I hear him moan as I begin to work his shaft with my lips. He leans back against the wall and his hands are soft on the top of my head. I brace my hands against his thighs inside his jeans. I open my throat and slide Neal into my mouth as far as I can, preparing to lick and suck him dry as he groans with pleasure, when two things happen simultaneously.
The lights in the arena suddenly buzz to life and Coach Thomas clears his throat from the tunnel to our left. "Fuck," Neal whispers, pulling out of my mouth and shoving his hands over his crotch. I'm frozen in place kneeling between Neal's legs, my hair disheveled, my world dropping out from underneath me.
An eternity passes before Coach Thomas makes eye contact with me. His face is hard, angry, and he says, "Nice motivational technique you got there." He shakes his head and pounds a fist on the glass barrier. "Sweeney, put your dick back in your pants and get out of here. I've got recruits and parents coming for a tour."
Coach Thomas begins to walk back down the tunnel, presumably to meet a freshman in the lobby. Neal leaps to his feet and tries to chase after his coach, still wearing his skates and trying to zip his pants. "Coach, wait--"
"Save it, Sweeney. I'll see you on the ice tomorrow." He slams a door and is gone.
Neal turns to face me, and I'm not able to stop the tears that are spilling down my cheeks. I close my eyes and start to rip off the skates, not caring about the rented laces as I yank them off my feet so I can run.
"Dahlia, don't do this." Even running on skates on the foam floor, Neal is faster than me. He has his arms around me in seconds and I release a sob into his chest. "It'll be ok," he says into my hair, and I stiffen.
I pull back and look at him, furious. "How?" I scream. "How the fuck will it be ok, Neal? I'm going to have to leave school."
"Dahlia, Coach isn't going to say anything to the math department. Seriously." Neal is reaching for me again, trying to pull me back in.
I snort, backing away toward the exit. "No, he'll just think I'm some fucking whore. Some groupie puck bunny. God, he probably thinks I've been giving the entire team blowjobs for years." I'm ranting now, enraged. I throw the skates against the wall and am startled by the echoing boom they produce in the empty arena. I wait for Neal to do something, to reassure me it’s not like that, or to say anything at all, but he just stands with his hands in his pockets.
I shake my head, blind with rage and tears, turn away, and run from the arena. I don't stop until I'm in my bed, where I stay for the next two days.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
When Linda comes home Sunday afternoon, she throws on the lights in the bedroom and pulls the curtains open. "Dahlia, what the hell? I've been calling you all day."
"Go away, Linda." I try to keep my voice neutral, thinking maybe I should feign an illness so she'll leave the room. I can't even bear talking about what happened. I feel filthy and exposed. Caught in an act that was so personal, something I'd only ever done with Neal.
"Is this about grad school stuff?" She sits on the bed and starts rubbing my shoulder through the blankets. "Tim told me Jeremy didn't do so great on his GRE."
Eager to talk about anything other than my screwed up life, I pull down the blanket. "Really? On the math part?"
"Nah. The verbal. But I guess he didn't score high enough for any of the schools he wanted. He decided to work for a year and try again."
"That stinks." I can't think of anything to say beyond that.
Linda dips her head to meet my eye. "But you didn't bomb the test, did you?" I shake my head. "I thought so."
I bite my lip and whisper to her. "I got a 330." And then I can't help but smile, because I know that my scores were well above the average for MIT and Penn. But that reminds me that the scores are meaningless if I don't actually have a college diploma and I start to cry again.
"Hey," she says. "What happened?" She pulls me into a hug and I start to sob. I weep into her shoulders for awhile and then tell her everything. About my magical morning with Neal and the horrifying events of the afternoon in the arena.
She lets out a long breath when I've finished talking. "Well, did you hear from Dr. Meyer or anything?"
I look at her blankly. I have checked neither my phone nor my email the entire weekend. She brings me my phone, where I see I've missed a number of calls from her and Neal. I have about 100 text messages. Nothing from the university. "It's because it's the weekend," I mutter. "I bet Coach Thomas called Dr. Meyer after the game Saturday."
Linda laughs. "I doubt that very highly," she says, pulling up something on the screen of her phone. She shows me the headline from the SCU student website. I see Neal and his roommates embracing on the ice, helmets off, faces joyful. "They won 7-0," Linda says. "They're going to nationals."
I start to cry again, sad that I missed Neal's big game. He probably could have used support in the stands before such an important match and I would have loved to watch him. I think about how it would feel to sit there with the other players' loved ones, wearing his jersey. How would it feel if everyone saw that I was Neal Sweeney's girlfriend?
Then I remember that he didn't speak up after his coach caught us. That he said nothing about us being together. I feel like I'm being ripped in half and all I want to do is go to him for a hug. Which I can't do.
"Oh god, Linda. I think I love him." I dive back into the covers and start to cry again. "And it's going to ruin my life."
She continues trying to soothe me, telling me it will all work out. She doesn't know, though. She hasn't spent Christmas and summer break working in the factory where my dad got me a job. That's what's waiting for me if I go back home with no degree. That or working as a flag girl for the road construction crew. I moan, thinking about how close I came to getting away, finding a different path.
Linda pats the blankets for awhile and then makes us some dinner. In the morning, we walk to class and she takes my phone so I stop obsessively checking my email.
I'm a basketcase during class, totally distracted. I hear about a third of what the professor is saying as I sweat over the possibilities. Will I be asked to leave school immediately? Can they maybe send me some sort of bill to cover just the last third of the semester?
After class, Linda turns on my phone and summarizes what I've missed. "Some texts from Neal--'where are you? We need to talk. What the hell, Dahlia? Answer my calls'…sounds like he wants to talk to you."
I shake my head. She continues. "Here's one from Jeremy, actually. 'Congrats on GRE. Tim told me you aced it'--I bragged about you to Tim, by the way. They're both happy for you. Jeremy also says 'drinks at the Tap Room later to celebrate?'"
"Linda, just open my email." I start chewing on my nails frantically. If there isn't anything form Dr. Meyer I'm going to have to go see him anyway, just because I can't bear the stress of not knowing my fate.
She sighs. "There is one. I mean, you have like 30, but there's one from Dr. Meyer. Hang on." She scrolls around. "'Dahlia, can you stop by my office this afternoon? I wanted to have a chat about next year. I have drop-in hours 3-4. See you then.' Hey, that's not so bad," she says.
I feel my heart beating inside my ears, but don't say anything. Linda says, "I think if he was going to fire you he'd either call or else be more assertive. Like, if he was going to fire you he'd have said 'next semester' instead of 'next year.'"
"Maybe. What is it now? Noon? God, I have to survive three more hours." She takes me to the cafeteria and buys me a sandwich. I try to skip my next class, but Linda drags me in and promises it will help distract me until my doomsday meeting.
~~~
At 2:55, I begin pacing the hallway outside Dr. Meyer's office. My skin is clammy with cold sweat and my hair has half escaped my braid. I can't remember if I showered this morning, but a quick sniff tells me I certainly didn't remember deodorant. I feel like a slob and am about to run home to shower and change, when I see Dr. Meyer come around the corner holding a stack of folders.
I hold my breath, but he smiles when
he sees me. "Dahlia! Come on in."
When I hesitate in the doorway, he offers me the dish of chocolate on the edge of his desk. "Please," he said, "take some! My wife sent these to help my students with end-of-term nerves." I perch on the edge of one of the chairs and start unwrapping the candy as he rifles through his folder. "Ah! Yes! Here we go."
I wish I'd thought to take a few shots before coming in here, to calm my nerves. Dr. Meyer continues. "I hope you don't mind, but I took the liberty of reaching out to my friend in the math department at MIT." I freeze mid-bite and look at him, both eyebrows raised in confusion.
"When you asked me for a recommendation, I started reviewing my notes and looking over your own notes from guiding study sessions in past years. I told my esteemed colleague he would be remiss if he didn't offer you a teaching fellowship in their graduate program." At this, he smiles and unwraps one of the chocolates.
I'm still sitting frozen in place, not quite understanding what he's said. Dr. Meyer laughs a bit and says, "He agreed." Dr. Meyer slides a folder across the desk for me to see. He printed out an email from Professor Carey, head of the mathematics department at MIT. It reads, "Just received her transcripts and GRE scores. Please tell Ms. Wardzinksi we'd love to have her up. Official offer letter in the post!"
Dr. Meyer is babbling now. "I just get such a thrill when my students do well. You know, I don't even get to teach much anymore since department head is mostly an administrative position. I've loved talking to you about teaching strategies this term, Dahlia. You have a sharp mind and an instinct for translating the material for your students--whatever is the matter, dear?"
I'm crying in relief. Totally unable to hold back the tears, they flow down my grubby face. My sweat shoulders shake and my nose runs as Dr. Meyer hands me a tissue box. I cry for a few minutes while he peers at me in concern. I finally take a deep breath and say, "I thought you were calling me here to fire me."
"Fire you? For what?"
"Well, sir, I…I haven't been fully professional with Neal Sweeney." I start crying again more forcefully, knowing that now he will likely rescind the MIT offer. I'm sure Penn is absolutely out of the question. I start to wonder if I might throw up, when Dr. Meyer starts waving his hand in the air.
"The dating bit?"
My mouth hangs open as I try to form a response, create some sort of apology that doesn't sound like an excuse. He keeps talking. "Yes, I got an email from Mr. Sweeney this weekend, actually. It was rather romantic. He wrote to explain that he'd developed feelings for you, but didn't want you to get in trouble or lose your position. Then he said something about how he felt sure he'd do better on his final if I gave permission for you to give him a good luck kiss." Dr. Meyer begins spinning his wedding band around his finger, smiling.
I start crying again and Dr. Meyer walks around the desk. He puts a hand on my back and I really let it all out. I'm actually boo-hooing when he says, "Dahlia, I hope you know how much we value you here in the math department." I look up to meet his eyes, mine clouded with tears. I've never actually heard him say that and it feels overwhelming to know he cares about me.
"We want you to do well in life, Ms. Wardzinksi. There! Now I've even learned to pronounce your name. Surely that warrants a smile?"
I laugh. He hands me another tissue and I blow my nose and try to wipe up my face. Dr. Meyer pats my back again and hands me the folder from MIT. He says, "Why don't you go and share your news with Mr. Sweeney and see if he'll trade you a good luck kiss for one of congratulations."
I gather the folder against my chest and exhale. I bend to pick up my bag, thanking him for all of his help and support. He waves me on out the door. Without thinking my feet lead me toward the Earl, where the hockey team is finishing with practice.
CHAPTER TWELVE
When I get to the hockey building, there's a group of sorority sisters hanging around the main door. They're all decked out in SCU gear, some of them even wearing jerseys with the hockey players' names on them. I see more than a few Sweeney fangirls.
I'm still wearing my sweaty clothes from crying in Dr. Meyer's office, and one of Neal's sweatshirts from the floor in my room. I feel shabby and under-dressed, so I hang back when I see the doors open. The guys, all freshly showered and smiling, walk out en masse. I remember now that they are headed to nationals, and their excitement is obvious.
The sorority girls flock the team. I see Tyler and Smith getting friendly with a few of them, but I smile when I notice that Neal seems uninterested in their attention. I step closer to the group and Neal sees me. Our eyes lock, his a bright blue that's unreadable.
He waves at the sorority girls and walks over to me, stopping a few feet away. I want to jump into his arms, share my news, hold him. But I just stand frozen, taken back to how I felt when Coach Thomas walked in on us in the arena.
"Hey," he says. "You missed my game."
I nod. "I know. I'm really sorry about that."
"I called you a hundred times that weekend."
We stand in silence for a few minutes, and I take his hand. "Neal, I know what you wrote to Dr. Meyer." My voice catches and I start crying again. "He told me he thinks you're romantic."
Neal grins, but his hand is stiff in mine. He asks, "So did you get fired?"
When I shake my head, the tears really start flowing. The breath I'd been holding all semester, probably the past four years, charges out of me. I don't have to worry any more about my dad signing forms that affect my financial status. I can pursue my dreams in graduate school on my own merit. "He knows about us and it's…it's ok for us to be together. If you want." I bite my lip, not sure what to expect next.
He exhales and starts talking, squeezing my hand now reassuringly. "I wanted to say so many things to Coach Thomas that day, Dahlia. I wanted to tell him…I should have told him…" He picks up my chin and looks at me. "Dahlia, I'm in love with you."
I blink, because I am not sure that I heard him properly. "What?" I say, my voice quiet.
He kisses my hand, my cheek. "I said I love you."
Just like that I'm crying again. I can't believe he's saying the words I've been so hungry to hear. I never let myself believe I could love anyone, but I knew I was in love with Neal Sweeney. And then I never imagined that it was possible he loved me back. "I love you, too," I sob. Neal pulls me into his body and holds me as I fall to pieces.
In the course of a few hours, my world went from an uncertain landscape to a clear path forward. I know where I'm going and I know who will be by my side while I get there. Unless--"Neal, did you get in trouble for…because of us?"
He scoffs. "Did you even watch the game?" I shake my head again. "I scored 3 goals, Dahlia. In a playoff game." I look at him blankly and he smiles wide. "I can probably do whatever the hell I want, babe." He strokes my cheek and I feel weak at his touch. I hadn't realized how much I'd missed him the past few torturous days, where I'd been plagued by uncertainty.
Neal pulls me in then for an embrace and I cry into his shoulder. He leans his chin on my head and says, "Babe, you're not looking so good. Want to tell me what happened?"
And so I tell him. I tell him about my GRE scores and the meeting with Dr. Meyer and MIT. And he laughs--a joyful, relieved sound. Neal lifts me into the air and spins around. "Dahlia! That's amazing!"
"It is! It is, right?" I stop crying at last and lean back into his strong arms as he keeps twirling me in the parking lot. I start laughing with him as he pulls me higher and kisses me deeply. We only break apart when we hear wolf whistles and cheers from the team, who have now migrated closer to us.
I bite my lip and hide my head in Neal's shoulder, his wild curls tickling my ear and his massive arms holding me tight. "Let's go celebrate," he says.
I remember Jeremy's text from earlier. When Neal sets me back on the ground I touch his shoulder. "Can we go meet my friends at the Tap Room?"
"Anything my girl wants," he says.
~~~
I've never walked in
to a room with a guy's arm around my shoulders before. When Neal and I walk in to the bar, I spy my friends in the back corner. Linda--who I forgot to update after my meeting with Dr. Meyer--leaps from her seat and runs over to me.
"Dahlia!" she shouts. "What the hell is going on?" She looks from me to Neal, to his arm around my shoulder. He kisses my cheek and she asks, "Did you get shit-canned?"
People are staring at us now, and Linda pulls me over to the table in the back corner, where Tim and Jeremy are sitting with a pitcher of beer. I squeeze Neal's hand and ask, "Is there room for my boyfriend?"
Linda actually starts clapping her hands, although Jeremy looks like he swallowed something sharp. I tell them all about the teaching fellowship at MIT and they procure another pitcher of beer. Even Jeremy pats me on the back in congratulations.
An hour later, Neal slides his hand up my leg under the table. I look over to him and see his eyes are dark. His hand is more insistent until I slide my glass across the table and tell Linda I need to get going. "I have some stuff I need to take care of tonight," I say. Linda smiles and waves me off.
She grabs my hand and whispers, "I'll sleep at Tim's tonight so you can be as loud as you want."
I don't even have time to feel embarrassed as Neal pulls me across the street to my apartment. When we get inside, he says, "We have a lot to do tonight, Dahlia." He starts peeling off his clothes in the living room as he walks toward the bedroom.
Tipsy and high on the promise of the future, I laugh and follow suit. I chase him down the hall and shove him down onto my bed. Neal lies back, fully nude, and I run my hands along his beautiful body. I stand next to the bed in my bra and panties and strip for him slowly, teasing as I take off my clothes and toss them onto the floor.
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