When Hendrix had asked me if I was interested in going for breakfast I had assumed he meant a diner close by. Instead he navigated his truck through a quiet pocket of homes on the outer border of the university's campus. Country music hummed in the background as he drove. The fresh scent of his body wash filled the cab. It was clean and spicy all at the same time. I inhaled, thankful that he wasn't one of those guys who waited until they got home after practice to shower.

The truck came to a rolling stop outside of a quaint townhouse. The stone exterior resembled the grey winter sky. It looked identical to the other houses on the street, but the black garage door and window casings made the place much more modern. It wasn't flashy or extravagant, but something told me that it were worth a pretty penny. Hendrix threw his truck into park by the curb, giving me the opportunity to inspect the two story home.

"Is this...?" I started, still staring out my window.

Hendrix's deep voice rumbled from the seat next to me. "Welcome to the Hockey House."

The infamous Hockey House. I had heard so much about this place from other girls in the sorority. It was the location for some of the biggest off-campus parties. Olivia had told me tales of endless kegs, alpacas, and drunk guys peeing into gutairs. It was ultimate college party experience. But because of my deep distain for hockey players, I hadn't let her drag me to one.

"I hope that you don't mind that I brought you here. I usually make the guys breakfast after practice," he said when I didn't move.

I tore my gaze from the tall staircase that led to the front porch. "No, that's okay. I can't say I ever had a hockey player cook me breakfast before."

"Well, allow me to be the first," Hendrix grinned, cutting the ignition. "Come on."

I pressed the passenger side door open to follow Hendrix up the empty driveway and towards the front door. The wrought iron railing was frigid under my fingertips as we climbed the steps. Hendrix paused on the porch, fixing his hockey bag on his shoulder. His keys jingled as he searched for the one that belonged to the front door. When it swung open the heat from inside greeted me. I stepped in after him, peeling off my boots.

"I'm just going to go air this out in the garage," he said, gesturing to the oversized bag. "I'll meet you in the kitchen. It's just down the hall, to the right."

Before I could reply Hendrix's large frame was moving towards the only other door in the foyer. I followed his direction, padding my way to the end of the hallway. The kitchen of the Hockey House was more grand than I had anticipated. Maybe it was the high ceiling, or the marble countertops and gigantic breakfast bar, but this place did not scream college living. The sorority house for Zeta Tay Alpha wasn't even this nice.

As I settled into a stool at the island, Hendrix made his way into the room. He ran his long fingers through his still-damp dirty blonde hair. The Fenton hoodie he had been wearing was gone, a black t-shirt in its place. It paired well with the grey sweatpants that hung low on his hips. I tore my eyes away as he moved to the sink on the other side of the breakfast bar.

Hendrix gave his hands a quick wash in the sink. Once he had dried them, he threw the teatowel over his shoulder. If I didn't know any better I'd think he was in culinary school and not a goalie on one of the best college hockey teams in the country.

"Alright, let's get started," he stated, opening the french doors of the stainless steel fridge and pulling out one of the many stacked cartons of eggs.

"How many eggs do you guys go through in a week?" I asked with wide eyes.

Hendrix chuckled. "Enough that it would be worth it for us to have our own chicken coop. If Easton wasn't petrified of birds we'd probably have one by now."

I nodded as Hendrix cracked an egg, separating the yolk into a bowl with ease. He tossed the shells into the open garbage container under the sink. I observed in wonder as he moved around the space, pulling out a couple different sized pans and ingredients.

A faint smile played on my lips. "Someone seems comfortable in the kitchen."

Hendrix reached into the drawer in front of him, taking a moment to make eye contact with me. "Back home I grew up helping my dad out around the kitchen. But I guess moving in here helped test my limits a little bit."

"None of the other guys can cook?"

"Not unless you want burnt bread and cheese," Hendrix grinned. His forearms flexed as he beat the egg yolks. "In all seriousness, Easton knows his way around the kitchen, but Maverick and Booker would probably starve if take-out wasn't a thing."

I tucked some hair behind my ear, flashing him an embarrassed smile. "I'd probably starve with them. I'm not much of a cook. My mom works a lot so she would always end up just bringing dinner home. I practically failed out of home ec."

Hendrix breathed out a laugh as made his way over to the stainless steel fridge. "Well, I can show you a few things if you're interested. Cooking doesn't have to be complicated."

Leaning my forearms onto the counter I murmured, "That would be nice."

Slicing through a lemon, he added the juice and some dijon mustard to the bowl. "You said your mom works a lot. Do you have any siblings that kept you company?"

"None that live with me. I have a couple of step-sisters, but they moved out west years ago with my dad and his new wife. I rarely see them anymore."

Hendrix nodded, adding some seasoning. "I didn't have anyone to grow up with either. I do have a brother, but he's eleven years older than me. We've just always been at different stages of our lives."

"Wow," I said, eyebrows reaching for my hairline. "Eleven years is quite the age gap."

"It was rough when he started going out to parties and I couldn't tag along with him."

I offered up a teasing smile. "You mean you didn't spend his weekends going to rodeos?"

"Occasionally," he replied with a grin. "We're both pretty big into the bar scene. Especially if there's live music."

Hendrix was back at the fridge again, pulling out a block of butter and adding it to a small saucepan. The gas stove came to life as he turned a knob, flames flicking up from the range. He turned the heat down low before settling against the island. His posture mimicked mine as he leaned against the counter.

"Do you play any instruments?" I wondered. "I feel like it's customary for every cowboy to know how to play the guitar."

A subdued chuckle rattled through him and pride bloomed in my chest. I loved that I could make him smile like that. Hendrix had the perfect smile. His teeth were pin straight and whiter than the snow outside. He would make any dentist proud.

"As dishonourable as it is... I can't play anything."

I brought an open hand to my mouth, fingertips brushing my lips as I gasped. "Say it ain't so."

"I'm a phoney, I know." Hendrix's eyes gleamed in my direction. "My brother can play the guitar, but I was so busy with hockey growing up I didn't have much time for anything else."

If I had learned anything about men in sports, it was that their lives revolved around the game. Hockey came first for Liam. Always. It didn't matter if he was missing a family member's birthday party or a funeral. He was committed to his team and he would be there no matter what. When we started dating I admired that about him. His focus and drive were unmatched.

It wasn't until a couple of years into our relationship that I realized that his commitment to the game didn't translate to our relationship. While he was there for his team every waking moment of the day, he couldn't do the same for me. Not even when I had to be rushed to the hospital during Christmas break because my appendix was bursting. He ended up visiting me two days later–after he was finished with hockey practice.

16 -year-old me thought that was normal. Of course he couldn't miss hockey practice to visit me after being admitted for a life-saving surgery. Hockey came first and I didn't want to get in the way of his dreams of playing professionally.

The smile on my face wobbled. I cleared my throat, fixing a brighter one. "Hockey must mean a lot to you."

"It's a pretty big part of my life. I mean, I'm only at Fenton because of a hockey scholarship. And when I'm not playing or studying I'm working at a hockey school not too far from here." Hendrix went over to the stove, swirling the melted butter. "Did you want to lend me a hand?"

"Sure," I replied as I slipped off the stool. "What do you need?"

He met me by the island, placing the hot sauce pan down on a wooden butcher block. "You're going to pour this melted butter into the bowl while I whisk. This is going to be the hollandaise sauce."

My mouth began to water at the mention of food. I gave him a confident nod. "I think I can manage that."

We switched sides, Hendrix's hand brushing my lower back as he stepped around me. "Make sure it's a slow, steady stream. If you pour too fast it can split the sauce or cook the eggs."

"Way to lay on the pressure," I muttered as I grabbed the handle.

Hendrix grinned down at me as he moved the bowl closer. "I have faith. Ready?" He was already whisking by the time I began pouring the steaming liquid. "That's perfect, keep going."

I bit down on my bottom lip, trying to keep my hand steady as he whipped the sauce around. The orange yolks soon morphed into a glossy light, almost pastel, yellow.

Hendrix held out the top of the whisk to me. "You're my sous chef this morning. Give it a taste and tell me what you think."

Taking my finger, I slid it across the metal and captured some sauce on the tip before putting it in my mouth. An explosion of flavour erupted on my taste buds and I allowed an appreciative sound to escape.

"That's really good," I murmured.

Hendrix's throat bobbed, ocean blue eyes trained on my lips. A wave of heat coursed over my body under his gaze. He snapped his head away, setting the bowl aside before stepping around me and returning to the fridge.

He cleared his throat. "Do you think I can put you in charge of toasting the english muffins? You won't burn them, will you?"

The tone of his voice was back to being playful. I sent him a teasing glare over my shoulder. "I can handle a toaster."

"Good." He flashed me another one of his pretty grins. "So you're not as hopeless in the kitchen as you thought."

Hendrix placed multiple pans on the stove, and within minutes the Hockey House smelt like a dinner in the midst of their breakfast rush. I had retired back to my stool by that point, waiting for him to give me the go ahead to start toasting. A comfortable silence had settled over us as he worked. I enjoyed seeing him move around the kitchen. He appeared so confident–similar to how he was in net.

"What are you making?" I asked as he chopped up some potatoes he had boiling.

"I figured I'd include a side of breakfast hash." With the tip of his knife he gestured to the chopped onions and red peppers he had sitting off to the side. "Booker has this thing about having potatoes with every meal."

"Potatoes?"

"Something about the carbohydrates and the starches... I don't know. I don't try to understand it."

We both laughed at that. "The other guys in the house are probably very happy they have you around."

Hendrix returned his focus back to the cutting board. "We've got a good thing going on. Sure, I do most of the house work but the other guys have their own things they bring to the table. Honestly, I don't think I'd be as happy if I lived anywhere else on campus."

"It must be nice living with a group of friends," I said, resting my head in my palm. "I know how much of a difference it can make to live with people you actually like."

"It's huge. They're a great group of guys and the location is optimal. We split the grocery bill, but otherwise, it costs us next to nothing to live here."

"Oh, was this part of the conditions of your scholarship?"

"No, Booker's dad bought the place back when he got accepted to Fenton. When I met Booker during a summer training camp we hit it off and he asked me if I would be interested in being roommates. We've been living here together ever since."

"So how long is that? Four years?"

"Three," Hendrix corrected. "I'm a senior. Booker's a junior."

"What's your major?"

"Education."

I tilted my head, my mind processing the new information. "I would have never guessed that."

"No?" Hendrix mused. "Are you telling me I don't look like the teacher type?"

"Gym teacher, maybe."

Hendrix's broad shoulders fought against the material of his t-shirt. The t-shirt he was wearing give me a great view of his thick chest and biceps. I might have paid more attention in my lectures if my professors looked anything like him.

"I'm aiming for history, but I'll take phys-ed."

"History, huh?" This man was full of surprises.

"I've had an interest in it since I was a kid," he said as he picked out the last potato from the pot. "The thought that there were whole civilizations before us that no longer exist is so cool to think about. If today's society would pay more attention to the failures of the past, maybe we wouldn't be repeating so many mistakes." He winced, regarding me for a brief moment before focusing on his task again. "Sorry, it's just something I think about."

A smile bloomed onto my face. "Don't apologize for it. I think you're onto something."

"How about you, what's your major?"

"I'm third year poli-sci with a focus in law and legal studies," I said, tracing a finger across the vaining of the marble countertop.

"And you were looking at me like I was a genius." Hendrix shook his head, making his way back over to the stove. "What do you want to do with that?"

"Eventually I'd like to go to law school and become an attorney. I grew up watching my mom be a boss ass business woman. I aspire to be like that."

Hendrix peeked over his shoulder at me. "I can see it. You seem like the type of woman who knows what she wants."

"I've had a lot of time to think about it." I took a sip of the coffee Hendrix had brewed for me earlier. It was no French vanilla, but it managed to hit the spot.

"Was that before or after Liam?" He asked, apprehensive as he flipped the sizzling bacon. "You don't have to talk about it, if you don't want to."

"No, it's fine," I replied, waving off his concern. "What happened with Liam was a long time ago. I'm over it."

Hendrix waited for me to gather my thoughts. It was uncharted territory to him, but I knew it was only fair that he knew the full story. He was helping me keep Liam subdued after all.

"Liam and I started dating in the ninth grade. We were inseparable from that point on. I was there for him; for every practice, every game. He was there when I needed a date to a party or a shoulder to cry on. We talked about our future together; how we were going to make things work when I was working as a high power attorney and he was playing in the NHL. After four years together I was sure he was the one I was going to turn grey with."

Hendrix was still half-paying attention to what he had cooking on the stove. He poked at the spinach he was sautéing with a wooden spoon, waiting for me to continue.

"It was the end of freshman year and I flew down to Texas to surprise him at college. We hadn't seen each other much besides winter break when we were both home for the holidays. He wasn't coming home just yet because he was staying back for a training camp. I, being the impatient one, decided that if he couldn't find the time to come see me then I would go and see him. Well, when I got to his dorm room I found his head between another girl's thighs. I took the next flight home to New York and haven't seen or spoken to him since. Until the other day."

From his place by the stove, Hendrix shook his head. His eyes hadn't left the spinach. "That's fucking shitty. I'm sorry you had to go through that."

I glanced down into the rich brown coffee that resided in my cup. "It's no big deal. Well, at the time it was. But it forced me to wake up from the daydream I was in."

Love like the kind I thought Liam and I had was reserved for fairytales. At the time I was too young and naive to see it. I should have known it was coming. I had witnessed it happen to my own parents. True love was the kind of thing that was sold to us. It didn't actually exist.

"But that was just the start of it," I said, wiggling a finger at him. Hendrix's full attention was on me. Blue eyes deep with concern. "A few weeks into sophomore year I was kicked out of my sorority and forced to find a new place to live. That's where I met my roommate, Cali, and learned who my real friends were. It was the most dramatic point in my life thus far, but that's a story for another time," I winked gesturing to the smoking pan in front of him. "I wouldn't want you to burn Booker's potatoes."

Hendrix's jumped when he turned his head back and noticed his potatoes beginning to char. He took hold of the handle and flipped the breakfast hash into the air. The crispy bits hit the pan with a clink.

To both of our relief they ended up being a dark golden brown instead of the charcoal black I was anticipating.

He swiped at his brow with the back of his hand after lowering the heat. An embarrassed grin broke out, his cheeks the slightest bit red. "Crisis averted."

I smiled into my coffee cup. "Good, college has been crazy enough without me having to witness a murder."

Hendrix's lips parted, ready to say something when the front door swung open.

"Honey," someone called from the foyer. "I'm home!"

– – – – –

author's note:

Hello to my favourite people!

Summer break is over and I'm back in the classroom. Things were fun while it lasted, but I'm happy to be back to work (I say that now. Ask me how much I'm enjoying it near report card season). The next little bit might be hectic while I try to get myself back on track so I appreciate your patience and understanding during these next few weeks. 

Thanks for being here. Happy reading!