Sure enough, when Jaysen gets up from the couch and grabs me by the shoulder of my hoodie, the guys go nuts. I’ve had a few more beers by this point, and it all goes to my head as soon as I stand up. My vision lags behind my eyes as I follow Jaysen to the center of everyone’s attention.
“The moment we’ve all been waiting for,” someone calls out from the couches. They quiet down while Jaysen and I stare at each other. His black jeans are so tight, I don’t know how the hell he managed to get them on. He’s cut the sleeves off his band tee, so I get a good look at his skin through the open sides of his shirt, the bold black tattoo along his rib cage. A dead-looking tree rising from overgrown black shrubbery, the shadows of more dead trees in the background, crows rising from the branches. It looks like scenery from a horror movie, but it’s also kinda hot. That on top of the black hoops in his nose and bottom lip, the black-rimmed glasses, the stretched ears, and oh my god my mouth is dry and he is literally watching me check him out.
I avert my eyes down to the floor between us, clear my throat and try to build up some saliva in my mouth. And that’s when Jaysen’s hands come forward, palms up, inviting me to hold them. He’s got calluses on his palms, right below his fingers. His fingers are long enough they could probably wrap all the way around my wrist, and the veins in his forearms stick out, drawing my eyes right up to the curve of his biceps and— This is not the time.
His hands are warm, his grip strong when I finally reach for them. God, I hope he can’t feel me shaking.
“Your Grace,” he says. I look up at his face. “Your slap shot is the most pathetic thing I’ve ever seen in hockey.”
Okay, yeah, I can’t argue that.
I lick my lips. Try not to let my voice croak too much when I say, “Right. Jaysen, your hesitation to go for loose pucks along the boards is going to lose us games.”
His eyes narrow. I’ve hit a sore spot right out of the gate.
“Of course,” he says through his teeth, like he has to keep himself from snapping it at me. “Delilah is a way better hockey player than you.”
I scoff. That’s the truest thing anyone has said tonight. “Obviously. You’re weak on the backhand.”
“Sure. You skate like you’re trying to chop the ice with your blades.”
“Totally. You’re way too overconfident in your stick-handling skills.”
“You have the worst case of little man syndrome I’ve ever seen.”
“You chew your gum too loud.”
“You’re soulless.”
“You’re an asshole.”
We rattle off one jab after the other, barely pausing to catch our breaths, hardly taking in each other’s words before throwing our own back. By the time we get all our hatred out, our hands are sweaty and we’re both breathing like we’ve been hurling fists instead of insults. Jaysen is glaring with narrowed eyes that are probably a mirror of my own.
The rest of the team is quiet around us. There was none of the laughter or goading like there was when everyone else was up here. If it weren’t for the pop of beer cans opening, I probably would’ve forgotten they’re even here.
Someone clears their throat, but Jaysen and I only have eyes for each other.
“You guys owe each other, like, thirty compliments now,” Zero says.
Jaysen swallows. I watch his throat move with it as he adjusts his grip on my hands. I almost try to pull away, to wipe the sweat on my jeans, to make this less awkward. But he’s not letting go. My hoodie’s not doing me any favors, trapping the heat that flushes my body every time I acknowledge the fact that I’m holding Jaysen Caulfield’s hands. I just hope they all blame anger for how red my cheeks must be.
Neither of us says anything for a minute. I’m not about to go first. He started with the insults, he can start this, too.
“You, uh…” Jaysen shifts his weight from foot to foot. “You got a decent wrister. I guess.”
“You’re pretty good on the backcheck,” I say slowly.
He clears his throat. “Your passes usually go tape to tape.”
“Sometimes you make pretty good plays.”
“You got okay presence in the slot.”
The insults came rapid fire, but this is like pulling teeth. There’s a good five-second delay between every compliment, and Jaysen’s got sweat springing up on his forehead from the strain of it. We run out of things to say about hockey after a few slow, torturous minutes, and then we stand there in uncomfortable silence.
I glance over at Zero like please let this end, but he raises his eyebrows and twists his wrist like you’re not done yet.
Kill. Me. Now.
I take a deep breath through my nose and let it out in a huff before looking back at Jaysen. He sniffs, scrunches his nose, and keeps his eyes on the ground between our feet when he says, “Your eyes are a nice color.”
Um. What?
“Now we’re talking!” Kovy shouts. There’s clapping, and the catcalling starts up again and my head feels like it’s about to spontaneously combust. My stomach twists and I have to swallow hard so I don’t throw up all over Jaysen’s chest.
“Uh…,” I start. How am I supposed to follow that up without giving myself away? Because the only compliments coming to mind right now are things like those piercings do things to me and those jeans fit you way too nicely, please take them off.
Jaysen chews his gum almost aggressively, avoiding my eyes at all costs. Right. The gum. That’s a safe one, yeah?
“Your breath always smells like cinnamon?” I try.
Colie’s wailing cackle starts up again, and I’m pretty sure my face is literally on fire right now.
“Your haircut works for you,” Jaysen says.
“You have decent style?” Everything I say comes out like a question, which I guess helps the illusion that I have no idea what I’m talking about. Maybe. Probably not.
“The gravelly voice kinda suits you.”
“Your tattoo’s kinda cool.”
Jaysen lifts his eyes a little. I swear they latch on to where my sleeve is pushed up just below my elbow, then slowly follow my forearm down to my wrist and back up again, to my bicep. “You’re pretty fit for being so short.”
I think I might pass out. Was he just checking me out? No. Of course not. He was just looking for something to say. That was definitely not the same kind of eye-sweep I did to him minutes ago in a damn you’re hot kind of way. Not even close.
“You have … dimples?” I kind of splutter it out, and that’s it, I am done. I pull my hands out of Jaysen’s and scrub them against my jeans. He’s quick to turn away from me, and I keep my face turned toward the ground in the vainest attempt to hide my blushing ever.
The guys cheer and clap for us like we’ve reached some kind of stunning breakthrough. Zero holds out shots for both of us and I toss mine back as soon as it’s in my hand, then hold the glass out for another. Zero pours it with a proud smile on his face. I find an empty spot on a couch away from the other freshmen and drink in hopes of forgetting this ever happened.
Honestly, I would’ve rather been hazed.
FIVE
I’m stuck here for the night, so I might as well have some fun.
Dorian and Barbie end up on the couch with me, crowding me so close between them I can hardly move my arms. My vision lags as I look around the room at my teammates, laughing and drinking.
I dance. Someone dances with me. I think it’s Barbie, judging by how tall he feels against my back. For a second I’m sure Colie’s gonna suffocate he’s laughing so hard.
We all stare at Dorian when he shouts, “Hey, listen. Guys, listen! Rude-ass bitches. Anyway. Space. Don’t give me that look, bro. Fucking space. Think about this. The universe is never-ending, yeah? That’s terrifying. But it’s gotta be never-ending because if it ended, what would be on the other side? Scary, right?”
And I say, “No, you know what’s scarier than space? The ocean, dude. It’s what, like, seventy percent of the planet, but we’ve barely seen five percent of it. There could be sea monsters everywhere and we wouldn’t even know it.”
“Speaking of the ocean,” Colie says. “You know how salt water burns your eyes? And sweat? But our tears are salty, so why don’t they burn our eyes, too? Wicker, you’re premed. I need answers!”