Chapter 16 I'm dreaming of Ally again. I'm not in such a deep sleep I couldn't stop the dream if I wanted to...but I don't want to. Because my dreams are the only place I can admit to myself that I like Ally-that I want her, but I can't have her. In today's dream, I'm in the bathroom shaving like I was a few mornings ago. The bathroom door creaks open, but it's not Harry this time; it's Ally. I turn to look at her, and she saunters toward me, biting her bottom lip. She's not wearing her pajamas in my dream, but instead she's dressed in that insanely hot yellow bikini. Her body is out of this world...although that part isn't a dream, just a fact. Her toned figure is all I can think about since being in the hot tub with her. Dream-Ally walks toward me until her toes are nearly touching mine, then rises up on her tiptoes as she moves her hands to the ties on her hips, not breaking eye contact... A pounding on my door jolts me awake. And I realize (with disappointment) I'm alone in my bedroom and not in the bathroom with Ally. "Dude! Are you almost ready?" Penn yells from the other side. Instead of waiting for me to reply, he barges right in. "You're sleeping?" He's annoyed, his voice still raised. "What the puck, Noah, we were supposed to leave for our game ten minutes ago!" I blink rapidly and grab my phone from the nightstand. It's dead despite being plugged in to charge. I jump up, and Harry scoots out from under the covers at the commotion. Glancing behind the nightstand, I find my charging cord unplugged from the brick and the end completely chewed off. The brick still plugged into the outlet is covered in bite marks from tiny, sharp teeth. I glare at the beast sitting on my bed casually licking a paw without a care in the world. "Seriously?" I demand. Harry ignores me like the asshole he is. "Let's go!" Penn demands, and I spring into action. Rushing toward my closet, I throw on my game day suit. Thankfully I had my navy one freshly dry cleaned, and it was already laid out and ready to go. I get dressed in record speed, picking up my gym bag off the ground and checking its contents. "Where the hell's my lucky jersey?" I rummage around my bedroom, throwing the covers off my bed as I look for my Arlington University jersey. The one I wore during both Frozen Four championships that we won. I probably don't need to bring my lucky jersey to every game, but it brought me luck in college, and I hope it will bring me luck in the NHL. Am I just as superstitious as all the other hockey players out there? Probably. But at least I don't refuse to wash my game day socks or anything gross. Through my still slightly-sleepy haze, it dawns on me that I washed the jersey this morning and hung it to dry because Harry made himself at home on top of it, and the thing was covered in cat hair. I run to the bathroom to brush my teeth, add a swipe of deodorant, and check my hair in the mirror. It's not sticking up, so it's good enough. I'm out of breath as I sprint across the main area of the loft toward Fisher and Penn's rooms where there's a laundry room nestled beside their bathroom. The gym bag on my shoulder thwacks the door as I rush inside and then immediately stop in my tracks. The loud sound from the door startles Ally, and she glances over her shoulder with a small gasp, her lips parted in surprise. I try to swallow, but my throat won't work. Because Ally is standing in front of the washer and dryer. Wearing black spandex workout shorts and my burgundy and gold Arlington U jersey. Her hair is up in a claw clip, displaying my last name across her shoulders. Downsby. My last name. "You okay, Noah?" She asks, breaking my trance. I clear my throat. "Uh, you're wearing my jersey." "Oh, sorry!" She glances down, laughing to herself. "Didn't realize this was yours. I just grabbed whatever was hanging there." She points to the hanging rack loaded with an array of jerseys, hoodies, and sweatshirts belonging to us guys. She studies me for a moment before adding, "You guys keep it freezing cold in this loft. I finished with my workout and came in here to fold my laundry, and I threw it on so I wouldn't get frostbite." I blink. "Right. Well, I need it." My phone pings, then pings again, then again. Probably Penn or Fisher urging me to hurry. But I can't force my brain to function when this girl is wearing my damn jersey. "But it's not a Lions jersey?" She folds a shirt and places it neatly on top of a stack of other articles of clothing she's folded, before shrugging out of the sleeves that are much too long for her arms. She grabs the hem of my jersey and pulls it over her head-which does little to help my current state of mental confusion because underneath she's wearing a cropped tank top that matches her shorts, showing off the body straight out of my dreams. She holds it out to me, and I reach for it, the cloth warm from her body heat. "I know, but it's my lucky jersey." She arches an eyebrow, clearly amused. "Ahhh. Sorry if I messed with the lucky juju or whatever." Ally smirks and goes back to folding laundry like she didn't just alter my entire universe by wearing my name. "I'm sure it's fine; see you later," I manage to say before getting the hell out of there. She didn't mess with the juju of my lucky jersey, but she definitely messed with my head. I already know my dreams tonight will feature her wearing the jersey clutched in my hand and not the bikini. This game was the first one where I genuinely felt unfit to be on the first line. I was distracted by arriving late with my two very annoyed roommates at my side. I was distracted by Sandine still refusing to pass me the puck. I was distracted by Mitch-Coach Anderson, whatever-gritting his teeth as he told me to get my head in the game. Hell, even Coach Slater looked uncharacteristically serious as he watched me fall apart out there. And most of all, I was distracted by the vision of my jersey draped over Ally's feminine curves, the fabric so loose it exposed one of her shoulders. Did I mention I was distracted? And to think my only goal for this season was to stay focused. For shit's sake. We managed to win tonight's game. Barely, with a three to two win in overtime. We is a strong term, seeing as I was basically sludging around on the ice all night like a four-year-old during their first skating lesson. The thought makes the vivid memory of my first skating lesson pop into my mind as I step into one of the showers in the locker room. I remember it like it was yesterday... My dad and I at the rink, him crouching behind me, his hands steady beneath my arms as he skated both of us in a full circle around the iceplex. Afterward, we went home and watched a D.C. Eagles game. That day solidified my love of the ice and my desire to play hockey. We had a few more skating lessons together before I took off on my own and he enrolled me in the in-house hockey league at our local iceplex. What would Dad have thought if he could've watched me tonight? Would he be disappointed? No, he would just encourage me to do better next time. After a particularly rough game the year before he died, my dad wrapped an arm around my shoulders as we walked to our car and told me, Wayne Gretzky once said that you miss one hundred percent of the shots you don't take. And your dear old dad once said that even if you miss those shots, you shouldn't be too hard on yourself. It made me smile that day, and it has me smiling again now as I try to ease up on mentally beating myself up. I rinse the shampoo from my hair and turn the water off, grabbing my towel and running it over my head before tying it at my waist. But as I stride back to the dressing room, Sandine walks past me and purposefully shoves his shoulder into mine as he does. "Coach Anderson can't do you favors forever, Nepo Baby. You'll have to actually play hockey eventually." He snickers and walks into the shower room. I roll my eyes and try not to let the comment bother me. I'm a damn good hockey player, always have been. I'm just finding my stride here on a new team and in life. Everything will be okay. Hopefully. Once me, Penn, and Fisher are in the G Wagon and on our way home, I finally relax. Fisher scored a goal tonight, so he can't stop smiling. His energy is contagious, making it difficult to hang on to my sour mood. It's nearly midnight when we finally arrive back at the loft, and I don't feel tired at all. Probably thanks to my extra-long nap courtesy of Harry Styles the third. I need to find a new charging cord to use tonight. The three of us step inside to find Ally standing in the kitchen surrounded by baking supplies and music playing on the Archibald Bluetooth speaker system, some pop song that I've heard on the radio before. She doesn't notice us immediately and does a perfect pirouette in time with the music in the middle of the kitchen. Her eyes are closed, feeling the music as she moves, almost like she doesn't even know she's dancing. Her body is all long, graceful lines and fluid movement, and I can't tear my eyes away. She finishes the dance move by kicking one leg out with a flourish, then opens her eyes. When she sees us standing there staring at her, she jumps and her hand comes to her chest. Penn and Fisher clap and whistle. "Encore, encore!" Penn shouts. I find myself wanting an encore as well, wishing to see more of her dance routine. Ally rolls her eyes, a faint blush on her cheeks. "Absolutely not. Archibald, music off," she says with a laugh then nods to the TV in the living room, where ESPN is still on. "Congrats on your win tonight. You boys hungry?" "Aww, you watched our game?" Fisher lumbers toward her and pulls her into a brotherly hug. "And yeah, I'm starving! What are you making?" "I was going to surprise you guys with homemade cookies when you got home, but my mom called and I got a little distracted, so I'm just getting to it now." "Can we help?" Penn asks, shrugging off his suit coat and rolling up his shirt sleeves. "Yes!" Ally says, waving a wooden spoon in the air. She's still wearing her workout shorts from earlier, but she's thrown on a baggy hoodie over that tight tank top. "Grab the chocolate chips over there." She points to a shopping bag. She must've gone to the store because I'm pretty sure there were zero baking items in our apartment until now. Fisher and I follow Penn's lead, removing our jackets and rolling up our sleeves. We're probably all thinking the same thing-the more we help, the faster we can eat the cookies. Ally gives us each a job; Penn's measuring dry ingredients, Fisher is whisking the eggs, and I'm scooping the dough onto the pan. Ally must make these cookies a lot, because she isn't using a recipe. I find I enjoy watching her take charge, telling us what to do. I like this confident side of her. Is she always this confident when she's dancing? Taking command of a stage, all eyes on her, even in the kitchen licking batter off a spoon, her movements are graceful. She might not even realize how often she keeps her toes pointed. I blink, realizing I've been studying her, and now the cookie pan has twice the amount of dough balls on it than Ally instructed. I force myself to keep my eyes on the cookie sheet, then try to convince myself to go to bed. To spend my time the way I like to...alone. But my feet won't move, and I find that for once I don't want to be alone right now. I want to be right here. Where she is. Discover our latest featured short drama reel. Watch now and enjoy the story!