: Chapter 1

My phone pings with a message from my sister.

I nearly collide with another person as I rush out of the communal bathroom. I flatten myself against the wall as Chase Lovett, hockey god, the most popular guy in our residence building and the hottest guy in first year, brushes past me without so much as a glance in my direction. Like I don’t exist. It’s basically the story of my life.

I continue my cardboard cutout impression as Chase, his hockey buddies, and two girls who haven’t spoken a word to me in the two months we’ve lived on this floor, continue down the hall, laughing and chatting. They’re probably heading to the common room. The Toronto Terror, the local pro hockey team, are playing tonight. I stare shamelessly at Chase’s retreating form, all six-foot-four of dark hair, broad shoulders, and magnificent, highly smackable ass.

My phone rings, so I quickly hold my lanyard to the lock and slip into my room.

Aragorn, Legolas, and Arwen stare intensely at me from the poster above my bed.

“Hey! Hi! Hello!” I say breathlessly as Essie’s two-dimensional image appears.

My room is directly across the hall from the bathroom, so I have no reason to be breathless. Chase does it to me every time.

“Did I catch you at a bad time?” A slight frown tugs at the corners of my sister’s lips.

“Nope. Not a bad time. I was in the bathroom.”

“Oh. Fair.” She lobs a series of questions at me. “How are things? How are classes? Have you made any new friends since we talked last week?”

She asks the new friends question all the time. Essie and I are opposites. She’s effortlessly cool, outgoing, and has an endless supply of friends. I’m nerdy, introverted, and have two close friends, one of whom I met online. The other I met in my English class. It took me six weeks to say hi. Her name is Tally, and she’s the only person I know, who isn’t a grandpa, who loves Good & Plenty.

Essie’s phone is propped in a holder on her vanity, which is covered in makeup and application tools. Her straight, dark hair is pulled up in a messy bun on top of her head. She’s wearing a pink, off-the-shoulder sweater and dark-wash denim.

“Classes are good.” Especially the two I have with Chase. “And I talked to a girl in bio class last week.” I asked if the seat was taken beside her. She said she was waiting for her friend. I found another one.

“That’s great! What’s her name?”

I scramble for a name. “Her name is Greta.”

“That’s old school. Have you made plans yet? Did you exchange numbers?” Essie dips a liner brush in black liquid, expertly lining her dark eyes with a dramatic flourish.

“Not yet. But I’ll see her tomorrow.” It’s not untrue. I will see her tomorrow. But I will not be asking to exchange numbers or hang out. I sat three rows back and watched her friend slide into the seat next to her. I’ve seen her with Chase before. Just talking, but still. We definitely don’t run in the same circles. If I had a chance in hell with Chase, she would be competition.

“That’s cool. Have you seen Brody on campus yet?” Essie asks. “I know a couple of other people on campus if you want their info.”

“Oh, that’s okay. You don’t need to do that.” Like I want my sister making my friends for me. “And, yeah. We have a class together.” I fight to keep my internal cringe from showing on my face. I’ve managed to keep that tidbit to myself up until this moment. Brody Stiles is the youngest brother of Tristan Stiles, pro hockey player for the Toronto Terror.

Essie has always sort of known the Stiles brothers because of her best friend Rix, and I’ve always known of them. Tristan, Nate, and Brody. Brody and I are the same age, just like Essie is the same age as Brody’s middle brother, Nate. But until this year, my path had never really crossed with Brody.

Essie stops applying makeup to shoot me a disbelieving look. “What? Why didn’t you tell me that until now?”

“It’s Intro to Bio. There are like a thousand people in that class.” It’s held in one of the biggest lecture theaters on campus. However, I only noticed Brody because he was with Chase, who’s impossible not to notice. Chase is bigger than life, has more charisma in his left pinkie than I do in my entire body, and is drop-dead gorgeous. They also both live on the same floor as me in residence. How I managed to end up living with hockey royalty is beyond me. My sister is unaware of this fact, and I plan to keep it that way. I don’t need her to try to matchmake my friendships, swooping in to save me like some ethereal cool to my awkward weird.

But I’m not complaining about the number of times I’ve seen a shirtless guy wrapped in a white towel walking from the bathroom back to their dorm room so far this year.

“Have you introduced yourself to Brody?” Essie presses.

“I’ve said hi.” A total of three times, while passing him in the hall. Brody always initiates. Sometimes I get the sense he’s more like me. Not nerdy, per se, but quiet. Introverted. Like all the attention the sport he excels at is a burden and not a flex.

“Good. Brody’s a sweetheart.” Essie continues fixing her makeup. “How’s that submission for creative writing coming along?”

“Oh, it’s coming,” I lie again.

“I can have a look at it for you before you hand it in,” she offers.

“I still have a bit more work to do. And they have services here for that.” By a bit more work, I mean that I have ninety percent left. All I’ve completed so far is the opening paragraph. Every time I sit down to write it, my brain takes a trip down No Thank You Lane into Let’s Write Fanfic Instead Ville.

Essie stops to give me a disapproving look. “Please tell me you’ve started.”

“I’ve started.” One paragraph. “You know how I am. I’m good under pressure. I’ll get it done.” It’s not due until the end of the semester; I have loads of time to procrastinate.

“I’m here to help. Just let me know if you need a set of eyes or a brainstorming session.”

“Thanks, Ess. Where are you headed tonight?” I prop my chin on my fist as my sister changes into a slinky, gold tank top with spaghetti straps. She’s braless with Band-Aids over her nipples. I wish I had a speck of her confidence.

“Sahar Jordan, who played Lila on The Way We Weren’t, is throwing a party. I couldn’t say no to the invite, because of course I want to see what her house looks like. Also, all the sexiest people in the city will be there, and I need to make more contacts again.”

“Sounds like a blast.” And the very last place I would ever want to be. “Are you happy to be back in Toronto?” Essie has been working as a makeup artist in Vancouver for the past two years. But she recently accepted a contract in Toronto. Rix is getting married next summer, and Essie is the maid of honor and wants to be here for all the planning.

“Not excited about the winter, but happy to be close to you and Rix and Mom and Dad again.”

“I’m happy about that, too.”

“One of these weekends, you have to come out and meet all the Terror girls. They’re so much fun. We could go to the campus café, and I could introduce you to––”

“Sounds like a plan.” And a lot of social anxiety. But I’d do it to spend time with my sister. And if Rix is there, it’ll be less awkward.

“Okay, little sister. I have to run, but we’ll talk again later this week?”

“Sure.”

“Hey, are you going out tonight?” Essie asks this every time. The answer is always a lie.

“I’m hanging out with friends in the common room later.”

“Good. Great. I told you university would be good for you! Love you, Cam.” She makes a kissy face.

“Love you, too, Ess.”

She ends the call and I flop back in my computer chair.

My stomach grumbles obnoxiously. I haven’t eaten since lunch. It’s six fifty-seven. Which means I’ve missed dinner in the good cafeteria and all I can order is a crappy burger or a sub. Neither is appealing. But the common room has a kettle so I can make ramen.

Do I have a kettle in my room? Of course. And a microwave and a mini fridge.

But if I go to the common room, I’ll likely see Chase. And Brody, which would make my sister happy. They’re practically glued to each other’s sides. Unless there’s a girl hanging off Chase, which is ninety percent of the time. But I could still see Chase. Watch the game (him) for a few minutes while I make ramen. If I’m lucky, there will be a line and I’ll have to hang out for twenty minutes or so. It’s happened before.

Decision made, I spend the next twenty minutes changing into every outfit I own and decide my jeans and black hoodie with a Middle-Earth icon on the back is the best I can do. I attempt cat eyes via my sister’s video tutorial, but I fail three times and give up. I go with two swipes of mascara and some gloss, shove my feet into my shoes, forget my ramen and have to go back to my room, then head to the common room.

As predicted, there’s a line at the kettle, three deep. This is perfect. Especially since Chase and all his hockey buddies are exactly where I expected them to be: sitting on the couch in front of the TV watching the Terror game.

The girls who always look through me are perched on the arms of the couch, one next to Chase, the other next to Gage, one of Chase and Brody’s other teammates. Brody is sitting on the floor in a gaming chair.

I join the line for the kettle.

And while I wait, I observe.

Chase is wearing faded denim and a Terror T-shirt. His dark hair is damp, like he’s fresh from the shower. I bet he smells incredible. His thickly muscled bicep flexes as he high-fives Brody when 44, Brody’s brother, scores a goal.

Brody wears jeans, black boots, and a black hoodie with the phrase “I’d rather be on the ice” in tiny letters across his heart. Gage is dressed in red workout gear. There is a decent chance he came here directly from the gym and smells like sweat and sneakers. It’s fairly common, and his friends often razz him about it.

The guy in front of me moves closer to the kettle and I close the gap. Two more people making cheap food for dinner and then it’s my turn.

Chase stands and spins to face the back, an unmade cup of KD in his hand.

The guy beside me yells, “Send it my way. I got you covered, Lovett!”

Chase tosses the KD cup in my direction.

For a fraction of a second, my eyes lock with Chase’s. My heart skips two beats. My entire body tingles from head to toe. My breath catches in my lungs.

I’m holding my ramen cup, my soya sauce, and a pair of chopsticks. And the KD cup is coming straight for me. A hand shoots out from my right and catches the KD before it hits me in the face, covering up Chase’s flared eyes.

And then one of the girls who always looks through me comes shrieking into the room, yelling about a party tonight at some fraternity house after the game.

I tell myself I’m glad I’ve never been invited to a party.

It sounds like way too many people and too many bad decisions.

I make my ramen and steal one last glance at Chase before I head back to my room, leaving the guy behind me to make Chase’s dinner.

I should definitely work on the creative writing submission. It would be the smart thing to do. The right thing.

But I have this great party scene in my head for my fanfic. I flip open my laptop. It shouldn’t take me long to get it down. Then I’ll focus on my submission.