In Every Universe | Quinn Hughes

3 | Lily

IT WAS MY FIRST DAY IN THIS CLASS, A MEDIA class that focused on sports and exercise industries, and though it wasn't my major—I was majoring in sports physiotherapy—I was still excited to take the elective. My mother had told me to take it, considering my creative streak that I often ignored but definitely had. She'd told me it would be good for me, for confidence and just in case my career didn't work out, so I had a backup plan. Sports Media.

Either way, still in the industry, still making my dad proud. Dad was an awesome guy, he was a professional hockey player when he was in his early twenties and he lived and breathed everything hockey. Our house was literally like a Maple Leafs memorabilia museum. He'd grown up in Toronto and played for the team, so it was to be expected. Dad had died two years ago—cancer. Don't let anyone tell you that cancer isn't as bad as it might seem, because it wholeheartedly sucks.

So yeah, I was doing this class for my dad, who loved all things sports and once his career as an NHL defenceman was over, he became a reporter for SportsNet.

Walking into the classroom wide eyed and fresh faced, like all freshmen do, I gazed around the already fast filling room and chose one of the empty seats towards the back of the room. A few of the class cohort seemed to already have friends, and I wasn't much of a friends maker, I usually just hung out with Anna, and now my new room mates, and joined in on the parties.

I was only trouble when I was drunk.

Then, I became confident and free spirited and reckless. More recently, which was alarming, horny. For one person in particular. We won't get into that.

Grabbing out my laptop with my lips scrunched to the left and my legs crossed under me on the chair, I prepared myself a little too well for the class, wanting to be prepared for anything, but honestly, nothing could have prepared me for Quinn Hughes bursting through the classroom doors at the last second, his head down as he barrelled towards the back of the classroom where I was sat, staring at him with my mouth hung wide open.

He paid me no mind as he flopped into the seat, backpack tossed to the floor beside him and phone clanging loudly on the table. Nobody paid any attention to him, like this was normal behaviour for Quinn, but I, couldn't peel my eyes away.

I wanted to, I knew I should have, but he was sitting right next to me, so close that his familiar scene assaulted my nostrils and suddenly I was back in his truck, kissing the hell out of him.

He sighed a breath of relief, rubbing a hand over his face, like he was both equal parts stressed and exhausted, which sort of made sense. I didn't know a lot about Quinn, quite honestly, but I did know he was the captain of the Wolverines ice hockey team, star defenceman and on track for the next draft to the NHL. He was the golden boy of sports at UMICH, and that alone made me bitter at him. I swear everywhere I went he was loved, professors, volunteers, women. Not a single soul seemed to feel the same way about Quinn as I did.

He turned to look at me, a slight tinge of dread coating his features, enough to satisfy me and ease my own raging heart beat to a pace that was much more manageable than I was used to around the boy.

This way, I could think, and not be totally awestruck by the things he said.

I don't know what I expected him to say, but what I got was not it. He glared at me, hard. "Evans."

"Hughes," I quipped, trying to sound bored, but honestly my voice comes out as more of a squeak. I can't believe my own voice had the audacity to betray me like that.

"Why are you here?" He drawls, rolling his pretty blue-green eyes.

Squinting, I reach out with my index finger, poking his bicep, but I immediately regret it, because he's sitting fucking slack and it's still rock solid. I compose myself anyway, and respond with: "Same reason as you, genius. This is my class."