5. MORE…. PEOPLE???

Julian's POV;

The central cafeteria was as loud as ever, there was a group of freshmen shrieking over social media videos like they’d just seen a goat do a backflip and the air smelled like greasy burgers, burnt coffee, and the tang of leftover garlic from someone’s late-night noodles.  

It was busy and exactly the kind of place I liked when I wanted to disappear. Now all that was remaining was an empty table, my bacon sandwich, and an hour of my alone time. 

That was it.

But the universe hated me.

I thought I’d beaten the odds today. Tray in hand, I found an empty table in the corner, the holy grail: out of the way, no easy angles for people to slide in from. 

I set my tray down carefully, the bacon sandwich looking like salvation, and I sat.

Then Gabrielle happened.

She dropped her backpack on the floor before plopping down opposite me while slamming her notepad on the table with a huff. “You are the worst,” she said immediately, as if we were continuing a conversation we’d never started.

“Oh my God.” Rolling my eyes before taking a bite from my sandwich.

“You ditched our burger date yesterday,” she accused, eyebrows theatrical. “You coward. You’re aware that’s rude, right?”

“I’m aware that you are a parasite,” I muttered

She gasped dramatically. “You wound me, Julian. You really do.” She exhaled and continued. “We already made plans.”

“I didn’t ditch you. I…had practice.” 

Okay that was halfway true, we all know that I’d fled because Asher had shown up and my face had become a tomato sauce.

“And you didn’t even text. Bold move.”

I looked at her like she’d grown another head. “Bro, I don’t have your fucking number.”

“Well, isn’t this a great time to exchange numbers.” Her grin was wide, like she had won.

I rolled my eyes again and changed the topic. Small talk with Gabrielle could become performance art. “Why are you sitting here again?”

Her grin didn’t drop. “Uh… because I can. If you want me to stop sitting here, you can agree to the interview angle I suggested. I’m changing the title to ‘Swift Skates.’ It’s brilliant, yes?”

I scowled and chewed. “No.”

She frowned and mumbled. “You never give me anything.”

“I’m letting you sit in front of me,” I said around another bite. “That’s a sacrifice.”

She reached for her pen from her jet black hair that was in a messy bun and began to scribble something in her notepad. “Fine. We’re getting burgers, then. My treat, write your number down.”

She slid the note pad to me and held out her pen while waggling her eyebrows.

I blinked before grabbing the pen and writing out my number. 

I didn’t have the strength to argue or pretend like I didn’t enjoy her company.

Two more bites into my sandwich she went quiet. That was not normal. Gabrielle was a chatterbox whose engine never stopped running.

I mean I know I was ignoring her anyways but that has never been the reason Gabrielle stopped talking. I glanced up because silence from the chattering box usually meant something interesting had appeared.

It was Asher.

He was standing at the short end of our table like the sun had risen from behind him, tray in one hand loaded with food and a drink balanced dangerously close to the edge, “Hi, Jules. Hi, Gabby,” he called, like reading a menu.

My stomach did a stupid tumble. I dropped the sandwich back on the plate. Of course he’d decide to invade my one quiet hour.

Gabrielle, on the other hand, lit up like someone had handed her a backstage pass. “Asher! Hey…. great timing.”

She fumbled for her camera under the table while pretending not to, and angled it with the kind of stealth only a practiced photographer could manage. “By the way, Jules?”

Asher pulled out the chair on the right of Gabrielle with the reflexive confidence of someone used to being invited to wherever he wanted. 

He didn’t ask. He sat, unwrapped his own bacon sandwich in two smooth motions, and took a huge, unapologetic bite.

“I told you not to call me that,” I said before I could stop myself.

He chewed, eyes half-closed with amusement. “And I told you I would.”

I slumped back in my seat and shoved a fist into my hoodie pocket because otherwise my hands would act up and throw the plate at him.

“Why are you sitting here?” I asked, voice flat.

He shrugged. “You looked kinda lonely.”

Gabrielle made a sound that was supposed to be an adorable “Aww” and took a sneaky photo. “That’s what I said.”

“Gabrielle…” I started.

But she was already facing Asher: “So how’s preseason? You guys look solid.”

He took another bite and wiped his mouth with the back of his free hand. “Good. Solid. Coach loves pain. We gave him pain.” He grinned at her like he’d told a hilarious joke. “You getting good stuff for the newsletter?”

“Always,” she said, feeding him questions like candy. “In your opinion, What’s team morale like? Who’s the prankster? Who’s the least likely to show up on time?”

Asher laughed, an easy, loud thing. “Honestly? We’re a mess. Ace is the prankster. Darius is always freaking late, I show up exactly on time though, I’m a good kid.” He finished with a wink and I almost threw up.

Gabrielle scribbled, eyes sparkling. “Perfect. This is gold. You guys are either always too busy or too tired to answer my questions, I’m going to take advantage of this as much as I can.”

I tried to slip away with my food while they traded questions about each other's majors, Coach Harris’s temper compared to Coach Mitchell’s, cafeteria food etc.

Wait….. Why the fuck should I leave, they’re the ones that are here uninvited anyway. 

I decided to tune them out instead as I continued to eat my lunch but everytime Asher laughed…. like nothing could bother him it tugged at something annoyingly warm in my chest.

And I fucking hated it.

I hated that he looked so comfortable sitting there and that Gabrielle was eating it up. 

His eyes looked so beautiful in the dying cafeteria light, his arms flexed in the tight black muscle tee he was wearing and the diamond studded earring made him look so delicious. 

When his eye caught mine as he leaned back to laugh at what Gabrielle was saying, heat pooled in my stomach.

It was revolting.

I just hope what I was feeling wasn’t about to be a crush on a straight man, or worse a straight hockey player.

I was almost done with my drink when I heard my name in their conversation. 

“You’d be surprised,” she said, leaning in. “Half the team thinks Julian has a criminal past.”

My jaw dropped open, head snapping up. “What?”

“Yeah,” she nodded. “Well, you have a potty mouth and attitude, there’s also this rumor that you once broke someone’s nose during a competition.”

I stared at her, horrified. “That was an accident. He tripped into my elbow!”

Asher was grinning like a wolf now. “You broke someone’s nose?”

“No!”

“Damn Jules”. Asher was definitely enjoying this. “I knew you were violent, but actually breaking…..”

“Keep talking,” I cut him off. “I’ll shove my elbow…..”

I paused and looked at Gabrielle staring at me with intrigue and Asher grinning.

My jaw tightened. It’s weird how someone can say the smallest thing and it lands like a bag of rocks. 

Asher knew just how to piss me off, picking at the thin skin of patience I’d built up.

They were in full buddy mode. People who have never been on the wrong side of a stereotype don’t realize how uncomfortable that friendliness can be, how bright and public and loud it feels, like a spotlight you didn’t sign up for.

That’s why I don’t do friends, or whatever they have going on in that corner.

I shouldered my bag and reached for my drink to take another sip and get out of there, but before I moved, two more boys in hockey varsity jackets appeared. 

They carried trays like reinforcements: fries, burgers, soda. 

One called, “Beckett!” and Asher turned, full grin, to dap them up.

One of them slid into the seat on the other side of Gabrielle like he’d been saving it for himself. The other dropped onto the bench to my right, dangerously close to my sides.

I looked at the new arrivals in their hockey jackets and the kind of swagger that says you’re used to being the center of things and then back at Asher. Then at Gabrielle, who was making little artsy motions with her camera. 

At the empty, innocent corner of the bench that had been empty not long ago.

My mood turned from simmer to something hot and sharp. I was done entertaining the presence of these clowns and Gabrielle.

And turned and leaned towards them, my voice dangerously flat,

“Who the fuck are you guys?”