Hazel slides onto the stool beside me, and the mood in the kitchen gets substantially lighter. But inside, I’m once again dwelling on the fact that I haven’t spoken to Brenna in three days.
It isn’t until we’re heading back to Cambridge that Hazel finally calls me on it. “Okay, what the heck is going on with you, Connelly? You’ve been distracted and grumpy all morning. Even your mom noticed.”
“Nothing’s going on,” I lie.
She searches my face. “Are you nervous about playing us this weekend?”
“Not at all. We’re gonna kick your ass.”
She sticks out her tongue. “I’m so torn about who to root for.”
“No, you’re not. Obviously you’re rooting for your best friend.”
Hazel rests her head on my shoulder as the train speeds forward. “You’re acting weird, whether you want to admit it or not. And you’ve sounded distant the last few times we’ve talked,” she admits. “Are you pissed at me or something?”
“Of course not. I just have a lot on my mind.”
There’s a long beat of hesitation. “Girl trouble?”
“Nah.”
Her head pops up, and suddenly there’s a pair of highly suspicious eyes fixed on me. “It’s actually girl trouble, isn’t it? Are you seeing somebody?”
“No.”
“Are you lying?”
“Yes.”
Hazel laughs, but it sounds a bit weak. I can’t decode her expression, but I think it might be conveying a hint of disapproval.
“What, I’m not allowed to see anyone?” I say casually.
“It’s not that. It’s…you don’t do girlfriends, remember?”
“Yeah, and this is one of the reasons.” My tone turns bleak. “Being ignored sucks.”
“You’re being ignored?” she exclaims. “You, the mighty Jake Connelly, are the victim of ghosting?”
“Sort of? It’s not exactly ghosting, because she didn’t disappear without a word. She ended it to my face, but it was kind of a vague breakup.”
“Breakup?” Hazel echoes in surprise. “How long have you been seeing each other?”
“Honestly, not long. A few weeks.”
She starts toying with her thumb ring. Hazel wears a lot of chunky jewelry, mostly rings and bracelets, and the one she’s playing with now was my Christmas present to her. The silver band winks in the overhead light as she spins it around her thumb.
“And you’re this attached after a few weeks?” she finally says.
“Well, she’s been on my radar for longer than that. But we only recently started going out.”
“Have you been on a date? Like, an actual date?”
“Yes.”
She spins the ring some more. “Was it good?”
“Really good,” I confess. “I don’t know, we were really hitting it off and she just bailed.”
“Then she’s a moron.”
“Nah, she’s not. She’s cool, actually. I think you would like her.”
“What’s her name?”
“Bre—” I stop abruptly.
“Breh?” A groove appears in Hazel’s forehead. “What kind of name is that?”
I hesitate before deciding to be honest. Hazel’s not part of the hockey scene, anyway, so I can’t see her putting two and two together about Brenna.
“Her name is Brenna,” I reveal.
“That’s a pretty name.” Hazel tips her head. “Is she pretty?”
“Gorgeous.”
“I guess she has to be, right? I mean, you can’t be a scrub and capture the heart of the elusive Jake Connelly.”
I shrug. “She hasn’t captured my heart and I’m not elusive.”
“Dude, every girl in high school wanted to be with you, and not a single one was able to lock you down. You are unquestionably elusive. Like an eel.” She starts toying with her thumb ring again. “Tell me about this Brenna.”
“Nah, let’s not do this.”
“Why not? We’re not allowed to talk about relationships?”
“We never have before.”
“So?”
“Fine. You go first,” I challenge.
“No problem. Let’s talk about my relationship.” Hazel smirks at me. “I don’t have one. Your turn.”
I can’t help but laugh. She got me there. “I dunno, what do you want me to say? Her name is Brenna. She’s amazing. We’re broken up. Or maybe on a break. That’s really all there is to know.”
“Does she go to Harvard?”
“No.”
“Does she go to college?”
“Yes.”
Hazel sighs dramatically. “Are you going to tell me where she goes?”
I think it over. “Do you promise to keep it between us?”
“Of course.” The crease in her forehead deepens.
“She’s at Briar.”
Something indecipherable flickers in Hazel’s eyes. Her jaw tenses, briefly, before relaxing. She twists her ring again. “All right. She’s at Briar. And?”
“And her father coaches Briar’s hockey team.”
Despite her total disinterest in all things hockey, even Hazel comprehends the foolishness of this move. “Are you serious?”
I nod. “Brenna Jensen. She’s Chad Jensen’s daughter.” I let out a sharp breath. “She’s gotten in my head.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean I can’t stop thinking about her. And I know it’s a bad idea to get involved with her, especially since we’re playing you next weekend. But…” I shift awkwardly. “I like her.”
“You like her,” my friend repeats.
“Yes.”
“And you’ve been preoccupied and cranky because she’s ignoring you.”
“Yes.”
Hazel falls silent.
“What?” I demand. I always know when there’s something heavy on her mind. “What are you thinking right now?”
“It’s just…did it ever occur to you that this might be part of her plan?”
“What plan?”
“Do you really not see it?” Hazel stares at me as if I’m the biggest chump in the world. “Everyone knew the conference finals would likely come down to Harvard and Briar, and a few weeks before this hugely important game, the daughter of the Briar coach is suddenly interested in you, and, I quote, ‘getting in your head.’ And now you’re so distracted, I bet you’re not giving your usual hundred and ten percent in practice because all you’re doing is obsessing over this girl. Do you get my drift, Jake?”
I do, and it’s funny, because that first night at the diner, I accused Brenna of doing exactly what Hazel is suggesting. Brenna had denied it, and I believed her then and still believe it now. I no longer have a cynical viewpoint about Brenna Jensen.
“Brenna’s not like that,” I say simply. “Yes, she roots for her team and supports her dad, but she’s not trying to sabotage me.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because I do.”
“Would you bet your life on it?” Hazel says in challenge.
“I don’t need to bet my life on it,” I answer in a dry tone. “But yes, I’m confident that this isn’t some dastardly plot on her end.”
“If you say so.”
But the omg you’re such an idiot look on Hazel’s face tells me she doesn’t buy it.
23
Jake
“Do I have a bubble butt?”
I scroll through my messages, but there’s nothing from Brenna. It’s been five days. Five days of complete radio silence. That is un-fucking-acceptable.
“Yo! Are you listening to me?”
I lift my head to glance at Brooks. We’re in the media room at the arena, waiting for everyone else to arrive for the team meeting. We’re scheduled to watch game tape this morning, which’ll be fun. Watching Brenna’s friends skate around on a huge screen.
Shit. Hazel’s right—I am thinking about this nonstop, and that’s not good.
“You’re not going to answer the question?” Brooks demands.
“No, because I don’t understand what you’re asking me.” I set my phone down and lean back in my padded chair, crossing my arms behind my head.
“It’s not that hard, Connelly. Do I have a bubble butt or what?”
I stare at him. “What the hell’s a bubble butt?”
“Exactly what it sounds like.” He rakes a frustrated hand through his blond hair.
“Okay, so like a fat ass?”
“No, not a fat ass. For fuck’s sake. It’s like two perfectly round globes, and they’re usually super tight. You know, like two bubbles, but on your butt. A bubble butt.” He sounds exasperated. “What part of this don’t you understand?”
I’m genuinely bemused. “Why are you asking?”
He flops down in a chair. “Because last night I was banging Kayla—”
“Oh, I know,” I say dryly. “I heard every second of it.”
“—and we were up against the wall, you know, with her legs wrapped around me. I was holding her ass and pushing her down on my cock—”
“Dude. I legit don’t want to hear this.”
“There’s a point, I swear,” he insists.
Our teammates start filing into the room. Coby, McCarthy, Dmitry. Heath and his fellow Whipped Cream Bandit, Jonah. A few seniors.
Brooks is unfazed by the audience. “So we were doing it standing up and she’s clawing at my shoulders. And my closet door was open so she could see the mirror, you know, the full-length one on the inside of the door?” Outrage colors his tone. “And suddenly she starts giggling, and I was like, what the hell are you laughing at, and she said it’s because she just noticed I have a bubble butt!”
“What is happening right now?” Adam the freshman says miserably. The poor kid still hasn’t adapted to us yet. You’d think after almost an entire season he’d be used to the lunacy.
Brooks spins around in his chair. We have a sweet setup here in the video room. Padded chairs that actually swivel, a huge screen that takes up nearly an entire wall. Plus a ton of cool tech that Coach likes to utilize when he’s freezing frames or highlighting certain plays.
“What’s a bubble butt?” Heath asks.
“It’s when your ass looks like two globes,” Coby supplies.
“See! He knows what I’m talking about!” Brooks points to Coby, nodding in approval. “Do I have that?” he asks the room.
“Dude, I hate to disappoint you,” I say, “but I haven’t spent much time staring at your ass. I also haven’t spent much time examining other dudes’ asses, and since I don’t know what a bubble butt looks like, I can’t tell you if you have one. So for the love of Jesus, can we talk about something else?”
Apparently not, as Brooks is already marching toward one of the laptops on Coach’s desk. He clicks the track pad a few times, and a web browser appears on the big screen behind him. “Okay, so…” He types the words “bubble butt” in the image search.
Two seconds later, rows and rows of thumbnails appear on the screen, all featuring some very sexy female behinds.
“Ugh, sorry, no, I don’t want to look at girls.” Brooks alters the search to say “man bubble butt.”
The first image that pops up is one of a fully clothed grown man in an actual bubble.
“The fuck’s that dude doing in a bubble?” Coby guffaws.
“Maybe he’s got that bubble disease,” someone offers. “You know, where you need to be shut away from the rest of the world.”
“The bubble isn’t the disease,” Dmitry says with a snicker. “The bubble is the solution to the disease.”
“Why is it so hard to find pictures of male asses?” Brooks growls. “All right, boys. Brace yourself.”
“Weston,” I caution. “Whatever you’re about to do, please don’t.”
Unfortunately, there’s no stopping Brooks when he goes on a tangent, especially when it’s related to his appearance. The man is vain as fuck.
When a porn site appears on the screen, I’m quick to issue another warning. “You better get out of there before Coach comes in.”
He glances at the clock mounted over the door. “We have ten minutes, and he’s never early. Coach is an on-the-dot kinda guy.”
That’s true, but that doesn’t mean I want to be looking at porn on university property.
Brooks clicks the search bar and keys in “bubble butt,” and we’re not surfing porn anymore. We’re surfing gay porn. Awesome.
“There!” Brooks says triumphantly. “This is what she says it looks like!” He clicks on a thumbnail labeled: bubble butt gets pounded.
Coby groans. “Bro, I don’t want to see this shit.”
But Brooks pauses the scene before the sex gets underway. In fact, there’s still only one dude in the frame, a tall Nordic blond who decides to take all his clothes off in a jiu-jitsu studio because that’s what real people do.
Brooks zooms in on the guy’s behind. And okay, I’m not going to lie—his butt cheeks do resemble two bubbles. The rest of his body is lean and ripped, so those tight globes really do attract the eye.
“It’s the first thing I notice when I look at him,” Coby admits. “My eyes go right to the ass.”
“Mine too,” I say. “That’s weird, right?”
“Is this me?” Brooks demands. “Because if it is, I’m pissed. Look at it. It’s completely disproportional to the rest of his body.”
“Dude, we just told you, we don’t pay attention to your butt,” I say irritably. “We can’t compare.”
“Fine, here.”
He turns around and drops trou.
At the same time Coach Pedersen enters the room.
Coach stumbles to a stop. His gaze travels from the naked man on the screen to Weston’s bare ass. Then he scowls at the rest of us. “What the hell is wrong with you idiots?”
“It’s not what it looks like,” Brooks tries to reassure him.
“Really? Because it looks like you’re trying to compare your ass to the one up there, and the answer to that is, yes, they’re identical. Now zip up your goddamn pants, turn that garbage off, and take a seat, Weston.”
My teammate appears genuinely devastated as he pulls up his pants. “I have a bubble butt, you guys. I feel like my whole life has been a lie.”
Our goalie Johansson snickers. “Plastic surgery’s always an option.”
“Enough,” Coach snaps. “We don’t have time for this shit. We’re facing off against Jensen and his crew in five days. It’ll be televised on all the New England stations, and I’m hearing rumors about HockeyNet, too. So tell me, do you want to make fools of yourselves or do you want to win?”
“We want to win,” everyone mumbles.
“Do you want to jerk off to Weston’s ass or do you want to win?”
We raise our voices. “We want to win!”
“Good. Then shut the hell up and pay attention.”
After the meeting, Pedersen stops me before I can follow the rest of my teammates out the door. “Connelly, stay behind.”
I shove my hands in my pockets as I walk over. “What’s up, Coach?”
“Have a seat.” Based on his harsh expression, I’m obviously not in store for a pep talk. Once I’m seated, he stands in front of me, arms crossed over his bulky chest. “What’s going on with you, Jake?”
�
�What do you mean?”
“I mean, what’s going on with you? You were off at morning skate today. Two seconds slower than usual. Granted, that’s still faster than an average player, but it’s slow for you.”
“I was distracted,” I admit.
“And this afternoon? Normally when you show up early, I walk in and you’re already leading the meeting, going over tape. Instead I walk in and Weston is shaking his ass in front of everyone and you’re watching gay porn.”
“We weren’t watching gay porn,” I assure him. “We were just…” I trail off.
Because he’s right. I’m always deeply focused on the game. It’s a single-minded dedication that’s been with me since I was old enough to skate. I lead team meetings. I show up early, offer extra help to guys who need it. I sacrifice my own time, my own sleep, and my own schoolwork to ensure that every weapon on our team is locked, loaded, and in working order.
For the past five days, my head hasn’t been in it. And maybe five days doesn’t sound like a long time in the grand scheme of things, but it is when you only have five more to prepare for arguably the most important game of the season. Not the second most important, because that’s operating on the assumption that the Frozen Four is a given, and it isn’t. We need to beat Briar in order to move forward; therefore, this is the most important game, and the only thing that should matter at the moment.
“You’re right,” I tell him. “I haven’t been as focused as I should be.”
“What’s going on? School? Do we need to set you up with a tutor?”
“No, I’m good with all that. A couple final papers left to write, but I’m not having any trouble. They’re not due till May, anyway.”
“So what is it? Shit at home?”
“No.” I readjust myself in my chair. Uncharacteristic embarrassment heats the back of my neck. “I feel like a moron saying this, but it’s a girl.”
Coach rumbles in displeasure. “You want my advice?”
“Please.”
“Forget her.”
A laugh pops out. Well. That’s not helpful. “That’s one solution,” I say carefully, because Coach Pedersen doesn’t appreciate being challenged.
“Trust me, kid, it’s the only solution. Women are goddamn headaches. Even the nice ones,” he says, shaking his head. “It’s like they all take a master class in manipulation, learning how to play with your emotions. They either turn us into slaves, or fools.”
