Rosie Labrun is a lot of things: a college student on the cusp of graduation; an intern for the Portland Pirates, a romance novel connoisseur; and the most recent addition to her resume...the girlfriend of a professional athlete.
She won't let it d...
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When Rosie sees us, she reacts in what can only be described as Kronk when he's disposing of Kuzco's newly-transformed llama body, in Emperor's New Groove. Completed with the oh so subtle tip-toeing and failed attempted at blending into the wall.
Quinton and I watch her, observing like the village onlookers. Except in this case, one of us is in a relationship with the FBI agent in-training. Which if we were in Emperor's New Groove, I'm think would've landed both parties in prison, due to its beastiality.
"What's with your girlfriend?" Quinton wonders, looking over at me with confusion. We both watch as she scurries down the hallway - dropping her file folder in the process, which forces her to make a pit stop to pick it up.
After doing so, she glances over her shoulder before finishing her rocket ship mission away from us.
"She's still trying to act like we're not dating, at work." I answer, condensing her misguided way of thinking into one simple sentence. For some reason, she thinks that because we're not tonguing each other down in the middle of the hallway, that people don't know. But I think everyone - including the stray cat that roams around my neighborhood, could tell we're together.
But that's what she wants - and I'm willing to go along with whatever kooky plan she's broiling up, as long as it means when we leave the rink, she's my girlfriend. And if it makes her feel better to live in denial, and think that people don't know about us - or that she's somehow more professional because she actively ignores her boyfriend, then so be it.
Okay, so maybe I am a little bitter about it.
"You're joking." Quinton says, displaying the same expression on his face as I wear when Rosie tells me not to kiss her in the parking lot. She claims it's due to wanting to maintain her professional image - but I like to tell myself that it's because my kissing amps her up so much, that one simple peck could lead to us making love in the parking lot.
"I wish I was." I tell him, ducking my head down to drink some water from the fountain. It looks like it's about ten years too old - and has rust growing at the bottom to prove it, but it's still easier than having to lug around a water bottle during a workout.
Plus, with the new arena being built, it seems like the owner is treating this place like the dumpster fire that it really is. A combination of dirt; grime; and crappy furnishings - which will no doubt be the opposite of what everyone's hoping the new rink will look like.
Quinton doesn't say anything - just pats me on the shoulder. "At least she's finally spending time with you in public." He points out, referencing the early days of our relationship, when Rosie wanted to spend all our time in my hotel room. And although he's not wrong - some things never change. (i.e., Rosie and I spending the majority of our time in the bedroom.)
"Yeah." I nod, watching as he leans down to take his own drink from the water fountain.
If I'm being honest, seeing a 6'5 hockey player trying to drink from a regular person sized water fountain is quite comical. At least, until I remember that we're basically the same height; and that I too, probably looked like the equivalent of a giant trying to use a potty. "You were saying about Makena?" I prompt, trying to steer the conversation back to what we were talking about before - and away from the defecations of a two year-old.
