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We ended up at the Watering Hole the other night because it’s safe, but Tristan and Dallas showed up, and then it became an everyone night out. It was the first time we’d been out with the crew since Hollis took me on the date and I decided to give us an honest shot. No one made a big deal of it. I hadn’t realized how hard it was to keep this from the people we care about until we didn’t have to anymore. Having Hollis casually put his arm around my shoulder and kiss my temple was freeing in the way I’ve always known it would be.
The hugs good night are long, and the forehead kisses are sweet. But not giving in to the chemistry is wearing me down. Hollis has set a clear boundary about getting physical again until I’m ready to commit to being his girlfriend. My head is ready—and my lady bits too—but my heart is still bruised and nervous.
He heals it a little more every day with his thoughtfulness, though. He’s taken to bringing me treats and gifts. Sometimes it’s as simple as a snack from my favorite bakery, or a bag of those horrible but delicious marshmallow bananas. My favorite gift so far, though, is the Terror hoodie that reads Hollis’s Girl across the shoulders. I wore it to my final exam, which I’ve just handed in.
I’m meeting Rix, Tally, Hemi, Dred, and Shilpa at the Watering Hole this evening to celebrate my freedom from university life. Next week, Hemi’s assistant PR director posting goes up, and I’m obviously applying.
I’m about to send the girls a message when I notice I have new ones from Hollis, asking if I’ve finished my exam.
Aurora
All done!
I step outside and shiver at the cool spring breeze. We’re in that weird time of year where Canada can’t decide if she’s hot or cold yet. I pause to fish my hoodie out of my crossbody bag.
“Hey! Aurora!” Jameson calls as he approaches. “How’d the exam go?”
“Good. How about you?” I shoulder my bag.
He was still finishing up when I handed mine in. I stopped at the bathroom before I left the building, though.
“Same. I think I nailed the essay question.”
I fall into step with him as we round the corner of the building. A parking lot separates us from the quad and the campus pub. I frown when I notice a horde of students gathered in one corner of the lot. “What the heck is going on over there?”
“Maybe a fender bender?” Jameson says.
As we get closer, I recognize the car. How could I not? I’ve been in the passenger seat recently. It’s also a custom shade of blue that stands out. “Oh my God, what the hell is he thinking?” Hollis is ostentatious about two things: his hoodie collection and his car.
As we get closer, I note that most of the excited horde are wearing various Toronto Terror clothing items, like hoodies and ball caps. A few even have patches on their backpacks. It’s a cool logo, so it’s understandable.
“What the hell was who thinking?” Jameson asks.
“Hollis.” I don’t know whether to roll my eyes or laugh. “I need to save him.”
How would Hemi handle this? We’ve been out with the team before when one of the guys ended up swarmed by excited fans. She always steps in, and most of the time she gives the fans a minute to take a picture and get something signed before sending them on their merry way. This is a sizable group, though, which means it’ll take more than a few minutes. Hollis can handle signing hats, but he gets antsy when there’s no crowd control. Which is where I come in. “You want to help me manage this situation?” I ask Jameson. “There are playoff tickets in it for you.” I don’t have the authority to do that, but Hollis does. And I’ve learned recently that he’ll do just about anything to make me happy.
“Are you serious?” Jameson looks like he’s going to pee his pants.
“Absolutely.”
“What do you need me to do?”
“Calm this crowd.”
A group of screaming girls—judging from the look of them, probably first years—try to push their way to the front.
I channel my inner Hemi as I approach the group, whistling shrilly. “Everyone, please take three steps back,” I shout. “Move aside, please,” I tell the girls who are freaking out.
“It’s somebody famous!” one of them gushes.
“Do you watch hockey?” I ask.
She wrinkles her nose. “Um, no?”
“He’s a hockey player.”
“Oh.” That gets rid of four girls and allows me room to slip through a gap in the crowd.
