He Shoots, She scores

Chapter Four: Weston | Homewrecker

We're all sweaty and drained by the end of practice. In the locker room, everybody's cracking jokes and making fun of the coach. Charlie, one of the other center players, shouts out, "Hey West- heard you banged the blonde the other night. That true?"

I slam my locker shut. "Her name's Myla. And yes."

Whistles erupt everywhere. With everybody dripping sweat compiled with the humidity of the shower steams, I'm dying to get out of here ASAP. "When you're done with her, can I get her number?"

"I'm already done with her. Go crazy."

RJ, who's struggling to rip off his jersey next to me, halts. "Hold up. Back up. You slept with Myla? The Myla Banks?"

"Yes sir." I hike my knees up to untie my laces.

"What?! How did I not know that the Myla was in our house less than 24 hours ago?"

"Maybe because you were too busy emailing and swooning over Gray." I ignore the glare he shoots my way and rip my skates off. "Besides, Myla was nothing more than a pity fuck."

RJ whistles, but it's more of disappoint. "I could treat her so much better than you."

"And I agree."

Eli barges into the locker room with a speaker resting on his shoulders. A Justin Bieber song blasts, and automatically, guys are jumping up and dancing. Eli has that sort of effect on people. What can we say? He literally lights up a room. I stay right where I am though. "Come on, Weston!" He points a finger towards me, waving me over. "Come on, you know you want to!"

I shake my head. But the music is too catchy and enticing.

Cause shorty is a eenie meenie miney mo lover
Shorty is a eenie meenie miney mo lover

RJ joins though and so do a couple other guys. I remain seated where I am but I can't help the smile that overtakes my face. They start jumping in synchronization and pumping their fists, waving their hockey sticks in the air and hollering. By the time the song's over I'm already packed and ready to go, while my roommates are still in their full hockey gear. Skates, jerseys and all. Idiots. And yet I love them anyway.

When we're all piled into the car, me driving, Eli next to me in the passenger and RJ in the back, Eli asks: "Hey, West, so what's your deal with Gracie? She seems cool."

"Cool?" I shake my head in protest. "After you left, she started blasting awful music, and that damn bunny of hers chewed through my laces."

"You shouldn't have left them on the ground then."

"It's my house! I shouldn't have to do anything differently!"

"Well, now it's her house too. She pays rent."

RJ slides in between us. He shakes his head like a dog, damp from sweat. "Are we talking about Gracie?" He's grinning. "Is it just me or is she kinda...you know?"

"Fine?" Eli asks. I don't have to look over to know he's smiling too.

"Annoying?" I scoff.

"Cute! She's cute!"

Eli bumps RJ's shoulder. "You should make a move."

"No way, man! It goes against the unspoken rule: Never date two kinds of people. Roommates, and co-workers. If it gets awkward, you have to see them 24/7. I'm not about to risk it." RJ sounds so serious that it almost makes me laugh.

I glance at my roommates with skepticism, wondering if they need to get their eyes checked. "You seriously think she's cute?"

"Yeah. But you tell her and you're dead." RJ jabs a finger into my shoulder. "I know how to hide a body, you know."

I snort. "You're talking to a criminology major, dumbass."

RJ ignores me and leans forward to turn up the stereo. He and Eli sing obnoxiously in my face. When we're at a red light, Eli rolls down his window and serenades an elderly couple. They seemed to like it a little too much.

When we pull up into the student house, the smell of food wafts through the entryway. We all eye each other curiously. "Did one of you leave the oven on again?" I ask.

We walk further down tentatively, as if a burglar is lurking in the kitchen. "Welcome!" Gracie cheers. She's doing jazz hands and her cheeks are caked with flour. An apron dangles flimsily over her neck which reads "KISS THE COOK."

"Holy" RJ awes. Holy, indeed. In front of the dining table is a buffet. Desserts of all kinds: brownies, cupcakes, cookies on elegant dishes that she likely brought from home since I know for a fact that none of us have ever owned a three-tiered cake platter. Two boxes of pizza sit open, along with every soda you can imagine.

"As a little thank you welcoming me into your home, I decided to unleash my baking skills for you all! And I can't really cook, so I just ordered pizza, if that's OK."

"Oh, that's more than okay!" RJ makes a dive for the pizza and immediately stuffs it into his mouth. He gives a not-so-gentleman like groan. With a mouth full of food, he incoherently says, "West usually cooks for us. You have no idea how much he's deprived us of deliciousness."

Eli tries a cupcake. "This is amazing. You made this? What's in it?"

"Just butterscotch cream! You like?"

"Are you kidding? I love."

And then Gracie's gaze slowly crawls to me. Waiting for approval. She claps her hands behind her back, rocking on her toes. But I'm too busy staring at the mess she's made in the kitchen. There's shit everywhere. The tiled floors have cracked eggshells and dusted sugar. The sight is already giving me a headache. Fuck. I was looking forward to getting in the shower and eating one of my pre-prepped meals in front of the TV, but now my night is ruined.

Gracie sees my scowl and quickly jumps in. "Oh, don't worry about the mess! I swear I'll clean it up later!" She pulls out a chair for me. "Here, sit! Enjoy!"

Enjoy? Is she seeing the same mess I am? My eye must be twitching. It feels like it's twitching. "Am I imagining things or is his eye twitching?" Gracie hisses.

"It's definitely twitching" RJ says, with a mouth of simultaneous brownie and cookie.

I'm mentally preparing myself for the five second rule. 5, 4, 3...

"Okay, now what's he doing?" Gracie whispers to Eli. "Is he mouthing numbers?"

"He's counting down" Eli answers, rolling his eyes. He approaches me with two palms up. "West, dude, calm down. Just a teeny mess. Here-"

2, 1. I'm striding towards the laundry room where we keep the broom and pan. I can't relax, I can't sit down and eat, I can't do anything knowing this chaos is just lying there. How is this bothering nobody but me?

I'm viciously sweeping the floors, but when I turn around, I slip on the pile of yolk. I would've fell headfirst if I hadn't grappled for the counter edge on my way down. There are some snickers behind me. I flip them all off.

This girl hasn't even been here for a full day, and she's already getting on my nerves. She's ruining my careful routine of things. I need to get rid of her. I need her gone by the end of the week.

And I'll do whatever it fucking takes.