What Are The Odds?: A college hockey romance. (Phil-U Book 1)
What Are The Odds?: Chapter 8

Levi

Grace picked up several mangoes before settling on one and placing it in the basket I was holding. She was dressed in frayed blue jeans, black Vans and an oversized sweater. There wasn’t an ounce of makeup on her face and her long hair was tied up in a messy ponytail. She hadn’t made any effort before coming around today. Proof she wasn’t interested in Ryker or me. Though despite her casualness, eyes still cast her way as we walked among the aisles. Grace was a head turner, whether she was trying or not. She stopped beside the M&Ms, studying them before taking out her phone and snapping a photo of the crispy flavour.

“My brothers will flip. Back home, these are in a blue bag.”

“How many brothers do you have?”

“Two,” she answered. “Seth and Dylan. Both older.” She continued walking. “Do you have any siblings?”

“A younger sister.”

So, the back-to-back calls had come from a brother. Not a boyfriend. That simplified things.

*

When we arrived back home, I stepped to the side, holding the front door open for Grace. Her wide eyes took in our modern townhouse. It was spotless. Ryan was a neat freak. The clean up after we hosted gatherings or parties was never too bad because he generally did the majority. I walked straight to the kitchen, setting down the ingredients on the counter.

Grace looked around. “Have you got a blender?”

“Yeah. Hold up.”

I rummaged through the cabinet above the fridge, moving aside countless tubs of protein. When I turned back Grace had already sourced a chopping board and knife. She sliced the mango, then began separating it from the skin. I reached into my pocket when my phone went off. There was another message from Ryker.

“Ryker isn’t going to make it,” I told Grace. “He’s got to stay back.”

“Oh.” Her hand stilled, the point of the knife sinking into the chopping board. “We can do this another time then.”

Not a chance in hell. This was a win in my eyes. An evening with Grace without Ryker around. I could have this bet locked in within the next hour. Ryker had missed the fact Grace hadn’t noted the time difference. He clearly didn’t realise she was already here. If he did, he sure as heck wouldn’t have just bailed. His mistake. Shrugging, I slipped my phone back, hoping I conveyed the right amount of casualness.

“You’re already here. Seems pointless not to make the most of it.”

I moved beside Grace, leaning on the bench whilst she added the remaining ingredients to the blender. I’ll admit, whatever she was making smelt fucking delicious. The kind of drink you’d sip poolside. Here’s hoping Tripp would accept this as replacement for ice cream. Speak of the devil. Footsteps thundered on the stairs and a moment later he appeared in the kitchen.

“Why the hell is the blender–”

The sight of Grace side tracked him. In a split-second he transitioned from a pain in the ass who’d been complaining all day about how sore he was, to perky as all hell. He rested his elbows on the bench, amused eyes focussing on Grace.

“Who have we got here?”

“Grace, this is Tripp O’Connor,” I introduced.

“And Grace is?”

He let the question hover. Grace filled in the gap.

“Here to work on a group assignment. And make you a smoothie apparently.”

She flipped the top off the blender then poured the contents into a glass. After sliding it to Tripp, she drummed her fingers on the island.

“Give it a whirl.”

She patiently watched Tripp as he brought the glass to his lips and sipped. He let out an appreciative groan, one I’d heard coming through our shared bedroom wall before.

“Best smoothie I’ve ever had.”

That seemed like an exaggeration the flirt. I stole the glass from him and took a sip. Well, fuck me. He wasn’t lying. This smoothie was fucking delicious. Now I wish I’d paid more attention to the ingredients. The smoothies our dietician gave us never tasted this good. If they did, maybe I’d actually heed his advice and work a few more into my diet.

“Should we start this game?” Grace suggested.

Tripp’s ears perked. “Game?”

“Australian football,” I explained. “It’s part of our assignment.”

Tripp whistled. “Some assignment.”

Tripp followed us into the living room. Now Grace was here, I doubt I’d be able to shake him. Grace craned her head to look up at the TV.

“Wow. That’s big.”

Smirking, Tripp reached for the remote. “We like big things in this house.”

Grace laughed. Though it was certainly at him, not with him. She sat on the couch.

“What’s your WiFi password?” she asked.

“Youwontguessthis69,” Tripp answered. He winked at Grace. “Case sensitive.”

All the WiFi names loaded onto her phone screen. There were the standard ones that came with your modem, followed by ours. She didn’t even need to ask.

“Pussy Palace I’m guessing.”

It hadn’t seemed funny at the time when Ryan set it up, and it was especially not funny right now.

“Why is your phone on airplane mode?” I asked, deflecting.

“I haven’t gotten around to getting an American sim yet.” She kicked off her shoes, then propped her feet on the coffee table. “I used my friend’s phone to message you and Ryker.”

Hence why she hadn’t got the change of plans today.

“So you walk around with a phone you can’t use?”

Grace shrugged. “There’s WiFi, like, everywhere on campus.”

The moment Grace’s phone connected to our internet, it started going manic with alerts. She ignored them all and found the video she was looking for. After a bit more set up, including connecting to our tv with – thankfully – a normal name, the football overtook the large screen. The oval the game was being played on was huge. So was the stadium. To be honest, it was a lot grander than I was expecting.

“This is one of last year’s Showdowns,” Grace explained. “It’s South Australia’s two home teams. They have a huge rivalry.”

One team, Adelaide, were wearing red, yellow and blue uniforms. The other, Port Adelaide, were wearing teal, white and black. I propped my feet beside Grace’s.

“Are you from South Australia?” I guessed.

She nodded.

“Which team do you go for?”

“It’s too easy if I tell you. You’ve got to pick your own.” She held my gaze for a moment, her blue eyes narrowing in challenge. “Just don’t choose wrong.”

I’d never liked teams in teal. That’d been the main colour of my high school rivals.

“I’m backing Adelaide,” I said.

Grace’s lip quirked, but I couldn’t tell whether that was because I’d picked the right team or struck out.

Tripp sat down on Grace’s other side. “I guess I’ll go for the other guys. What do I get if they win?”

“What do you want?” Grace asked.

That was a loaded question. And a dangerous one too. Before Tripp could say something absurd, I stole the conversation back.

“We have a countdown to puck drop. What’s the equivalent in this?”

“First bounce.”

“Bounce?”

Nodding, Grace fast-forwarded all the pregame commentary. She stopped when the players were ambling onto the field. Some shook their opponents’ hands, others began shouldering each other, and some players jumped around, shaking off the pregame jitters. A man dressed in a bright yellow polo, matching knee-high-socks and grey shorts stood between two players with a ball. I assumed this was the ref. Just as I prepared for him to throw the ball into the air, he slammed it into the ground.

“What the fuck?” Tripp gawked.

It’s like he’d taken the words out of my mouth. The ball bounced high. Two players jumped for it, the Adelaide player getting his hand slightly higher. The player who secured the ball from the scrimmage took off. The Australian commentators talked at a rapid speed, saying names and things that meant absolutely nothing to me. They may as well have been speaking a different language. The crowd erupted as a player dropped the ball to his foot, firing at the goals. It was a huge kick. Impressive as hell. No way would I be able to make that distance. Though rather than cheer when the ball sailed between two white poles, the crowd sighed.

“I’m confused,” I admitted.

“It was a behind,” Grace explained. “It’s only a goal when the ball is kicked between the two middle posts. Anything else, like handballing or punching the ball through the goals, is considered a point.”

“Right. How much is a goal worth then?”

“Six points.”

“What about if a player kicks the ball into the poles?” Tripp questioned.

“It’s a behind if it hits either of the middle posts, and out on the full if it hits either of the outer posts.”

“Which means?”

“No score. The other team gets possession and kicks it back in.”

I considered myself a sports guy, but it was hard wrapping my head around these rules. Port Adelaide sailed the ball towards the opposite end. Between kicking, handballing – as Grace called it – and running, it got there quickly. A player kicked it towards their goal. It sailed through the two middle posts.

“Hell yeah,” Tripp cheered. His face fell when another ref tapped his arm and the scoreboard only went up by one point. “What the hell?”

“It was touched,” Grace said. “The Crows defender got a hand to it in the goal square.”

“Crows?”

“Sorry. Adelaide Crows and Port Adelaide Power.”

The game didn’t get any simpler. Though despite having to ask Grace question after question, I was enjoying watching it. Tripp was too. He hadn’t complained about being in pain once. And the smoothie was long gone. Halfway through the second quarter, Will and Ryan got home. Their conversation died off when they caught sight of the screen, and again when spotting Grace sitting between Tripp and me.

“Will Caufield and Ryan Murphy,” I introduced, keeping it quick.

I was invested in the game. Adelaide had the ball in their fifty. And by that I meant within fifty-metres – not yards – of their goal.

“Hi,” Grace smiled. “I’m Grace Hughes. How many of you live here?”

“That’s it now,” Tripp answered.

“Holy shit,” Ryan gasped. “What is this game? There were just, like, five drop punts.”

“Kinda the point, champ,” Tripp mocked. “Keep up.”

Ryan sat on the arm of the couch. He hadn’t even put his backpack down yet. We all gasped when an Adelaide player was tackled. It looked fucking brutal. But he got up without complaint and kept fighting for the ball that’d come loose. The players didn’t wear any safety gear, which was mind blowing to me. No padding. No helmets. Nothing.

“How far do these guys run?” Will asked.

“On average, around 12-14 kilometres,” Grace answered.

“Which is?”

Tripp clicked his fingers. “Already got the converter up.” He punched the numbers into his phone. “Seven to eight-and-a-half-ish miles.”

By the time the halftime break rolled around, both Will and Ryan had gotten comfortable. We were clearly all here to stay. Grace’s mouth must’ve been dry by now. She was having to answer questions coming from all four of us.

“Are you hungry?” I asked.

She thought for a moment. “I could eat.”

“How long is the halftime break?”

Not that it mattered. The game wasn’t live. But it was a good segue.

“Twenty minutes.”

“Sweet.” I leant forward and began pulling on my shoes. “Let’s go grab something. What do you feel like? If you’re thinking classic American take out, you’ve got Five Guys, Shake Shack, Taco Bell.”

“Chick-fil-A,” Ryan added.

“Unless you’re after something healthier. There’s–”

“No thanks,” Grace interjected. “Let’s go with Taco Bell. It’s the only one I’ve heard of.”

Tripp groaned. “Not fair. I’m starving.”

Grace playfully tapped his chest. “I can make you another smoothie when we get back.”

I pulled up my notes app to write down Ryan and Will’s orders, then ushered Grace outside. Ryan had pulled in behind me, boxing my car in. I gestured to Grace’s car.

“All good if we take yours?”

She looked a bit anxious. “Okay. But just be warned, I’m still getting used to driving here.”

“As long as you don’t kill me, we won’t have a problem.”

Grace’s car was as girly as they came. It was a bright green hatchback. I hadn’t pegged her for the cute-car-type. I slid the seat all the way back before climbing in. Cars like this weren’t designed for guys like me. My eyes widened in surprise when I closed the door. The air freshener was so sweet, I practically had an instant headache.

“The car isn’t mine,” Grace said, as if reading my mind. “It belongs to my friend. As heckers as it is, it’s not worth buying one of my own.”

“Heckers?”

“Oh.” She blushed. “Must be an Australian thing.”

The moment she started the car, loud music blasted. Hurriedly Grace reached forward, turning it down.

“Does it go any louder?” I mocked.

She shrugged, nonchalantly. “Music should always be loud enough that you can’t hear yourself singing.”

“You like music?”

“Big time.”

“What type?”

The song playing now wasn’t one I’d heard before. I didn’t even recognise the band name on the screen.

“Australian Indie,” I suppose. “You know, like Spacey Jane. Ball Park Music. Ocean Alley. Skeggs.”

She pulled away from the curb and followed my instructions to drive straight.

“I haven’t heard of any of those bands,” I told her.

“Disappointing but not surprising.” The corners of her lips turned up. “Don’t worry, Holloway. While I’m here I can give you a music education.”

I tried to gage whether she was being flirtatious or not. Usually with girls it was easy to tell. Maybe that was because, more often than not, it was. As egotistical as it sounded, I’d always been able to get any girl I wanted. Put it down to being six-foot-three and good at sport. Dumb, I know. But a reality, nonetheless. Grace was just as outgoing as the girls I was able to read. But she wasn’t saying things to impress me or turn me on. She was just being her. I kind of liked that.

“How long is your exchange?”

Some students only did a semester.

“The full school year. I’ll head home after graduation.” She slowed at an intersection. “Do I have to give way to that car or are they waiting for me?”

“You’re good to go.”

She accelerated, albeit slowly. I gave her a few more directions until we were pulling into the Taco Bell drive through. I handed Grace my phone so she could read Will and Ryan’s orders into the speaker. When they asked what she was after, she pulled her lip between her teeth and frantically scanned the board.

“You go first,” she told me.

After rattling off my order and Grace deciding she wanted exactly the same, she drove to the next window. As she was handing me back my phone, a message from Veronica came through. There wasn’t much to it. Just the word tonight followed by a question mark. Grace arched an eyebrow.

“Girlfriend?”

Shaking my head, I slipped my phone back in my pocket. “I don’t do girlfriends.”

“The captain of the ice hockey team doesn’t do girlfriends?” she mocked. “How surprising.”