Page 1 of Scoring a Sweet Thing

CHAPTER ONE

Remington

“What about that one?” Smitty asks, pointing to one of the marshmallows. I have a few options to pick from, but none of them are giving me the right vibe.

Choosing the wrong marshmallow can ruin my day, so it has to be right.

“I don’t know,” I say, heaving out a sigh.

Resting both hands on the countertop, I lean forward, hoping that if I get closer, one of them will talk to me. I assess each one carefully, putting a few unsuccessful contestants back into the glass jars I store them in, and soon, my selection is narrowed down to four. I bend at the waist and rest my chin on the back of my folded hands, making me eye level with them.

Come on, lil’ ’mallows. Who’s it gonna be today?

I can feel Smitty watching me, but I tune him out. I don’t need any distractions right now. He knows this is part of my daily ritual. We’ve been living together for close to two years. He’s used to me by this point.

“So, who’s that one?” he asks after a beat, pointing to the only remaining jumbo marshmallow.

“Barbara, but Babs for short,” I answer. “She has a hair salon off the Vegas strip, and she specializes in perms and those big poofy ’80s hairstyles.”

“Wow,” he breathes out, almost like he’s mystified.

I tilt my head toward him. His eyes are so wide I’m worried his eyeballs might fall out of his face.

“Dude, don’t be dropping your eyeballs in my marshmallows.”

Thankfully, his face returns to normal, and when I feel more relaxed that there’s not going to be any rogue eyeball incidents, I return my attention to the contenders.

Babs is the one giving me the biggest vibes right now. I think she’d be good for my morning hot chocolate. Big and fluffy. But then there’s also Shirley. She’s a twisty marshmallow in four different colors.

“Shirley because she’s twirly,” I murmur under my breath, but I don’t think the retired showgirl is the right one for my morning beverage. She deserves to be on the top of a whipped cream mountain. Maybe with some rainbow sprinkles too.

“We need to buy sprinkles on the way home,” I tell Smitty, because if I don’t tell him, I’ll probably forget, then be sad about it when it’s Shirley’s time to shine.

“Yeah, sure, whatever. But dude, I don’t wanna ruin your voodoo mojo marshmallow sacrifice, but we’ve gotta leave in, like, two minutes. Coach will have our asses if we’re late, and I don’t wanna hit the traffic.”

I roll my eyes. He knows this can’t be rushed, but I know we’re pressed for time. Practice waits for no one, and if we’re even one minute late, Coach Hanson will kick our butts, and I already had my ass handed to me last night when we lost to San Jose.

My pride is still stinging a little about it too.

“Okay, okay.” I stand back upright and pick up Babs. I give her a slight squeeze, testing her voluminousness. She has the perfect amount of pillowy squishiness for a jumbo marshmallow, and she will give me the sweet kick I need to start my day off right.

I drop her into my hot chocolate and watch as Babs floats around. Little chocolate bubbles cling to her as she begins to slowly dissolve. When she starts to sink, I bring the thermos to my lips and take a sip. The sweetness bursts on my tongue, and I let out a happy hum.

“Oh, yeah! That’s good!” I flash a wide smile at my roommate/teammate/best bro.

Smitty’s watching me with a weird expression on his face, like I’ve suddenly grown three heads.

“What?” I ask, twisting the lid onto my thermos, and then I let out a defeated sigh. “Do I have toothpaste on my face again?”

It wouldn’t be the first time, so I wipe my face with my palm just in case.

He shakes his head a few times and grabs the keys to his Jeep from the counter. “I’ve never met anyone like you before.”

“Aw, my dude!” I slap his shoulder with my free hand. “Are you hitting on me, Smitty? Because you know I love you, but not like that. I may be pan, but I draw the line at hockey bros.”

“No, I’m not hitting on you, dude,” he replies, a little too quickly for my liking.

I clutch my chest, as if his words have caused me physical pain. “Ouch, hurt my feelings, Smitty! I thought we were besties.”