"Best friends forever" is such bullshit because I had a best friend, but he sure as hell isn't forever. Then why is the universe making him my project partner now? And why is he so hot and beautiful... just why?
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The score is 3-2, with the Eagles in the lead. I have the puck, and there are only 30 seconds left in the game. If we can keep possession of the puck, we'll win.
Devon and I keep passing the puck to each other, keeping the opposing team distracted. Then, we hear the game-ending buzzer. We all dive into each other to celebrate the win.
The atmosphere in the locker room is playful, with some guys humming, while Smyth and Devon are having a very serious argument, from the looks of it.
"Nah, the hottest are the ones with the perfect, ideal body," Smyth insists as he removes his clothes.
Devon counters, "Your ideal body. You know how cute those chubby girls can be?"
"Cute? Yes, but do you want to have sex with them? No," Yeah, Smythe is an asshole.
"If we're talking about sex, then the little belly they have is fucking hot," Devon argues back.
"They can't be as flexible as my girls," Smyth counters.
"My girls are very kinky," Devon adds, and now they're having this argument in just their boxers. Locker room talks are weird.
Beau tries to soothe things over, "Can we just stop this stupid argument and agree that you both have different types?" But the arguing parties shout a resounding "NO!" without looking away from each
Then Silas bursts in, Like he is still on the team, and announces, "People! A celebratory party at our beloved captain's house!"
The said captain looks up from his phone, puzzled, "I am?"
"Yes, you are a very nice captain to appreciate the team's success," Silas declares, locking Kaiden in a headlock, and the whole team cheers.
We all start leaving the locker room after showering, and suddenly someone slams into me, grabbing my shoulder.
"Coming to the party, Hendricks?" It's Silas.
"Yeah, I think I will," I reply.
"Mason Hendricks?" someone from behind calls my name.
We both look at a man in his mid-thirties, maybe. "I'll see you at the party," Silas says, leaving and patting my shoulder.
"Hello, I'm Jonathan Flynn. I just saw your game, nice game, young man," he shakes my hand.
"Thank you, sir," I say, not knowing what to do.
"I'm the assistant manager of the Blackhawks. We've been watching you this season and have even tried contacting you, but there seems to have been no response."
"Yeah," I rasp, trying to digest everything. "I'm still in the middle of the decision."
"It's all right. Here is my card; you can contact me anytime you want. Take your time," Mr. Flynn says as if he hasn't just offered to make my dream a reality. But the only thing standing in the way is my father, who still won't budge.
Ughhhh.
The last few days have been amazing, being with Noa and then the game. But there is always one thing to sour your mood, even though this is a good thing. My mood has officially gone off the rails.
So, I text the only person who can make me feel good.
