“Well?” he asks as he flips the book shut.

“Sorry, it’s just we’ve been sitting here for a couple hours now looking at pictures and I’m just jonesing to get up and walk around a bit.”

“Ok, but I think we should at least have a topic picked out. Did anything pique your interest?”

“I don’t know.” I lean forward and put my hands on the table, drumming my fingers on top of the book. “What do you think is best?”

“Well it’s not my midterm.” He looks annoyed.

“I know, but this stuff is just out of my element, and you seem pretty smart.”

Sam ducks his head and blushes at the compliment and I find myself trying to count the smattering of freckles that bridge his nose.

“Well, there are some pretty cool sculptures that you could do a comparison on.”

“So, a lot of names and dates and all that.” I let my head fall to the table as I grumble and rest my forehead on the book. At some point I am going to have to admit to myself that there is no way out of this.

“Well, a lot of ancient Greek sculptures are about athletes. I was thinking that you could write the paper on the comparison of how the sculptures develop through the centuries in terms of how the athletes are portrayed.” I feel his hand pat my back tentatively like he’s trying to sooth me and it makes me smile. He is unaware that instead of thinking about sculptures, I am beginning to plan how I am going to seduce him and help him out of his shell. Props to him though; he has made the idea of the paper slightly more interesting by incorporating athleticism in it. I lift my head from the table and lean back casually.

“Sounds good to me, so are we done for tonight then? Can I bail?”

Sam looks momentarily confused but then says, “Yeah I guess. I mean we picked out your topic and everything. Same time tomorrow?”

“No can do. I have a game tomorrow. You coming to the game?” I capture his gaze and hold it. He looks undecided, like he wants to refuse but I stare intently, willing him silently to come to the game.

“I was going to come here, I thought you would…I forgot about the game,” he mumbles down at his book.

“That’s alright. I just figured we’d hang out after the game.” I lead him towards agreeing to come.

“Oh, well…ok.”

“Awesome, I’ll look for you in the stands!” I stand and sling my bag over my shoulder. As I do so I intentionally knock his book to the floor. He scrambles to pick it up and I drop to my knees at the same time, meeting him under the table. When he looks up he is inches from my face.

“Sorry about that,” I whisper. His lips part slightly and I see his gaze dip to my mouth. I give him a quick smile then brush the back of his hand with my fingers. “You’ve got this?” He doesn’t say anything, but I climb back up and saunter out of the library. I see his reflection in the glass doors of the library as he sits back up in his seat and gazes around wide-eyed. I smile and push the door open.

* * *

When I get back to my dorm, I drop my backpack beside the bed and fish the Humanities textbook from the rubble of my nightstand and flip it open to the pages of the ancient Greek sculptures. I stare at the figures, recovered by archeologists and marvel at the obvious advancement in the Grecians ability to carve stone in such a way that resembles the male figure, then how they honed their skills to begin to capture the nuances of the physical anatomy of men, in particular the muscles. I find myself thinking about Sam. He’s not as defined and sculpted as the men in these images, but that doesn’t stop my body from reacting while thinking about him. He has a layer of flesh over the muscles which makes him look softer, but in no way any less masculine to me. I groan and roll over on my side, trying to stop the racing thoughts that come barreling into my mind.

I slowly let my fingers trail down my chest and stomach. My breath quickens as I reach the waistband of my sweats and clutch the strings tightly in my fist. I think about the way Sam bit his lip and I turn my face into my pillow as I moan and let the palm of my hand cup myself through the sweats. My mind spins as I imagine looking down at Sam as he nips his way down my chest and looks up with those blue eyes.

I hear the book fall to the floor behind me as I try to rub the ache that’s cupped in my palm. It’s only enticing me further the more I lose control of my thoughts and I dip my hand below the waistband of the sweats and gasp as I encircle myself. As I stroke up and down my pulse quickens as I imagine it’s Sam’s palm gripping me, and my pace quickens. I feel the flood hit when I imagine Sam’s face dip lower and…I bite the pillow as I lose it. Shivers run up and down my spine and under my skin. Heat races through me feeling like electric shocks. I groan again as the thought that these sensations would be magnified if it was actually with Sam.

As I settle I feel the hazy aftermath set in. I bring my breathing back under control and sit up slowly. I grab my shower bag and head to the communal men’s bathroom down the hall to clean up. When I enter the bathroom, I set my gear down on a bench along the wall near the corner spray. The room is large, tiled and open without separate stalls. I turn the faucet on and let the water warm as I strip down. I step under the spray and grab the soap I had put on the tray on the wall mount. As I lather up I dip my head under the water and let the heat and the jets rain down on my sensitive skin and aching muscles from practice. I hear the door open and shut behind me as I brace my arms on the cool tile of the wall and hang my head.

After a few moments the sound of running water echoes off the tile behind me. I straighten and wipe the water from my eyes, turning back to the soap to begin lathering the rest of my body. As I do, I see in my peripheral the very person who’d been making a cameo visit in my mind. I freeze as I watch Sam set his stuff on the bench near his end of the shower and I quickly turn back to the wall. The last thing I want to do is come off as a creeper, but my eyes hadn’t been able to help trail down his back lingering on the matching dimples on either side of his spine just above his ass.

I feel the same stirring that had caused me to have to come and shower off in the first place and I hasten to finish rinsing off. My plan is to seduce him, not scare him off by coming on too strong. I wrap a towel around my waist after I shut the water off and exit the shower room to the small changing area where there’s a few lockers and a table. I dress in double time and exit the bathroom, but not before I catch a glimpse in the mirror of what going on behind me, and that’s Sam’s flushed face as he purposefully looks at the floor while he’s showering off. I grin to myself because it had been evident seeing me there had an effect on him too. I make my way back to my dorm and crawl into bed and before long, the thoughts of seducing Sam and the images of naked male athletes in textbooks begin to blur in my mind, melding into the same image as I drift off to sleep.

The next morning, I hurriedly wash up, change, then head over to the cafeteria in hopes of spotting Sam at breakfast. I quickly hop in line to beat the morning rush. I glance over and see most of the team already slouched over coffee cups and half-eaten breakfasts. I chuckle knowing they will most likely end up back in their dorms sleeping off the after effects of last night’s party. If they tried to show up on the ice looking like this, Coach would hand them their asses. I look around, hoping to see Sam but he isn’t here so I make my way to the team table.

“Hey man, what’s up?” Clive asks as he leans on his elbow on the table, clutching his forehead.

“Not much. Looks like you all had some fun last night. Wild night?”

“Damn, was it ever. I don’t know how I’m going to get this headache gone before tonight,” he mutters.

“Orange juice, dude,” I tell him.

“Huh?”

“Have some orange juice. There’s something about it that helps with a hangover. Or so I’m told,” I respond.

“You know some of the most random shit dude,” he gripes.

“Yeah I know. Hey, you going to eat that bacon? There wasn’t any left when I went through.”

Clive pushes his tray at me. “Have at it, brother. It’s bullshit they run out of the most important part of breakfast every morning before a quarter of the school has even gotten their asses out of bed to come down for it.”

“Yeah, truth to that.”

I scarf down the bacon, chasing it with a glass of OJ.

“So, how did the study session go last night?” Barry moans from in between his arms. His head is down and when he picks it up, his face is an unnatural color of green. I know the look. Of the entire team, he’s the one in the worst shape.

“It was fine. Picked out a topic for the paper and everything. It’s all tedious but at least the topic will be about athleticism so props to that piece of it. Maybe I’ll get through it,” I answer.

“Yeah? Were there any hot chicks in the library last night?” asks Stevie, a freshman J.V. player. His friends thump him on the back like he’s said something brilliant, but I ignore it.

“Nah, just a couple, and a librarian who is scary as shit by the way. I’m thinking we should ask her to play defense. The way she protected those books, we could tell her to pretend the puck is one of them and she’d go to her grave in order to keep it safe. You do not want to mess with that lady.”

My friends guffawed but Stevie looked at me keenly. “Sounds like some of the geek wore off on you.”

His friends laugh but the entire varsity team perks up a little and he shuts his mouth, realizing he’d gone too far.

“The tutor wasn’t bad,” I state, and everyone seems to accept this as a reasonable response and goes back to their post party lethargy.

A little while later and with a couple of cups of coffee, I decide since most of the team is going back to the dorms to sleep it off, I’ll head to the rink to do a few laps. As the entire team exits the cafeteria, I see Sam for the first time since last night walking in with one of his friends I’ve seen around campus. The guy is a scrawny kid with curly, dirty blond hair and a few scraggly hairs on his chin as if he’s trying to grow a beard. He’s a late bloomer for sure and the two are sporting Comic-con t-shirts and jeans today. Whatever they are talking about has them so engrossed because Sam doesn’t even see me as he skirts around the team. He apparently doesn’t see Stevie either because he bumps into him as he passes.

I turn as I hear a shout of alarm as Stevie and his buddies grab Sam and his friend and get right in their faces. Stevie is shouting at him, “watch where you’re going loser, or I’ll show you not to disrespect the team.”

Something inside me clicks and before I know it, I’ve tackled Stevie to the ground, giving Sam a chance to scramble away.

“What the hell man!?” Stevie is screaming in my face, but I’m so pissed off, it doesn’t register.

I feel Clive and Barry manhandle me, pulling me off Stevie as I shout right back at him, “what, you don’t like people who are different? Is that it? Are you just some punk ass who thinks just because he has a team jersey on, he’s better than everyone else? What the hell is your problem man!?”

“Dude! You’re friggin tweaked!” he hollers back at me.

I finally register Clive’s voice in my ear, “walk it off man, walk it off. He’s a punk who needs to grow up if he ever wants to make varsity. Just let it go.” I shake him and Barry off as I pace the courtyard. I’m still seething, and people are staring, but I don’t care.

“This isn’t about the team!” I shout at Clive.

“I know,” he says calmly as I sit on one of the stone benches, running my hands through my hair and breathing deep. Stevie’s friends had strong-armed him, much the way mine had done and I don’t see him around anymore. They probably took off which is a good thing because I don’t know if I would be able to remain in control. I don’t see Sam either which worries me, and I stand, scanning the crowd for him.

“You, cool man?” Barry asks gruffly. I nod, and he sits beside me. Of all the team, Barry and Clive were the most understanding when I came out.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I grunt at them. “He’s my tutor and he’s not a bad guy. Stevie shouldn’t have gotten up in his face like that.”

“Nah, that was a dick move for sure.” Barry agrees. He takes a swig of coffee then turns on the bench and spits it into the bushes. “My mouth still tastes like crap,” he comments and after a minute I chuckle.

“Didn’t know you knew him well,” Clive comments.

“I don’t know him well. I met him last night at the study session but he’s a cool guy.” I shrug. “Either of you see which way he and his friend went?” I ask.

“Yeah, they scampered off into the cafeteria. My guess is they’ll grab their food and run rather than stick around to see if anyone returns.” Barry replies.

I nod and stand. “Sorry about all that,” I tell them before walking off.

“No need to be sorry. We get it dude. Stevie doesn’t. Still thinks he has something to prove. But it’s going to make tonight’s game interesting,” Clive says.

“I won’t apologize to him.” I deadpan stare Clive but he shrugs.

“Don’t blame you. I will be the first to admit I pulled the ass move of picking on the geeks in high school. They’re still fun to razz-up a bit sometimes but bullying them in college is just stupid.”

“Alright, cool. I’ll play nice at the game tonight, but I make no promises if I see him going after Sam and his friend.”

Barry and Clive each give me a smack on the back and I turn, making my way back to the cafeteria in hopes of finding Sam. The crowd gives me a wide berth, probably afraid I’ll lash out at them and I feel bad then for making a scene. But my first priority is to find Sam. Stevie’s an ass but he’s a big guy and can be intimidating. He has at least a half a foot in height on Sam and I want to find Sam and make sure he’s alright.

I don’t see him or his friend in the cafeteria, so I make my way to the table where the nerds hang out.

“Hey any of you know where Sam Kingston went?” It’s almost amusing how they all sit and stare at me like I’m another species or something. Then one of them remembers I asked a question. She’s short and plump with mousy hair and a pudgy face.

“What do you want with Sam? You aren’t going to hurt him, are you?” she demands. I admire her for sticking up for her friend, even though her brave façade is beginning to slip as I stand there, still breathing hard from the exertion of going after Stevie.

“No, I’m not going to hurt him. He’s been helping me out and I want to make sure he’s alright.” I tell her. She gives me a reproachful look and for a few moments I think she isn’t going to answer me.

“He went to the Gazebo. He sometimes likes to sit out there and play D&D.” she informs me.

“Thanks.”

I turn and walk away, but pause when she says, “are you the one who stuck up for him in the courtyard?”

“Yeah, that was me.”

“Why?” she wonders, and I turn back around.

“Because he’s helping me out and just because we’re jocks doesn’t give anyone on the team the right to act better than someone else.”

Her jaw drops, and I resume my walk to exit the cafeteria and make my way to the Gazebo.

When I get there, sure enough, Sam and his friend are eating, but mostly they are talking in low hushed tones. I don’t see the tell-tale signs of a D&D game going on. They stop talking as I approach.

“You ok?” I ask him. It takes him a moment, but he nods as I ascend the three steps.

“What are you doing here?” he asks.

“Geez, man. Nice to see you too.” I grunt at him. He looks slightly taken aback, but I rub the back of my neck. “Sorry. You guys ok though? Really? Stevie’s an ass and I wouldn’t put it past him to have pulled something dirty.”

The red head looked me up and down like I was a figment of his imagination. “Do you want us to leave?” His voice was squeaky, almost like a mouse.

“No.” I look at Sam, confused. I am trying to figure out how me asking if they are ok translates to me wanting them to leave.

“Oh, ok. It’s just, usually when you know, the team wants to sit in the Gazebo, they tell us to leave.” he states.

“When did this happen?” I ask. My temper is flaring up again because I was never around when this happened, and they know I wouldn’t put up with that crap.

“Last year a couple of times.” he mumbles looking down at his cafeteria tray. Sam is still looking at me wide-eyed and not saying anything.

“I’ll talk to the team.” I tell his friend. “What’s your name?” I ask, and he fumbles the milk carton off his tray. I bend over and pick it up, handing it back to him.

“Shawn,” he tells me.

I stick out my hand and say, “Nice to meet you Shawn.” He looks at it warily and it takes me a minute to figure it out. “Where I come from, a handshake is what we do when meeting people, not crushing their fingers.”

Shawn gulps, his Adam’s Apple bobbing in his throat as he takes my hand. “Nice to meet you too,” he mumbles. His hand is clammy, and I casually wipe the sweat onto my jeans as he lets go.

“Look, I’m going to hit the ice for a few laps. I just wanted to make sure Stevie and his crew didn’t rough you up. Just steer clear of him ok?” I look at Sam and Shawn who both nod but say nothing. Sam is definitely going to be hard work breaking him out of his shell, but I am not ready to give up yet. “You still coming to the game tonight?” I call to Sam over my shoulder. I don’t look at him, forcing him to answer me.

“Yeah, I guess. Ok.” I smile as I walk down the path to the ice arena.

I key my way into the door and nod to the receptionist who attends to the civilians whenever they have a free skate. It’s on the tail end of being open to the public so I use my card to get into the locker room and pull on my skates. I don’t bother with the uniform. I just want the serenity of hearing my blades cut through the ice as I glide along. I feel like I can fly when I’m skating, and have since I was a kid. My dad was the one to first get me on the ice and he and I were always tight.

Dad was the kind of guy that just knew stuff. I never told him, he just knew how I am and he was cool. My chest hurts, and I rub it thinking about him. He was on his way to the State Championships last year to see me play. It was blizzarding out and that never stopped him from making one of my games. He played hockey in high school too, and would have gone on to play in college, but blew out his knee at work. It was that day when he had left early and was driving slow, accustomed to Canada’s crap weather, that it happened. It wasn’t anyone’s fault really. The logging truck hit a patch of black ice under the snow and despite Dad’s truck having snow tires and chains, he still couldn’t spin out of the way fast enough. I didn’t find out until after the game. I always knew where he would sit, center section, first row so I could find him. I had grumbled to the team in the locker room during half time because he wasn’t there, of all games. But the look on Mom’s face after I got back from the game and walked in the door told me everything.

I hadn’t set a skate on the ice for months after that. It was Coach who came to my house over the summer break and sat at the kitchen table with Mom for a coffee. I had been out fishing in the pond where Dad and I scrimmaged every winter. I had learned to go easy on the old man over the years, but we still had fun hanging out there for hours until Mom would bring us hot coffee and tell us to come inside before we froze to death in the sub-zero temperatures.

Coach didn’t encroach on my place with my Dad that day. He looked up from his coffee and my Mom’s cookies and said, “Jayden.”

He never called me Jayden. It had always been Fisher or Son. He referred to the the rest of the team the same way or by their last name.

“Coach.” I nodded to him and sat down. Mom handed me a cup of coffee and I dove for a cookie. I looked up and he was staring at me in his stoic way.

“Enjoy that cookie, Son,” he said. I quirked an eyebrow but said nothing. I already knew why he was there and I figured he’d say it in time. Coach had that way of expressing things exactly when he felt you need to hear it. He gave me one last calculated stare then stood up. “Thanks for the coffee Mrs. Fisher. I’ll see you at practice on Saturday, Jayden.”

With that he walked out the door without waiting for me to negate this. I had given a lot of thought to whether or not I would continue to play, but Coach had decided for me and it was evident he wasn’t going to accept no for an answer no matter what I had decided. I showed up at practice and regretted the summer’s worth of cookies.

* * *

I glide out onto the ice and work my calves, pushing off of my heels and joining the circle of civies swooping around the arena. I always wonder who the first person is on the ice to determine the direction they all end up skating in. I grin at the thought. Where one follows so do the others. My grin fades as I see a little boy struggling to catch up to his friends who are in a large party up ahead. It must be one of those birthday parties the arena hosts. The little boy is dark haired, wearing glasses, and he tries to run on his little skates and keeps falling on his stomach as his friends skate ahead. All the little kid carts that get pushed around the ice on tennis balls are being used. I skate up to him, looking around for his parents. I see a cluster of them sitting in the visiting team’s bench area and they are chatting, snapping pictures or playing on their phones.

I squat down in front of him as he clambers back up. His pudgy little five or six-year-old face looks up at me in surprise, but he has no qualms about reaching out and grabbing my practice jersey to hoist himself up.

“Hey buddy,” I say.

“Hi.” He pushes his tiny little glasses up on his nose and they fog up as he puffs out a breath. I smile at him, he makes me wonder if Sam used to have glasses when he was this small. With the kid’s dark hair and eyes and little freckles, he reminds me of Sam.

“I saw you trying to keep up with your friends.” I tell him. I flex a muscle in my thighs, extending it to my calves as I work it out through my toes, enabling me to continue gliding backwards. He is still clutching my jersey like it’s his life line, and he wobbles as he glides with me.

“Yeah. They’re vewy fast.” He still has the lilt of a toddler in his speech and I can’t help but smile even more at him.

“Well, I’ll tell you what buddy. How about I show you how to skate, so you don’t fall down so much? You see, I’m on the hockey team here at the college. Do you know what hockey is?”

“Yep!” he exclaims gleefully. “I’m gonna pway someday. Just like Wayne Gwetsy!” He looks so excited as he butchers the name. But I can’t help being caught up in his enthusiasm.

“That sounds fantastic little man. First though, we need to make sure it’s ok with your parents. Is your Mom or Dad here?”

He points a pudgy mitten-clad hand at the cluster of parents. I look over, hoping to catch the eye of one of the Mom’s as she sees her son holding the shirt of a stranger. I don’t want panic but if it were my kid, I’d want to know who they were latched onto like a tiny leech. I successfully capture the eye of a woman who the little kid resembles, and I wave to her. She looks down at her phone, types something then comes inching over on the ice. I don’t stand upright, not wanting to topple the kid hanging off my front.

“Hey I’m Jayden Fisher.” I stick my hand up and like mother like son, she grasps onto it, almost slipping and landing on top of both of us.

“Hi, Katie Cornier,” she says breathlessly as she too wobbles.

“I wanted to introduce myself. I saw your little guy here and thought I could give a few pointers, so he doesn’t fall so much, but wanted to make sure it was ok first.”

“Oh, that’s so nice of you!” she exclaims. “I don’t skate, but Devin has always loved watching the sport with his Dad on T.V.” I look around but don’t see a man approaching us. “He’s away on business this weekend, but it’s so nice that you’ll help him!”

“It would be my pleasure, Katie.” I grin up at her. That’s when she notices the jersey clutched in Devin’s hands.

“You’re a Bobcat!”

“Yeah, I play on the varsity team,” I tell her.

She leans down close to Devin. “Look honey, he’s on the college hockey team that you’ve watched with Daddy before!”

Devin looks at me wide-eyed through his glasses, like he’s seeing a superstar for the first time.

“That’s right little buddy. Now that we have Mom’s permission, how about we start those skating lessons?” I pat his little head on top his beanie hat. He begins running on his skates but this time I catch him as he falls, pushing off again so we glide. I instruct him not to pick up his skates but to push on his little heel and glide. Katie returns to the other parents and begins pointing and talking to them excitedly as she tells them who is teaching her son to skate. I hear the click of a picture being taken, but the limelight has never really been my thing, so I focus my attention on Devin.

After a half an hour, my thighs are burning from being squatted down so low and skating backwards, but Devin’s skating has made a noticeable improvement. His friends skate by and grin at him, giving him the thumbs up as by now they are aware that he is getting lessons from the college player.

As the ringing sounds for free skate to be over, I stand and let Devin work his way to the door, only catching him by the elbow as he slips once. In the waiting room there are benches that encircle the room and on one wall, a roaring fire where people can warm up and sip hot cocoa from the concession stand. Devin clunks his way to a bench and plops down and I sink to my knees in front of him, giving my own legs a break.

Katie walks up and sits next to him. “Thank you Mr. Fisher,” she says.

“Just Jayden is cool.”

“Well, that was nice of Jayden to help you, wasn’t it Devin?” She leans over to Devin as I begin unlacing his tiny skates.

“Yeah!” He kicks his little feet and I grasp a heel, so I don’t get a blade in the face as I chuckle.

“And what do you say?” She lays on the Mom-tone.

“Thank you!” His little dimpled cheeks are red, and he desperately needs a tissue for his nose, but the little man looks so happy. It reminds me of the first time my Dad taught me to skate.

“You’re welcome buddy. Tell you what, if you and your Mom come back to free skate, have your Mom text me and I’ll try to meet you here, ok?” He claps his hands as Katie tries to protest but I recite my digits for her anyway and she hastily adds them to her phone. “Are these his first skates?” I ask. “Or did you rent them from the shop?”

“These are his first skates. He got them from Santa for Christmas,” she tells me.

“Got a pen?” I ask her. I’ve been asked for autographs from hockey groupies before. I’ve never signed anything, seems kind of strange to me since it’s just the school team, but there are hockey fanatics out there who follow college teams as much as pro teams. She digs in her purse and hands it to me. I sign the sides of Devin’s skates and put my jersey number next to my name. He stares, wide-eyed again and then hugs them to his chest when I hand them back.

“Thank you!” he shouts again as he stands and begins jumping up and down. I rise as Katie thanks me profusely and tell her it’s no problem.

That’s when I see Sam come through the door from the spectator stands and approach us.

“Oh, hey Sam, what’s up?” I ask.

“Just picking up Katie and Devin here.” he says. I get confused, then a heavy feeling sinks into my stomach. I wonder if…but before I can finish the thought he turns to Katie.

“Car is out front and unlocked, go ahead and get Devin here settled into his car seat.” Katie nods and ushers to Devin who waves at us as he walks out. I turn back to Sam, trying to figure out how to ask the question weighing in my mind. He snaps me back to attention when he says, “I got here early to pick them up. They only have one car and with Jake out of town on business, well...I saw what you did. That was a really nice thing you did for my nephew, Devin.”