I'm not what many would call verbose. Quite the opposite, actually. I'm as textbook of an introvert as you can get. But usually, when I'm not saying much, I still have things to contribute, but I choose not to because I'm shy or afraid of being judged.
Yeah, this was not one of those moments.
For the love of god's green earth, I had no idea what to say, what I was thinking.
He wanted to come in?
What the hell?
He's lucky I recognized him from every sports channel on cable TV and from the time I met him outside the Modar Centre the other week. That made the situation slightly less confusing and awkward.
Slightly.
Taylor Hudson continued to look at me with a hopeful expression on his face. Looking at him was sure to strain my neck. Was I shorter than average or he was he taller than average? Considering I was somewhere between five and five-two and he was probably over six feet, I'd say it's a bit of both.
I watched as his expression morphed into one of hesitation.
Right. He was waiting for a response.
What the hell was I supposed to say? Pretty much every organ in my body was telling me to tell him to hit the road; that no, he certainly cannot come into Angela's room. Because who the hell asks that? But there was a small but annoying part of meâlet's call it the appendixâthat reminded me that I never could say no to people. (And no, that doesn't apply to when guys ask for sex, because that hasn't happened to me yet.)
The appendix won the battle.
I nodded. "Yeah, you can come in, I guess."
My voice sounded like giants went to prom on my vocal cords.
If Taylor thought that was odd, he didn't show it. Instead, he took a step into Angela's dorm room, causing me to falter.
My arms crossed the top of my chest defensively. I wasn't even wearing a real bra, for crying out loud. It was one of those cotton, cupless things that my chest was small enough to get away with. Still, I had nipples to worry about. My black t-shirt was thin, so as discreetly as possible I grabbed my pullover from where I had discarded it on Ang's dresser and pulled it over my head.
"I'm sorry for just inviting myself in like this," Taylor said.
He was standing there like he owned the entire campus and didn't just step foot onto it. If confidence could be both loud and quiet at the same time, it would be Taylor Hudson. His voice was raspy yet soft. He seemed skimpy with wordsâlike I wasâand I wanted to hear him talk more. He had the aura about him like the most entertaining spectacle could be going on the stage in front of you, yet you'd choose to watch him just stand at the back of the auditorium.
With his chin, Taylor motioned to the TV. "I couldn't help but notice the TV in the background and saw the game. I thought maybe you could use some company watching it, if you want."
I nodded, trying to smooth my hair from how it might have gotten messed up when I pulled my sweater on and still act natural.
"I'm Taylor, by the way."
Oh god. He introduced himself. That could only mean...
He didn't remember me. Golly gee, that's a huge confidence boost.
"I know," I said. I didn't want to sound bitter, but it was too late.
Taylor's head cocked to the side.
"We met last week, after your preseason game."
Still nothing.
"Camille?" I prodded. "You were with Lawson and I was with my friend, Angela, at the bus stop."
Recognition flashed across his eyes and the most subtle red colour tinged his cheeks.
"Oh, yeah. Right. I remember now."
Did he? Did he really?
"Seriously, don't worry about it. I didn't remember you either."
Taylor did a double take. His eyes went from my face, to the screen, and back to me. It was obvious that he was trying to hide his laugh by mashing his lips, but the crinkles by his eyes gave him away.
It's okay to laugh. It was a joke. I meant for it to be funny.
"You sure you're okay if I watch the game with you? If you had plans or something..."
I highly doubted he wanted to watch the whole game here. An NHL game takes about two-and-a-half hours, including the intermissions and TV timeouts. Taylor Hudson was seriously planning on staying in this underwhelming dorm room, with me in it, for that long?
The thought made an anxiety knot form in the pit of my stomach but because I'm a huge chicken, I nodded anyways.
I did allow him to come in, after all. What had I expected him to do? Walk around the room for two seconds and then book it?
"Yeah, that's fine. I didn't have any plans. I mean, watching the game was my plan."
At least it was since I couldn't log into Angela's account. She must have updated her password and forgot to let me know. How inconsiderate. I didn't want to bother her on her date so I just flipped through the channels until I found something at least half watchable.
"You really are a big fan, aren't you?" Taylor said, taking a seat on the wooden chair beside the desk.
I grimaced. There's no chance in hell that clunker is comfortable.
"I wouldn't say big, per se. I couldn't log into Netflix and there aren't too many good channels on this TV, so."
He looked at me with a lazy grin. "Sure, whatever you say."
My eyes narrowed. Was this guy challenging me? I swear I felt like I was in the Twilight zone right then.
The commercial break ended and SportsCast returned to its coverage of the game. I took a seat on Angela's bed, feeling relatively at home, despite the interloper. I got on the bed slowly and tried not to position my bum so that it faced Taylor. I was wearing briefs and was almost certain the lines would show against my leggings. Not that I thought he would look, but whatever.
With my head leaning against the pillows and a plush blanket over my legs I looked over at Taylor on that stupid wooden chair.
Before thinking too much about it, I said, "You can come sit on the bed you know. I don't bite."
His head, which had been focused on the screen, whipped to me. "Yeah, but I might."
A hot and oh-so-pleasant flip took place in my stomach. Was that flirting? Was he flirting with me? The rational part of me didn't think that that was possible but then I wondered if I had flirted with him first? I did invite him to join me on a bed, after all.
See, this is the shit that happens when you're twenty-one years old and have zero experience with boys. Kissing. Dating. Sex. Of all kinds. Zero. Zip. Nada. Zilch.
It starts when you're thirteen and you hear about your classmates going to the movies with kids of the opposite gender and having their first kiss. And then you tell your parents when you get home, and they're shocked, disgusted even, claiming that that's way too young. So, you begin to think that it's all just a huge no-no. And then you get to high school and your uniform is probably the most unflattering thing known to man, and it doesn't help that you have braces. So, you're sixteen and have never been kissed because "you're not slutty, Camille" and "you're focusing on school." Fast forward to being eighteen and you think it's perfectly reasonable to date, but you have no idea how and you have to study for university classes. And before you know it, you're twenty-one and wondering how the hell you ended up this way while knowing exactly how at the same time.
The bed dips with the weight of a 220-pound boy. That's a funny thought. Taylor certainly looks like a man, but he couldn't be more than nineteen or twenty years old.
He gives me a small smile when his body is fully on Angela's twin sized mattress. He barely fits, it's almost comical. His legs are long, long, long and his chest is broad. Somewhere in the back of my mind, my brain processes that the puck has dropped, which catches Taylor's attention. I take advantage and take in his facial features. Strong jaw, no facial hair, full lips and dark eyes, eyebrows, hair. I'm not sure if I'd call him handsome, but he's certainly not ugly.
With his eyes still on the screen, his certainly-not-ugly mouth opens.
"You know, Camille, I get that you're a big fan of hockey and all, but it's even more fun to watch the players that are actually playing in the game, and not the ones just watching," Taylor murmurs.
Bed, if you feel like swallowing me whole right now, that would be okay. Appreciated, even.
I don't respond to Taylor's comment with words. There are none in the English language that can accurately describe what I'm feeling. I'm still reeling over the fact that he said my name, which to me, sounds like a very personal thing. Add the fact that he knows that I was staring at him, and I'm toast.
So, I don't say anything. I turn my eyes back to the TV. Almost three minutes in the period have passed. Taylor brings up a good point with his smart-ass comment.
"Can I ask you something?" I ask as soon as the linesman blows his whistle, calling an offside against the Storm.
Taylor gives me a weary look, like he expects me to ask him if I can see his penis. I ignore it.
"What exactly are you doing here? Why aren't you playing tonight?"
One of his shoulders reached up in a shrug. "The coach and management tell me it's to get a feel of how the team plays. They added a lot of new players over the offseason through trades and free-agent signings. I think they want to slot me into the best team they possibly could, to increase my chances of having a successful season."
"And?"
"I think it makes sense."
"But let me guess, you'd rather be playing."
Taylor looks down towards me and smiles. "You better believe it."
That doesn't surprise me in the slightest. I can guarantee you that no one would train at the level it requires to get you to the NHL only to enjoy being on the sidelines. As the game goes on, I pay attention to Taylor in subtle ways. The way his body slightly jerks and the way his mouth utters curses in sync with the action on the ice. I almost feel bad for him, because this must be some kind of cruel punishment according to him.
I reach into the bag I left on Angela's nightstand and remove the pack of Cherry Blasters and fruit gummies.
"Want any?" I ask shyly. "I brought some snacks."
Taylor's eyes flicker to the confections. "Marry me."
I feel my face flame red and try to look busy by opening the packages. "I'll take that as a yes."
I hold out the pack of Cherry Blasters and wait for him to take a handful but he insists I take them first. We continue to watch the rest of the first period in relative silence, with the sounds of the rustling candy bags complementing the sounds from the TV.
When the camera cuts to the commentators at the start of the intermission, Taylor turns to me.
"Okay, question for you now."
"Shoot," I say, more than a little hesitantly.
He laughs, but I swear I didn't even intend to say the hockey pun.
"What's it called when a player dumps the puck into the opposite zone from behind the centre line?"
My head ducks forward in disbelief.
"Are you seriously quizzing me about hockey?"
Taylor smiles, revealing a row of white teeth. Everything about this boy, from his quads to his teeth, seems strong.
"Yes. Just answer the question."
Fine. But I can't be responsible for my actions when I'm provoked into a competition.
"Icing," I say, but it comes out sounding like "bite me."
"Okay. How many players are on the ice at one time?"
"Three forwards, two defence, and one goalie. And the same for the other team."
"That was an easy one. Let's challenge you a bit."
I wait nervously. This is a silly game, if you can even call it one, but I want to win. I'm used to impressing people with my knowledge, only. My non-academic resume isn't too impressive.
"Ready?" Taylor asks.
"Yup."
He nods. "If you get this one, I'll let you finish the rest of the fruit gummies. I can tell you like those ones better. Deal?"
Taylor noticed that? He was right, of course, and I didn't know how I felt about his perceptiveness.
"Fine."
"What happens if the game ends in a tie?"
I smile. Like taking candy from a hockey player.
"There's five minutes of sudden-death three-on-three overtime. If no one scores, then there's a shootout."
Taylor nods like he's seriously impressed and I feel a flutter deep within me.
"I'll take these," I say, reaching for the gummies and feeling pumped.
"You did well, I'll give you that," he admits.
"You better not be surprised because I'm a girl!" I told him.
Yeah, I went there.
Taylor puts his hands up in surrender. I let the topic slide for now.
We watch the rest of the game together, as Taylor said we would. In the second intermission, we got up and stretched our legs and bought a drink from the vending machine on Angela's floor. I offered to pay for them, but Taylor reminded me that I provided the candy. If anyone in the hallway saw us, we must have looked so odd. There was the fact that Taylor was a foot taller than myself, but then we couldn't stop laughing because my Diet Coke got stuck in the machine and Taylor had to shake it to get it down.
I giggled all the way back to Angela's room.
When the third period started, though, we were all business. The score was tied at one-one and there were chances at both ends, making it a real nail biter. Neither Taylor nor I were able to sit still on the bed and more than once our bodies knocked into each other.
The opposing team finally scored with two minutes remaining in regulation, robbing the Storm of a point. Taylor smacked the mattress with his right hand and I almost caught air.
"Sorry about that," he said.
"It's fine," I laughed.
Taylor reached out to grab my bicep to steady myself and I immediately stopped laughing. "I'm good," I squeaked.
He loosened his grip and smiled. "Thanks for letting me watch the game with you. I had a good time."
"You're welcome. The team could've used you, though."
He shrugged and I briefly wondered if he was secretly happy that the team lost without him in the lineup. It was a petty thing to feel, but professional athletes were human, too.
"So, what now? I should get back to my apartment. I have to be up early to train tomorrow morning. Can I give you a ride somewhere?"
"Oh, no, that'd be okay."
Even though I just spent two-plus hours with Taylor, being in a vehicle with him seemed overwhelming.
"You sure?"
"Yeah, my brother is supposed to pick me up. He's ten minutes away," I lied.
Thomas and his wife and kids often came over and spent the weekend with us, and they were at my parents' now.
"Would you like me to wait with you until he gets here?"
Really? He'd do that?
"That's really nice of you, but I'll be okay. Seriously."
Taylor took off his toque, ran his hands through his dark hair and put the hat back on.
"Okay. I guess I'll see you around then?"
Despite feeling like a small animal was crawling up my throat, I managed to nod. "Do you know the way out, or can I walk you?"
"I'll be okay," he smiled.
I returned the smile and tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. I hadn't washed it in two days and what was once flat-ironed had now curled at the bottoms. If I had known how tonight would have played out, would I have prepared differently?
"I'll see you around then, Camille," Taylor said. His hand was on the door handle. I watched him take a step into the hallway.
I doubted he meant that as more than a figure of speech.
"Yeah, take care, Taylor" I told him.
I didn't tell my brother I was ready to be picked up until I finished watching Taylor's large frame exit my line of view.