I wish I could say that my defining characteristic is that I'm so beautiful that I was scouted at an airport when I was fourteen to model in Milan, or that I'm so charitable that I spend my weekends making sandwiches and handing them out to the homeless. I'm neither of those things, but what I am is early, all the time, for everything.
Doctor's appointments? I'm in one of the plasticky, cushiony chairs thirty minutes before I'm called.
Lectures? My laptop is opened to a fresh Word document fifteen minutes before the professor opens her mouth.
Family functions? Only five minutes before the start time, because the less small talk I can get away with, the better.
The irony isn't lost on me, then, that the one time I really, really want to get somewhere early, I'm late.
It wasn't even that I was late, it was just that the bus came early. By two minutes, to be exact.
With my bus tracking app open on the phone I was carrying in my hand, I knew that my speed walk was cutting it close, but I expected to make it on time. When I saw the bus whoosh by the empty stop one hundred feet in front of me, I pretty much just stopped walking. I had fourteen minutes and forty-eight seconds until the next bus came and was only a minute away from the stop - what was the rush?
As annoying as it was to sit on that small uncomfortable bench, it was probably a blessing in disguise, actually. Those fifteen or so minutes seemed like the first time in the past few weeks that I was able to slow down. Until that moment, my life had been a stressful series of deadlines and due dates. It was the second day in December and my grad school applications were due in three days. I worked tirelessly, writing and rewriting and re-rewriting my personal statements until the first draft and final draft shared only three words in common. My email stayed open on my laptop as I refreshed constantly to see if my professors submitted my reference letters. After a few reminder emails, they were all in. Just as I was about to submit my applications, I had a mini freak out that lasted for five minutes. Were these the right schools for me to apply to? Should I have applied to more? Should I have even applied at all?
Forget it.
I told that little voice to shut the hell up and pressed submit. Done. Done. And done. That made it official. This time next year, I was going to be in either Winnipeg or Toronto or Vancouver. I didn't know which location was my ideal one, but I'd cross that bridge when I'm offered a spot. If I'm offered a spot.
Getting my grad school applications submitted felt like I had finally put down a boulder I was carrying around for months, only for me to pick up a different but equally heavy one, because I still had this school year, this semester in particular, to finish.
Classes finished this Thursday and I have two exams in the second and third week of December.
Then I was free.
Until January.
Baby steps. Small victories. Deep breaths. In. Out.
Tonight, I was officially off the clock. My brain and my favourite kind of egg were one and the same: fried. Having only two exams meant that my other courses had final papers, which were due this week. They were all done and were in the editing stage. Revision was the most frustrating part, though. Some people thought getting the first draft done was rough, and it was, but I had a tendency to write something and think it was genius, only to go back a day later and wonder if I had been abducted by aliens when I wrote it because it was garbage.
Was is it even in English? Dear god.
But tonight, tonight was when thoughts of essays and theses and exams stopped. Starting now.
When the bus finally came around, I boarded it, more than ready to let it take me to a place where academic concerns were irrelevant.
I was on the route that I had taken many times to various places. This time, I was on my way to a local recreational hockey arena. Taylor had asked me to meet him there at 4:30 pm. If I had managed to make the bus I just missed, I would've gotten there right on time. But of course, my final class of Abnormal Psychology had to run a little late. Damn those students asking about the final exam.
No! No more academic thoughts. Right.
The plan was to meet Taylor at the arena and then he was going to drive us to... I wasn't sure, actually. He wouldn't tell me, insisting that he wanted to keep it a surprise. I was intrigued, but I indulged him.
Taylor and I hadn't seen each other in person since a few weeks ago, when he came over for dinner. The Storm went on a road trip the following week, and road trips in the NHL were long. They tried not to fly the team back and forth between the home and away arenas, so teams tended to play about five or six consecutive road games, which could mean being away from the home city for twelve days.
The thing was, I was so busy with my school stuff that I doubted that I could meet up with Taylor even if he was in Winnipeg. Angela was telling me that her and Lawson were having difficulty seeing each other outside of class as well.
We did talk and text, though. The first time I received a FaceTime call from Taylor is something I'll never forget. I was on my bed, snuggled in a blanket and surrounded by study materials, when my phone went off. Seeing his name and FaceTime request stunned me. I answered it immediately, giving zero shits about the fact that my hair could probably use a comb-through and my lashes a swipe of mascara.
Yeah, I regretted that as soon as his face filled the screen. His face, the handsome, strong one that's both mature and boyish.
I did myself a favour and didn't look in the corner of the screen where my ugly as sin face (at least at that moment) was showing.
We talked about him, and his hockey. We talked about me, and my school stuff. He'd ask me if I caught his post-game interview from the night before and if what he said sounded stupid. I assured him that he didn't. Then I'd read him a piece of my personal statement and ask if it made me look stupid. He told me that that was impossible.
We were becoming each other's anabolic steroids, building the other up.
Despite our healthy amount of texting and calling, my stomach still fluttered at the prospect of seeing him in the flesh after those few weeks.
As I stepped off the bus at the stop near the rink, that feeling intensified.
I smiled to myself as I walked toward the front doors of the arena. This was one of the places where my brother played when he was younger and it hadn't changed a bit. The nostalgia was like a physical thing. It made me feel lighter and off kilter.
Considering that I was about twenty minutes late, I wasn't sure where I expected to find Taylorâmaybe he would be on the bleachers, on his phone, or in the parking lotâbut I didn't think he would be out skating.
I walked slowly through the small lobby and didn't stop until I was a few feet away from the boards. Even though I wasn't on the ice, my feet felt frozen to the floor. There were only two people on the ice, Taylor and a small boy that could barely be seen above the boards. The little dude was chasing Taylor around, making him laugh. That bright smile was one I'd recognize anywhere.
Clearly, they weren't done...whatever this was, yet.
I turned to take a seat on one of the bleachers beside me.
"Ohmygoodness," I breathed out.
I was totally not expecting anyone to be sitting there.
"Oh, hello," the person said, clearly not shocked by my presence like I was by hers.
"Hi," I exhaled.
Waiting for my heart rate to normalize, I sank down next to the young girl. She had a hot pink backpack sitting on her lap. It clashed with her freckles and red hair. I was bad at guessing people's ages, but she was maybe ten?
"I'm Jenae." Her voice was clear and confident. You go girl.
"Camille," I smiled. Briefly, my eyes flashed to Taylor and the boy on the ice. Taylor had stopped skating and was looking up at me, smiling and giving me a small wave. He pulled his hand out of his hockey glove and indicated that he'd be five more minutes. I nodded my head several times as if to say yeah, that's more than okay.
"You know him?"
I glanced back at Jenae and saw that her eyes were narrowed. "Who? Taylor? Yeah, I do."
"That's lucky. I wish I knew him."
Okay...
"Yeah, he's a nice guy."
"Is he your boyfriend?"
This Jenae had a future as a lawyer. Asking the hard-hitting questions already.
"Um, no, he's just my friend."
"Okay," she said amiably. "That's okay, then. I have a crush on him."
Just like that, she admitted it. The confidence on her! Maybe lawyer wasn't ambitious enough. Prime Minister was more like it.
"I see," I said, not knowing how else to respond to that. "What are you doing here on the bleachers? Why aren't you on the ice?"
I wasn't exactly sure what was going on on the ice, just that Taylor had mentioned that he volunteered at a hockey camp sometimes, and I assumed that that was what this was.
Jenae shrugged. "Every Tuesday the after-school program takes us here. But I don't like to skate, so I just sit here. I'd rather do my homework and watch Taylor."
Alrighty then. Lo and behold, me and this ten-year-old have things in common.
"Yeah, I probably would do the same thing," I smiled. "Where are all the other kids?"
"Oh, they left already," Jenae said, eyes cast downwards for a moment. "It's just me and my brother left. That's him on the ice. My mom picks us up a bit later than all the other kids. The after school teacher left, too, because Taylor watches us during this time when he's here."
A warm feeling filled my chest, expanding it. That seemed like something Taylor would do. Funny how you could know someone for a short period of time and still know their character so well.
"My mom should be here soon," Jenae said, checking her sparkly, purple watch.
As if the boys on the ice heard, Taylor opened the gate and Jenae's brother walked off the ice and onto the rubber flooring.
"Okay, Braden, go get changed. If you need some help, just come out and get me," Taylor told him.
"I should go help my brother," Jenae told me. "Bye."
"Goodbye," I said, laughing softly. What a kid.
"Hi, Taylor," she said shyly, as she passed by him.
"Jenae, always a pleasure to see you," Taylor nodded.
The poor little girl giggled and ran down to the room her brother entered moments before.
"That's a little unfair," I called out.
Taylor, who was still standing near the boards, looked up at me on the bleachers.
"What is?"
"Unleashing your charm like that."
"What?" His head was cocked to the side and his mouth was curved in a confused, yet mischievous, grin.
I climbed down the boards and stood beside him. It didn't feel right betraying Jenae's trust and telling Taylor what she told me.
"Never mind," I said, shaking my head.
Taylor raised his eyebrow, but let it go.
"We should be ready to go in about twenty minutes. Their mom will be here soon and then I just need to shower."
The subtle art of checking someone out was not something that I was skilled at, but I did my best. Taylor was adorned in his usual attire. Hoody, sweatpants, and cap. Today's was bright blue. There was something new, as well. A shiny whistle around his neck.
"So, you're a part time coach?" I asked, reaching out and touching the rope necklace.
"More of a skills instructor, when I can, which isn't often. I started doing it at the beginning of September, when we were still in training camp. But when the season started and I got called up to the Storm, there were hardly any Tuesdays I was available for. Now, I do what I can."
"Well, I'm sure the kids appreciate whatever you can do," I told him. "And it's really nice of you to stay late with Jenae and her brother. She told me," I added at his look of confusion.
"They're good kids."
The creak of an old door opening garnered both of our attentions. Speak of the devils. Jenae and Braden slithered out, with all their belongings haphazardly shoved in their bags.
"We're ready to go," Braden announced.
"Good timing," a woman said. The hair and the freckles gave away that she was Jenae's mom. She greeted her kids with a one-armed hug, thanked Taylor, and smiled at me.
Then they were gone.
"The room is this way," Taylor said, nodding his head in that direction. "I'd rather you wait in there than out here by yourself."
What a gentleman. It was a small gesture, that suggestion of protection, but tell that to my chest, which flooded with heat.
"You know I used to come to this arena all the time when my brother was younger?"
"No way!"
"Yeah, still exactly as I remember, except maybe it seems a little smaller now that I'm not a little kid."
"Right, because now you're a little adult."
Smart ass.
"After you," he said as he opened the door to the dressing room. "And don't mind the smell..."
Oh god, that was ripe.
"I'm sure it'll fade soon," I said, trying not to inhale.
Hopefully.
Taylor took a seat on the bench next to what I assumed was his bag.
I didn't join him. Instead, I remained in the centre of the room, standing there. I couldn't do anything else.
And here's why.
I know the process involved in taking a shower. I've been taking showers my whole life. You have to take your clothes off before you shower. I get that. I expect that.
But what I didn't expect was for Taylor Hudson to take his clothes off, right there, in the open room. In front of me.
Sweet, sweet mother of mine.
I watched as this tortuous specimen of a man tossed his hat on to the bench. His dark hair was drenched in sweat and fell onto his forehead. He took off his whistleâdamn, I wanted to blow that whistleâand threw it into the open bag. Then he reached for his sweater at the hem, arms crossed, and in one graceful movement removed it and the shirt underneath.
The first thing I noticed was skin.
Tan, smooth skin that covered thick muscle. Taylor's torso was a wonderland. He wasn't bulky exactly, nor was he extremely defined. He was a happy medium of being strong and built. His abdominal muscles were visible, but his stomach wasn't perfectly flat.
The second thing I noticed was gold.
A gold chain hung around his neck and settled in between his pecs. I recalled seeing it on a close-up during the broadcast of his hockey games. The piece of jewellery was probably something he never took off, and that excited me. On either side of the chain were two pieces of black writing.
That was the third thing I noticed: ink.
Finally, I moved. I needed to if I wanted to see what his tattoos said. I hadn't expected Taylor to have any tattoos. He was pretty young, although I'm not sure if age has anything to do with having tattoos.
I sat down next to Taylor, trying to act as casual as possible. Too bad I had the subtly of an elephant. I wouldn't be surprised if I was laying on the bench like I was doing a boudoir shoot, with my arm bent behind my head.
"I didn't realize you had tattoos."
Yup, my voice was husky.
Taylor glanced down at them.
"Yeah, my parents initials. I just got them back in June."
I looked closer and sure enough, there was a JH and SH written in cursive.
Taylor stood up. I thought for sure he was going to walk to the shower stalls located on the other side of the room. Instead, he took off his pants.
What the hell? Should I look away?
No, no, false alarm. He had a pair of loose, black athletic shorts underneath. If I thought his torso was thick, I didn't know what to call his thighs.
Taylor didn't make eye contact or conversation as he took his time folding up his sweaty clothes and shoving them into a plastic bag inside his duffel.
Then he took out a plastic toiletry bag.
"I'm going to shower, okay? I won't be long."
I nodded, because I didn't trust my vocal abilities. At least he took a towel and clean clothes with him, so there was no danger of me seeing Taylor wet and shirtless.
I waited until I heard the thrush of the water fill the room before I let my thoughts run.
Did I have a crush on Taylor Hudson?
No. No way. A crush was something a young girl like Jenae had. She said so herself. I was much too old and mature for a crush. I knew I found Taylor attractiveâbig freaking whoopâbut didn't a crush imply romantic feelings? I didn't have those for Taylor. He was a friend. I liked his personality and thought he was hot.
That was that.
Simple.
Unless...
In what was not one of my finer moments, I pulled out my phone from my backpack and typed in crush definition.
According to our dear friends at Urban Dictionary, a crush is a person who gives you butterflies and makes your heart beat faster.
Well.
Forget them, what do they know anyways?
Okay, so maybeâmaybe!âI had a teensy crush on Taylor Hudson. That was natural wasn't it? Crushes were no big deal and nothing had to come from them. After all, didn't students have crushes on their teachers?
It would be a fleeting thing, I was sure. It was just because he was nice to me that I felt this way. It would pass.
It's not like I was going to fall in love with him.
"Ready to go?"
"Yeah!" I squealed.
Shoot. I dropped my phone and it was still open on the Urban Dictionary page. I snatched it quickly before Taylor could, trying to avoid a repeat of what happened after Walmart.
"You okay?" he asked.
His brown eyes were close to my face.
I nodded, peering up at him.
"Mmm hmm. If you're ready to go, we can go."