Wrecked (11 page)

“Just from
our interactions . . . On the one hand, you’re ridiculously nice by taking out
my trash to repay me even though you didn’t have to—that’s the selfless part.
On the other hand, you’re kind of selfish especially with how much you share
yourself with others—or even just information about yourself.”

I shot him
a wry smile. “A compliment and an insult all rolled into one. Remind me why I’m
hanging out with you again?”

“Because
we’re friends.” He flashed his boyish grin at me and I couldn’t help but smile
back.

“Alright,
so what if it was another guy instead of a girl?” I asked, eager to turn this
weird first-hang-out-discussion in my favor.

“You’d
only focus on one guy. I don’t see you wanting to please two at the same time.”

“Fair,” I
said, thinking about the implications. “I don’t think I can argue with you
there, but I’m confused about something. Based on what you’ve said, you
wouldn’t be a good threesome partner either. You strike me as the lone wolf
type yourself: clean apartment, solo walks, ignoring your adoring female fans.
How do you do it then? How can you get along with people in a threesome?”

His eyes
widened unexpectedly. “I’m shocked that you would even suggest I’ve ever had a
threesome before!”

I rolled
my eyes. I knew I wasn’t going to tease any details out of him—not that I
particularly wanted to hear them anyway. Hunter was certainly keeping to his
word that he kept his private matters to himself. It was a good thing as far as
I was concerned, and I certainly wouldn’t have guessed he’d be that type of
person based on my first impression of him.

Hoping to
move onto a less awkward topic, I said, “These are nice seats, by the way.”

Hunter
popped a nacho in his mouth, chewed it, and swallowed. “Yup, one of the perks
of going to games every year for four years. Best seats in the house.”

“So they
give you better seats if you’ve been to more games?”

“Pretty
much. It kind of works on seniority, and this season it’s my turn to have the
good seats.”

I nodded
and eagerly took a nacho he offered me.

“We should
finish these fast,” he said. “Once the game starts, we won’t be able to eat.”

I
squinted. “Why not?”

“We’ll be
standing the whole game.”

“What?
Why?”

“You’ll
see.”

“That
sounds tiring.”

“It’s more
active that way—just the way you like it.” He smiled and I returned the
gesture, liking the way he paid attention to minor details I told him about
myself. “But we do sit down between periods.”

Hunter and
I picked up the pace on eating the nachos. It seemed like Hunter was really
into hockey and I kind of found it cute. We finished our nachos just as the
arena lights dimmed. I looked around, but nobody seemed surprised, including
Hunter. Instead, everyone was standing.

“Game time,”
he said, looking down at me.

I stood up
and watched as our team filtered onto the ice, followed by several spotlights.
They skated around the rink while the band played the fight song to our right.
Hunter and the rest of the section sang the lyrics loudly. I didn’t know the
words to the Arrowhart fight song, so I just clapped along, making a mental
note to learn the song in case I ever went to another sporting event.

When the
song ended, the lights came back on. Hunter banged on the glass and screamed words
of encouragement at the red and white clad players as they skated by. There
were a few other people along the glass doing the same.

He turned
to me to gauge my reaction as the players skated to the bench. I smiled at him
and gave a thumbs-up sign, enjoying the lively pre-game ceremony.

The other
team was already sitting on their bench, which was situated right next to our
team’s bench. Their jerseys were dark green and their coach, wearing a black
suit, seemed to be already yelling at them already. Our coach was standing with
his arms crossed as five guys and the goalie jumped over the short wall in
front of the bench and onto the ice. Soon, the green team followed. The game
was about to start, and everyone was yelling.

“This is
called a faceoff,” Hunter said. Even though he was right next to me, I could
barely hear him above the clamor, but I nodded anyway. The referee dropped the
puck and the game began.

It didn’t
take long to realize that hockey was a very fast game. The players seemed to be
constantly chasing after the puck when it was against the boards. Whenever they
crashed up against the glass, I was shocked at how much it shook. The way these
guys kept skating after hitting each other so hard boggled my mind.

The first
period was over quickly without anyone scoring any goals. The student section
sat down for the first time since the game had started. It wasn’t until I had
taken a seat that I realized how sore my legs were.

“So what
do you think?” Hunter asked.

“It’s
definitely fast.”

He smiled.
“Yeah, it keeps your attention.”

“Is it
normal for them to not score for a whole period?”

“Yeah,
there’s usually only a couple goals in a game. It makes it more exciting when
they score.”

I nodded.
We were quiet for a while, recovering from the intensity of watching the game.
Everyone in our section seemed to be resting before the next period.

“Did you
ever play hockey?” I asked him.

He shook
his head. “They don’t really play much hockey in San Diego. I didn’t get into
it until I came here for school, but now I love it. Kinda wish I played,
actually.”

“I guess
doing cage fights is enough athletic activity for one person.”

He
laughed. “Yeah, probably. I’m sore enough after training that I doubt I'd have
the energy for any other sports.”

The second
period and most of the third flew by. There were five minutes left in the game
and we finally scored the first goal of the game. The entire arena erupted in
cheers so loud the noise hurt my ears. Hunter high-fived everyone around us,
including me. His palm made a loud slap against mine; it stung but I ignored
the pain because his excitement for the game got me excited as well.

The band
played the fight song, and everyone sang, then shouted a mean chant full of
curses at the other team’s goalie. Even though my ears were ringing like I’d
just been at a concert, I found myself screaming and cursing along with
everyone else. The energy was infectious.

“C’mon
boys, hold on!” Hunter yelled during the third period.

“Yeah,
fuck ‘em up!” I screamed.

Hunter
turned to me in surprise. “You’re getting into this.”

I flashed
him a grin. “It’s hockey.”

His lips
curved into a boyish smile. “Couldn’t have said it any better.”

Suddenly,
a player was body-checked and slammed into the glass in front of us. Thinking
he was going to crash through the wall and into us, I jumped into Hunter’s
protection.

Hunter put
his arm around my shoulder and squeezed me to him. The hockey player shook off
the hit, looked at me through the glass, grinned, and winked then he continued
skating after the puck. Bold letters on the back of his jersey read “MASTERS”.

“Focus on
the game, you douche,” Hunter yelled harshly then looked down at me tenderly.
“Scared you huh?”

“Just
surprised is all.” His arm squeezing me against his hard body felt good.

“The glass
might look weak since you can see through it but it’s actually really strong.
You don’t have to worry about it breaking.”

“Appearances
can be deceiving,” I said eyeing the glass gingerly. “Did you know that
player?”

“He’s
Caleb Masters, the star of the Arrowhart team. He’s a bit of an arrogant prick
but I have to admit he’s good at hockey.”

Arrowhart
ended up winning the game, leaving our entire section in smiles. As we were
filing out, Hunter asked me if I wanted to go to Clyde’s for some ice cream so
we could revel in our victory. I had a great time at the hockey game and could
still feel excitement buzzing through my body like I’d actually been one of the
players, so I agreed. Whereas Hunter preferred cooldown walks, I preferred
cooldown ice cream eatings.

It seemed
like everyone had the same idea he had, because the line at Clyde’s was out the
door and around the corner. We decided to wait it out. There were few things I
remembered about Arrowhart from before I left, but one of them was Clyde’s.
They had some super delicious ice cream.

“So,”
Hunter said. “What’s the verdict on hockey? Thumbs up?”

I put both
thumbs up. “It was really fun. Thank you for inviting me.” I actually couldn’t
remember the last time I’d been so excited about something. I recalled how
Hunter looked at me weird when I shouted my support for our team. I thought
that was pretty funny.

“Thanks
for coming. It’s been a fun night,” he said giving me a brief hug and a rub on
the shoulder. When he took his hand away, I felt strangely bereft, hoping for a
longer contact.

“Agreed. I
hope you didn’t mind teaching me about hockey.”

“My
pleasure.” The last word rolled slowly off his tongue or maybe it was just my
imagination. “You picked it up pretty fast.”

“Thanks.”

We stood
for a minute in the cold, staring ahead at the line. It was moving, but not
very quickly.

“So you
said you didn’t play hockey,” I started. “Do you play any other sports? Or is
it just MMA?”

He looked
off in the distance as if thinking. “Just MMA. I started boxing when I was pretty
young and did wrestling in high school, but now it’s just MMA.”

“Those all
sound violent.”

He stared
at me for a second, then laughed quietly. I felt like he was trying to figure
out if I was being serious with that observation. “Yeah, they’re all violent.”

“Why do
you do it? You don’t seem like a super angry guy. Or maybe I just don’t know
you well enough . . .”

“I’m not
an angry guy.”

“So why?”

“Why not?”
His tone indicated his response was a genuine question.

It was my
turn to laugh. “Most people don’t volunteer to get punched in the face!”

He
shrugged. “That’s true. I guess I like training, I like the guys at the gym,
and I really like testing myself against someone else. It’s one-on-one, ya
know? When you get into the ring with a guy who’s been training just as hard as
you and you beat him, it feels pretty awesome.”

“There are
plenty of other one-on-one sports,” I said. “Like tennis.”

“What, so
I can get beat by some prick named Davis whose parents got him lessons at the
country club when he was four? Fuck that.” He looked at me, a fire in his eyes
I’d never seen before. “Fighting’s what I did growing up and it’s what I’m good
at. That’s why I do it. Getting punched in the face sucks, but so do a lot of
things.” His chest moved in and out as he took a deep breath. “Plus the money
helps with school and stuff.”

The
passion in his voice startled me; I would give a lot to care about anything as
much as he cared about fighting. It felt like he thought of the world in terms
of us versus them. For now, I was happy to be considered part of the “us.”

“I guess
it also gets you a lot of girls,” I said, noticing that a few girls were
stealing not-so-secret glances in our direction.

His eyes
narrowed and a small smile crept onto his face. “Are you still thinking about
Catelyn and Melissa?”

My chest
tightened and I could feel my pulse quicken. “You know the other one too?”

He
shrugged. “Yeah, she’s just quiet most of the time. Why does it matter? You
can’t seriously be jealous of them.”

“Of course
not!”

“Then
what?”

“I’m not
jealous, Hunter,” I said as convincingly as I could. “I was just noticing how
there’s girls around here that look like they’d be down for a threesome with
you as well, maybe even a moresome. It reminds me of the fan girls I saw during
your fight. It seems like you have quite a fan club.”

“Does it
bother you that girls watch me fight?” he tried once more, a sly grin on his
face.

“No!”

He watched
me for a moment as I tried to keep a straight face. “Okay,” he said finally.
“Yeah, girls like to watch me fight. I guess that’s a perk.”

I kept my
silence since any interest I had in the subject seemed to be interpreted as
jealousy. Why was it so hard to be just friends with a guy who was attractive?
Okay, Hunter was a little more than
just
attractive and maybe that was
the problem. The line moved until we were just inside the door. I rubbed my
hands together to warm them up. It was cold outside and it was cold inside as
well. I was beginning to question why we were getting ice cream in the middle
of winter but then remembered that the taste of Clyde’s ice cream was awesome
in any season.