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

Levi.

Grace listened attentively as Tripp described the smoothie he’d made for breakfast. He was going into way too much detail, including the brand of muesli he’d used. We were in the kitchen, eating dinner. It was takeout. None of us had been assed cooking. Grace had picked it up on her way over. I’d coerced her into staying over almost every night this week. If I couldn’t lure her with my comfy bed, dirty talk tended to do the trick. I’d been doing it all day. Now I was as horny as they came and ready to get her upstairs. But I couldn’t do that just yet. No. Apparently I needed to share Grace with the guys. Tripp’s words. She had less than four mouthfuls left of her dinner. After that, time was up. When she set down her fork to question Tripp about the yoghurt he’d used, I groaned. So did Ryan.

“You’re putting me to sleep,” he grumbled. “Let’s talk about me.”

Will snickered. “What about you?”

“The girl I hooked up with last weekend hasn’t stopped messaging me. She wants round two on the couch.”

“Then go round two?”

“Nah. Because then she’ll want round three and round four and–”

I interjected. “We see where this is going.”

“Should’ve done Levi’s trick,” Tripp suggested.

Grace arched an eyebrow. “Which is?”

“Never give out your number, only get theirs. Makes it easier to dodge the crazies.”

If Tripp wanted me to spend more time with Grace outside my bedroom, he wasn’t going the right way about it. The prick loved throwing me under the bus. I checked for Grace’s reaction, expecting her to get annoyed. Instead, she laughed in disbelief before shaking her head. She was always level-headed, never overreacting or making a fool of herself. I was trying to take a leaf out of her book. I’d made sure I didn’t react when I got a message from Summer telling me Grace had seemed friendly with Ryker in the gym. And again when Grace mentioned she was going to his game. I trusted Grace. I trusted Grace. I trusted Grace. One more time for the little voice in the back of my mind. I trusted Grace. That didn’t mean I shouldn’t be worried. What was Ryker doing? Laying the grounds? Staying close enough in the background to swoop in if we ended things? That wasn’t going to happen. He was wasting his time. Grace walked her plate to the sink.

“What time is your bus leaving tomorrow arvo?” she questioned.

All four of us stopped eating, gaping at Grace.

“Arvo?” Tripp asked, one eyebrow arched.

Grace rolled her eyes. “Afternoon. Whatever.”

I stared at her, amused. I was so used to her accent now, that sometimes I forgot she was from the other side of the world.

“Take a seat, Hughesy,” Ryan said, pushing her back into a barstool. “This is going to make for great content.”

He readied his phone. Grace shook her head.

“Drunken video, remember?”

“Yeah, that’s not gonna hold. I have dirt on your boyfriend. If you don’t comply, I take him down.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What kind of dirt?”

“A lot. Including a photo of him passed out naked on the kitchen floor.”

Her gaze cut to me, a smirk playing on her lips. Yeah, not one of my finest moments. It’d been after a night at Lastlings. The boys had snuck a shot of vodka into every beer they bought me. Assholes.

“Fine,” Grace obliged. “But only if I get to see the photo of Levi.”

Ryan nodded. “Deal.”

“Here,” Will said, handing Ryan a list he’d pulled up on his phone, and taking Ryan’s to film. “Use these.”

Ryan read the title out loud. “Words Australians have changed.”

Grace groaned. “Here we go.”

“If you were going to get alcohol, you’d be going to the. . .”

“Bottle-O,” she answered.

“The what?” I asked.

Grace shrugged, defeated.

“And if you needed gas, you’d go to the. . .”

“Servo. And it’s petrol. Not gas.”

“Rather than grill, you. . .”

“Cook on a barbecue. And for the record, Australians don’t just,” she purposely thickened her accent, “chuck another shrimp on the barbie. We barbecue snags and eat them with bread, sauce and onion.”

“Snags?”

“Sausages. Or you can snag something. Like I snagged Levi.”

She smiled at me. I winked back.

“What do you call swimsuits?”

“Bathers. Toggs. Depends on who you ask.”

“And flip flops?”

“Thongs.”

“What?” Tripp gawked.

“Don’t Australians use the C word as a compliment?” Will asked.

“Kinda,” Grace said. “If you’re just a C, you’re a wanker. But if you’re a sick C or a mad C, it’s a compliment.”

“And a wanker is?” Will pressed.

I had an idea. Grace seemed to read my mind.

“Not what you’re thinking, Holloway.”

Okay. Maybe I was just toey.

“What’s an esky?” Tripp asked.

“A cooler.”

“Devo?”

“Devastated. Here. I’ll use it in a sentence. I’m really devo to be playing this game,” Grace deadpanned.

“Too bad,” Ryan said, checking over Will’s shoulder. “I’m raking in the likes.”

“You’re live?” I gawked.

“Shit yeah. Will, read out some comments.”

I offered Grace a sympathetic look. My friends were hectic. Or as Grace sometimes said, heckers.

“Someone wants to know what trackies are?” Will asked.

“Sweatpants.”

“How do you say spaghetti bolognaise?”

“Spag bog. Or bol. That one’s up for debate.”

“Do you shorten everything?” Tripp asked.

“Defs,” she winked.

“Yeah, nah?”

“Means no. Nah, yeah means yes.”

“Why not just say yes or no?” Will challenged.

“Yeah, nah. Probs not.”

“Ten more questions,” I told them.

I’d invited Grace over to spend time with me. In bed. Not get dragged into one of Ryan’s live videos.

“Why do you say bloody so much?” Will questioned.

“It’s like an emphasis,” Grace explained. “If something’s good, it’s just good. But if it’s bloody good, it’s great.”

“How would you describe Levi in bed?” Ryan questioned.

Grace laughed. “Fair dinkum. Levi’s a bloody ripper in the sheets.”

I think that was a good reference. And if I had my way, I would be proving that to her right now.

“That counts as one of your questions,” I told Ryan.

“Goon?” Tripp posed.

“Cheap wine usually sold in cartons. We take the goon sack out of the box, peg it to a hills hoist and play goon of fortune,” Grace shook her head, giggling. “Man, Aussies are bogan.”

“I have no idea what hills hoist, goon of fortune or bogan is,” Tripp said in disbelief.

“Google it.”

“Piece of piss?”

“Something that’s easy. Like, scoring a goal in ice hockey is a piece of piss.”

“Hockey,” we all corrected.

Grace smirked. She’d baited us on purpose.

“Bee’s knees?” Tripp asked next.

“The cat’s pyjamas. The best. I’m the bee’s knees.”

Agreed.

“Acca Dacca?”

“ACDC.”

Will frowned at her. “That’s not even shortened.”

Grace shrugged.

“No wukkas?” Tripp posed.

“No worries.”

“Straya?”

“Australia.”

“Two left,” I counted.

“Ute?”

“A truck. Like what Will drives.”

“Final one,” Ryan said. “Make it a goodie.”

“What does hard yakka mean?” Tripp questioned.

“Hard work. Like, this convo has been hard yakka.”

Will shook his head in disbelief. I was just at a loss as he was. I’d never heard of half of those terms. I’d thought I’d made progress on things Grace said, but there was clearly a long way to go.

“I feel like we barely scratched the surface,” Tripp said.

Ryan nodded his agreement. “Maybe we’ll make it regular content.”

Grace opened her mouth to argue, but Ryan spoke over her.

“Nude pic of your boyfriend as blackmail, remember?”

She grumbled.

“Ugh, you’re still live there,” Will quipped. “Now all the comments are about Levi’s dick.”

Great. I rounded the bench, lifting Grace out of her seat and guiding her towards the stairs.

“Good night fuck faces,” I called out.