Tasting My Hockey Roommate Novels & Stories

I just want to savor the now and I settle against the cushions to watch my love and my future play hockey in our living room. The end.

This time, the plane ticket was definitely secured, and Chris was spending every day packing in his dormitory, counting down the days. His roommate was a recent graduate, a few years younger than Chris, and besides doing rounds with the teachers, he just played games. He found it curious that Chris didn’t seem to have any hobbies. “I’m not kidding, don’t you find it unbearable to live like this?” His roommate had just ordered some grilled skewers, and since they were always on call for surgery, they couldn’t drink alcohol, so they settled for Coke instead. “Huh? Why would it be unbearable?” Chris, who rarely ate such things, responded.

I explain as we finally reach our previous spot, having me place myself down on my beach towel covering the sand. "Oh, okay. He's really hot I'm not even gonna lie." She says as she smirks from her own promiscuous thoughts. I roll my eyes jokingly at her statement as I send her a knowing smile. "Yeah, he's pretty cute." I state as I bring a spoonful of my liquid flavored ice to my lips. "You think so?" She questions as she begins to pour some of the pink Whitney into her snow cone before offering me the bottle. "Yeah, I mean I can't deny that he's attractive. But I don't really care about that considering I'm with Jack and that's literally his roommate." I explain as I take the bottle from h

I walked inside, pulling off my coat and tossing it onto the bench in the hallway, groaning that I needed a drink, something strong to drown out the sound of Calix’s shaking voice in my ears. I walked down the hallway toward my private lounge, a cozy room with a fully stocked bar. I pushed the door open and stepped inside, heading straight for the liquor bottles. “Took you long enough,” A voice murmured from the corner of the room. I froze, my hand hovering just inches from the whiskey bottle. I turned around slowly. Sitting in one of the armchairs by the fireplace was Tobias Russo. He was my schoolmate and one of the defensemen on the Kensington hockey team.

He sat beside me and ate too. As I dig into the nachos, the combination of flavors dances on my palate. The crisp tortilla chips provide the perfect crunch, while the gooey cheese adds a comforting warmth. I take a moment to enjoy the lively atmosphere around me—the swirl of skaters, the joyous laughter, and the occasional cheer echoing from the center of the rink.

How could he not prepare her for this? “I see,” she said weakly. All too well. “He is my roommate. This other fool is Dillon. He comes over and watches the game and plays cards with us.” “Wassup.” She hadn’t even given Dillon another look, she couldn’t, she tried. Her attention was drawn to the opposite side of the room. Swallowing the nerves in her throat, she looked around and saw a small poker table in the corner of the living room with a deck of cards and a few beers.

It’s the only dash of color in the hallway, hell practically in the whole house since I prefer whites, blacks, charcoals, and neutrals. My yard is masculine, and I like it this way. From the large stainless-steel fridge in my kitchen, where I have to admit I do the minimum amount of cooking, I grab a diet coke. I guzzle down half a bottle in one go. Yeah, I know at this time of night it’s not the right thing to drink with the caffeine but I’m a night owl in any case. Sleep always eludes me, I go to bed thinking about the games I just played, how I can be even better on the ice and how much I want to help our team bring home the Stanley Cup.

The thing about sharing ice with a hockey team is that it requires a level of diplomatic patience I was not issued at birth. I have tried to explain this to Bria, my roommate, who is a swimmer and therefore operates in her own lane literally and has never once had to negotiate rink time with seventeen men who treat every surface they occupy as something they conquered rather than borrowed. Bria's response was to make tea and say "that sounds really hard" in the voice she uses when she's listening but also reading something on her phone.

Shouting voices competed with the deafening rap music blasting from ceiling-mounted speakers. Standing near the massive marble kitchen island, I held a red plastic cup filled with lukewarm water. Tessa leaned against the counter next to me, wearing a tight black dress, her eyes scanning the chaotic room like a sniper. "Okay, the hostility in this room is literally tangible," Tessa shouted over the music. "I’ve counted at least twelve Westmore hockey players glaring at us since we walked through the door." "Let them glare." I took a sip of the water. "We aren't here to make friends."

The hockey locker room was relatively empty this time of day, save for a few teammates killing time between classes. I hurled my duffel bag into a metal locker with a deafening slam. BAM! The sound echoed through the room, instantly killing the chatter in the corner. "Yo, take it easy, Cap," Ethan, our winger and my best friend, leaned against his locker with a raised eyebrow. "Why do you look like you're ready to murder someone?" I ignored Ethan. My gaze locked onto two guys sitting on the long bench nearby. Mason and Liam. Two of Ryder's former high school buddies whom I absolutely despised. Even now, I knew they secretly still worshipped the ground Ryder walked on.