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“You call that a slap shot, Nursey? That puck was going so slow a nine-year-old could have stopped it barehanded.”
“Tch. You’re just saying that because your last three shots went two feet wide and you’re intimidated by my mad skills.”
“What mad skills? You shoot like you’re playing mini golf.”
“At least I’ve got aim. You probably couldn’t hit the goal if it was the size of, like, a Zamboni.”
“I can hit a lot of things.”
“Oh yeah? Prove it.”
“...Are they really still going?” Tango asked Whiskey as they watched Dex and Nursey squabbling on the ice. It was eight in the morning, and practice had ended half an hour ago, but the two D-men were still on the ice trying to finish their game of Call Your Shot. At this point, it was getting a little ridiculous.
“They’re definitely... resilient,” Whiskey allowed. “Their endurance is impressive.”
“I know. Also—I can’t believe they still have insults left to throw at each other? Like, wouldn’t they have run out by now?”
“Insults?” Whiskey asked, turning to Tango and raising an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t call those insults, Tony.”
“Then what would you call them?”
“Flirting,” Whiskey said flatly.
Tango turned to him suddenly like he’d just blasphemed during a baptism. “What?” he said. “Dex and Nursey? No. No way. Not a chance.”
Whiskey leaned against the glass and gave Tango a sideways look, but didn’t comment further. Trying to convince Tango to see the signs sounded like too much effort.
Later, at team breakfast, Whiskey was sitting next to Chowder while Nursey and Dex bickered over waffle preferences across the table.
“You’re drowning it, Nursey,” Dex said. “You’ve got more fucking syrup on your plate than waffles. That’s disgusting.”
“Hey, at least I put something on it, unlike you, Mr. Butter-and-Nothing-Else.
“That’s because I don’t like to mask the flavor of the actual fucking waffle.”
“Sure. I get it. You like your waffles bland and dry because you’re a bland, dry person.”
“Fuck you, Nurse.”
“Hm, fuck you first.”
“You wish,” Dex smirked.
“Man, I wish they would stop arguing sometimes....” Chowder says to Whiskey sadly, pushing around some eggs on his plate. “It’d be so nice if they could just get along.”
Whiskey eyed him skeptically. “...I think they get along just fine.”
“How can you get along with someone you fight with all the time?” Chowder asked. The question actually seemed genuine. Whiskey glanced over to where Nursey and Dex were trying to shove waffles into each other’s faces and sighed.
“Maybe you’re right...” he lied halfheartedly, shrugging. Then he pulled out his phone to text Chad S.
In the evening, he found himself in the kitchen of the Haus picking at a piece of pie. Dex and Nursey were standing near the counter, waiting for Bitty to serve them up a couple slices.
“How is it that you’ve survived this long without having any basic life skills?” Dex was asking Nursey, standing next to him a little closer than was necessary. “Did you seriously not know how to do laundry before coming to Samwell?”
“C’mon, man, that was a year ago.”
“Yeah, but you asked me what laundry detergent was this morning. How the fuck have you been washing clothes without laundry detergent?”
“I dunno, I’ve just been using those little pod things.”
“You’re hopeless.”
“Hopeless? No. But you know what I am?”
“...What.”
Nursey grinned and burst into song. “I’m hopelessly devoted to y—”
“Shut up,” Dex said, looking like he was trying to hold back laughter. He punctuated his words by hip checking Nursey into the counter. Nursey retaliated in kind.
“Oh, come on, boys. Behave,” Bitty said, sounding irritated. “Here’s your damn pie. Now, could you stop bickering for five seconds?”
“Sorry, Bitty,” Nursey said, sounding wholly unrepentant.
“Yeah, sorry,” Dex echoed.
The two D-men took their pie and went to the living room where some of the others were playing Mario Kart. Whiskey stayed at the kitchen table, scrolling through his Facebook feed.
“Those two... I swear, they’re going to kill each other one of these days,” Bitty said.
Whiskey glanced up at him, then looked back at his phone. “Doubt it.”
“What was that, Whiskey?”
“Oh, nothing.”
A few days later, the Haus was hosting another Kegster to celebrate their most recent win. Whiskey had gotten a goal and an assist, which he was particularly pleased about. Even Chad S. from the LAX team texted to congratulate him about it.
Saw the game from the livestream. Nice score, Whisk.
Whiskey’s thumbs hovered over his touch screen, trying to figure out a good way to reply. He’d been working on Chad S. for a couple weeks now, texting off and on with strategically placed innuendos and winky faces. He was pretty sure that this little project was almost ready to harvest, but then.... He’d also been flirting with Chad R. on their way to class every Tuesday and Thursday, and he’d matched with Chad A. on tinder a couple days ago. Was he really ready to be a homewrecker?
Yeah. Yeah he was. Chad S. was hot as fuck.
Why don’t I come over tonight and score something else? he typed, then hit ‘Send’.
Suddenly, there was a loud uproar from the living room. Whiskey stepped out of the foyer to take a look and almost ran straight into Tango. “Oh my God!” Tango said, flapping his arms up and down. “Oh my God!”
“What?” Whiskey asked. He slipped his phone back into his pocket.
“Dex! And Nursey! They’re, they’re—”
“What? Are they making out?”
Tango fixed him with a disbelieving stare. “You knew?”
If this was a sitcom, Whiskey would have looked straight into the camera. “I dunno,” he said instead. “Gut feeling, I guess.”
“Well, yeah. You’re right,” Tango barreled on. “They’re making out, on the couch. In the middle of the party!”
Whiskey glanced over Tango’s shoulder and sure enough, there were the two D-men, trading saliva on the green biohazard of a sofa. “Huh,” he said. “What a surprise.”
“I know! Bitty said it just happened out of nowhere!”
Whiskey felt his phone buzz in his pocket, so he pulled it out and unlocked it. ‘(1) New Message from Chad S.’
I’m free now if you are?
Whiskey checked the time on his phone—9:43. The night was still young, but it was late enough that he could leave the party without getting too much shit for leaving early. He tapped out a quick, “sure, see you in 5” and turned off the screen. “Sorry, Tony,” he said. “Gotta run.”
“Really? But the Kegster’s just getting started, and it’s Friday night!” Tango said, disappointed. “What do you have going on that’s so important?”
“Homework,” he deadpanned. Tango just looked confused, so he took pity on him. “It’s a booty call.”
“Oh!” Tango said, his eyebrows shooting up almost to his hairline. “Oh! Well, have fun?”
“I intend to,” he replied. He took one last look back into the thick of the Kegster, noticing that Nursey and Dex had finally decided that it was time to take their make out session elsewhere. Dex was holding Nursey by the wrist, dragging him towards the stairs. It seemed like Whiskey wasn’t the only person getting lucky tonight.
“Well, see you later, Tony,” Whiskey said. He turned and opened the door.
“Bye!”
“Bye.”
And then he was out on the porch, the sounds of the party muffled behind him. Tonight was going to be a good night. No amount of obliviousness on the part of the hockey team was going to change that.