Bal Khabra

“Hockey?” I repeat. “You want me to do my grad school application on hockey?”

“If I gave you a shovel, would you hit me over the head with it?”

Now, it’s my turn to laugh. Elias Westbrook, Eli as everyone knows him, and I have known each other since we were in diapers. His worry doesn’t irritate me like everyone else's because I know he says it with great caution, and I must really be cutting it close with practice and school if he’s saying something.

“I know you guys want to have my back, but it’s on me to be a good example and last night I wasn’t. This isn’t a united front kind of thing. The dean’s involved which means he’ll see to it that everyone gets punished. We can’t have that going into the season. If it’s just me, the consequences can’t be too bad,”

I would rather do it on the gum on the bottom of his shoe, but I can’t exactly say that.

“Great. Then meet Aiden Crawford, the captain of our hockey team.”

This time I turn to him. Wavy brown hair and flawless skin meet my eyes. His side profile could be mistaken for one of the models off Amara’s firefighter calendars. But despite all that he still looks like a prick.

“Look, I don’t need to sit here and listen to you be an asshole.”

“I’m the captain of the team. I’m quite literally the belle of the ball.”

“You’re also the asshole of the ball, and those two don’t mix well.”