Tasting My Hockey Roommate Novels & Stories

He was certainly packing, and once again, I found myself jealous of the girl, or *girls* who'd get to enjoy it. In the days following our introduction, I became more and more fascinated by my roommate. He was completely unlike the jocks I'd known back in high school, in that he wasn't an asshole at all. Yes, he was big. Yes, he was a sports crazed nineteen year old, and yes he spent almost every waking moment in the gym, but there was something nice about him.

I tugged at the white shirt before it thwaped right back into place, making Hannah giggle. “Come on, time’s a’wastin’, hot stuff.” I rolled my eyes. “Never. Again.” I felt my roommate grab my hand before we stumbled out into the hallway. With the music pumping and the strobe lights going again, it felt as if I had stepped out onto another planet. I squinted as someone shoved a drink in my free hand. I had on my only pair of heels, which somehow kept throwing me off balance. Maybe it was the effects of the light, or the fact that Hannah practically tipped the cup to my lips. But the more beer I chugged down, the looser I felt.

REMINGTON 11 MONTHS, 23 DAYS LATER. “We… won?” I muttered beneath my breath, eyes glued to my phone, watching the hockey match live. “We fucking won!” I screamed at the top of my voice, earning a groan from Clark and a grumble from my mum. This was the final match in a major competition, and our school — Chastity Verse — won. “Pull over!” I ordered the driver behind the wheel. He glanced backwards at my mum, who groaned in frustration.

KINKS: Praise kink, voyeurism I stumbled a little as I handed out the last of the drinks, trying not to drop anything as I weaved through the living room. The place was packed with Killian’s friends—at least ten guys, maybe more—all loud and excited, yelling at the TV every time the school’s hockey team made a move. The big screen was blasting the game, the crowd noise echoing through the apartment, but I still felt like I was moving in a bubble. My cheeks were warm, and my arms ached from carrying so many cups, but I didn’t complain.

I take a seat, mildly impressed that he is being a gentleman. “It’s the best hotel here, what do you expect me to stay in some flea pit, dive, Roxy? You don’t know me. I like the best of everything.” Of course he does, he is a hockey player and hockey players like a little luxury and the best clubs and bars. “And they just so happened to have a room at the last minute too, right?” He pours some water from the glass carafe into a glass and hands it to me.

My fingers finding the keys with the same instinct that found them at 2 AM in a dorm room when the filthiest post poured out of me like blood from a wound. The team dinner was the following week. Steakhouse downtown. Twenty pro hockey players, their partners, the noise of cutlery and bass-heavy music and the low roar of men who spent their professional lives hitting each other talking about fantasy football. I sat beside Rhys in a black dress I’d bought with my first stipend cheque because the jersey felt wrong here – this wasn’t college anymore. The backup goalie leaned across the tablecloth. Thick jaw. Evaluating squint. The energy of a man about to say something he thought was clever.

“I'll let you know later if there is. I have a meeting with the coach and the other hockey team, so I'm not sure yet.” “Oh…” I mouthed, nodding my head. I really wished we could hang out together. Viola came back with our food, and dished out my own. My heart sank into my stomach the moment I saw the salad, but one thing was certain, I needed to eat this. “So, when is your next training? I haven't seen you train in a while.” I broke the awkward silence between us, and Jason lifted his gaze to me, eyes unreadable as usual.

My reflection gazed back at me in the mirror across the room—hair a mess and my oversized shirt hanging off one shoulder. Then what I did hit me—The arrangement. When he said it last night, I'd searched his eyes for a bluff. For that crack that would tell me he was just messing with me. But there wasn’t. He was dead serious. The most serious I’d seen him since the rink—apart from his unfiltered hatred he usually reserved for me. I shook off the thought, pulling on sweatpants and tying my hair into a messy bun. After last night, I needed something hot to drink.

“Finally. Do you even know what day it is?” I groaned, kicking my shoes off and aiming directly for my bed. “Thursday. Which also translates to please leave me alone, I’m dead inside day.” June rolled her eyes and gasped dramatically while her hand clutched her chest. “Wrong. It’s game day! First hockey game ever for me, and my dear roommate just happens to be involved with one of the players. Do you know what this means?” “That I’m too tired for whatever this conversation is?” I muttered, face already half-buried in my pillow. I sighed in a manner that showed my exhaustion in its full glory.

“If you’re not feeling well, we can cut this short, Vi. I don’t want you to suffer through dinner just for me.” “No! No, I’m fine. Really,” I said, feeling a wave of guilt wash over me. I could easily have told him I was sick so we could reschedule but Vance was being so sweet, and here I was, ruining it for him. He must have thought he was doing a terrible job. “Tell me about hockey! How’s the season going? I heard you guys had a big game coming up.” That did the trick. Vance’s face lit up, and he launched into a detailed explanation of the new offensive play his coach was trying to implement. I nodded and gave all the right responses. "Wow," "Really?", "That sounds tough"