Despite swearing off athletes for good, Freya Pfieffer can't help but fall for the sweet and perfectly endearing defenseman who meets her gaze at a Montreal Canadiens game. Freya is left spinning-wondering if she should make an exception for Cole Ca...
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freya.elise.x on instagram: missing sunny days and hair extra wavy from humidity :(
♥ Liked by tate_oconnor and 256 others.
Comments:
tate_oconnor: true, brb packing all of our stuff so we can move back somewhere warm
↪freya.elise.x: 🏃♀️ to help you
kathleenxxyuh: miss you more and more everyday 😭
↪freya.elise.x: miss you the most beautiful 🥺
dylanrigsss88: okay so....come back?? like tf
↪freya.elise.x: for you? anything 💓
hunter.bender: sexy af 🔥🔥🔥
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𝕗𝕣𝕖𝕪𝕒
"Ew!" Tate screams, throwing her phone down on the couch with a shudder.
Freya's eyes lifted from her laptop, peering over the top of it from the counter to examine Tate's expression. "What's up?" she inquires.
"Don't look at your instagram post right now," Tate snaps back, clambering over the back of the couch to retrieve Freya's phone.
Freya's brow lifts, an indication of her intrigue and growing curiosity, which is only heightened when Tate slips the phone into her back pocket, eyes wide. "What are you doing?" Freya demands, starting to rise out of her seat.
A notification pings on her laptop—a message from Kathleen.
Messages
Conversation with Kathleen Jones
Kathleen i'm so fucking sorry that hunter commented on your post. please ignore him and don't let him get to you. he and all of his friends are disgusting pieces of shit. i love you.
Freya ???
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Freya looks up to meet Tate's bashful gaze. Since their move to Montreal last month, Freya's roommate has tried desperately to shield her from any and all signs of Dalton Rygel, which includes, apparently, comments from his friends on social media.
"T," Freya demands, her palm outstretched. "It's fine. I can delete it."
Tate, apparently content to play the fool a little longer, stammers, "Delete what? What are you talking about?" Her cheeks are pink and her eyes wild, which is enough to make Freya sigh.
"If you feel better doing it yourself, go ahead," Freya suggests, waving Tate away with her hand.
Defeated, Tate removes the phone from her pocket and places it on the counter. "I'm sorry," she murmurs. "You know I just worry about you when it comes to Dalton and his shitbag friends." Tate moves her long, dark hair over one shoulder and reaches across the counter to grab Freya's hand. "I'll be better."
Freya shrugs. "It's okay," she assures her friend. Being babied has exhausted her, but she knows everyone means well. "I thought I had all of his teammates blocked on my new account," she continues, shaking her head as she unlocks the phone. "Apparently I missed at least one."
"Fuck basketball players!" Tate shouts, pumping her fist in solidarity.
"And football players," Freya reminds her. "We all know how my dad was."
As terrible as it is to say, the death of Freya's father was the only thing that finally gave her mother some peace. Freya never wished pain or suffering on anyway, no matter how vile, but she at least tried to manifest relief and happiness for her mother.
Tate nods in agreement and returns to her place on the couch. "Fuck all the athletes," she concludes, which makes Freya smile.
