Page 17 of Right Man, Right Time
“Silas,” I say. “Jesus Christ, every hockey fan in the city is crying right now that you got it wrong.” I type my phone number into her phone.
“Ooo, sorry, Mr. Big Shot. Wasn’t aware you were so popular.”
“You need to pay attention more. My face is on quite a few billboards around the city.”
“That’s cute,” she says, patting my cheek. “I’ll text you tomorrow, and we can figure this all out. Bring your best proposal.”
“How can I bring a proposal when I know nothing about you?”
“That’s fair. Umm, let’s see.” She hops off her stool and straightens out her dress. “I like working out. I like sandwiches. Like all kinds, especially ones with lots of meat. I enjoy interior design and reading books. I also really like anything concerning lifestyle trends. Oh, I love a good face cream. Anything to keep those thirty-one-year-old wrinkles away, you know?” She presses her finger to my brow, and I swat her hand away.
“When you have to skate on the ice with two-hundred-pound men, you’re bound to get wrinkles.”
“Don’t quite see the connection, but hang out with me, and I’ll get that face looking fresh.”
“What the fuck? It does look fresh.”
“Okay.” She smiles at me. “See you tomorrow . . . Simon.”
“Silas,” I call out.
“Yeah . . . Silas.” She twiddles her fingers at me and takes off toward her friend.
I’m pretty sure I’ll regret all this when I wake up, especially the three glasses of Scotch.
ChapterThree
OLLIE
“Alexa, play today’s hits,” I say as I throw my hair into a messy bun.
It’s Sunday, which means it’s reset day.
I woke up this morning, fresh as a daisy, so I went on a run followed up by a simple ab workout, then walked to the dining hall and picked up a protein smoothie.
What I love about the dorms is that they are for upperclassmen only, and the dining hall is open year-round because most of us stay through the summer for our internships. Not to mention, I have my own room. Which means I don’t have to be bothered by anyone other than my neighbors.
I remember when I first toured my dorm. It was an immediate yes for me. Not only do I have my own suite, but I have my own bathroom as well. The rooms are equipped with a mini kitchen, bathroom, desk, and a double bed, not even a twin—see what I’m talking about. It’s total luxury for college. And when we don’t cook, we can grab something from the dining hall or the convenience store right here on campus. I have everything I need at my fingertips. The only thing missing is a gym.
If I were a student athlete, I’d have access to the best gym this area can offer, but unfortunately, that’s not the case. Instead, I pay fifteen dollars a month at a gym ten minutes away and deal with a bunch of meatheads who believe they know more than me about lifting weights.
First things first for my reset day—strip my bed and replace the sheets with clean ones.
Music on in the background—thank you, Alexa—I get to work. Nothing is better than preparing yourself for the week ahead. I love starting a Monday on a fresh start—room clean, fridge stocked with my quick grab items, and laundry done.
Sheets in hand, I stuff them in my laundry basket, and I pick it up along with my other laundry. Grabbing my detergent and keys, I head to the laundry room.
Luckily, I wake up at a decent hour on Sundays, which bypasses everyone else in the laundry room who might be curing a hangover. My trick is tons of electrolytes and a run to sweat it all out. I know not many people can run after a night of drinking, but even if I feel like I’m going to puke, I still go for my run. It’s the best cure.
I take the elevator to the basement, and when I step off, I spot a familiar face in the laundry room.
“I’m surprised to see you here,” I say to Ross as I set my basket on one of the folding counters.
Shoulders slumped, he replies, “Yeah, last night didn’t end as I’d hoped.”
“So I’m guessing you didn’t hook up with Fernando?” I ask as I open one of the washers and stick my sheets inside. Another great thing about our dorms is that laundry is free.
“Not so much.” Ross starts his washer, walks over to the folding counter, and takes a seat. His eyes scan my outfit, and a small smile passes over his lips. “Your hard nipples in your crop top are telling me very clearly that it’s laundry day.”
