Storm Before The Calm

onze



I walked down the hall, aimlessly roaming around until I found a room that was empty and looked like Skinner's. I pointed to it, with a questioning face and he nodded, running a hand through his hair. It ruffled up adorably and I giggled as I went into his room. He did, in act, have a larger bed than I had expected. He surprisingly had made his bed and the blanket and sheets were pulled, perfectly, like it was a hotel, not a teenager's room. I cocked a brow.

“Parents came to visit today.” he explained. I let him go first, so he could chose what side he wanted. He went left so I went right, hopping in the bed. He had a comfy-ass bed. I don't know if it was a TempurPedic or something, but I like sunk in and instantly was engulfed in comfort. I cuddled up with his comforter and I rolled over to look at him.

“I have immediately decided that my new profession will be keeping this bed warm.” I announced. He laughed and he was close, so I could feel his voice vibrate the bed. I think his bed was a Queen because we were close, but not on top of each other. I could feel his heat and I really wanted to snuggle between his arms, but I didn't want to scare him away. I had closed my eyes for a second after taking my braid out, and he spoke.

“Hey...” he started off. I opened my eyes, but they were hooded from exhaustion. “thanks for, uh... staying. And stuff.” His cheeks flushed red and he laughed at his own awkwardness. His dimples made me laugh. I reached out and tickled his side. He gasped and his eyes burned with intensity and he fought back, using his strong hands as weapons, tickling my sides. I giggled, trying to get him back while defending myself.

“S-st-stop! Skinnerrrr!” I squealed, laughing so hard, I felt my abs burning. As a last resort, I rolled on top of him, straddling his waist. My knees held him down at his elbows and he tried to pull them out from under me. My strong ex-soccer player legs held him in place and I attacked him viciously, tickling his abs. I could feel his muscles from underneath his thin shirt, but I was determined not to get distracted. I would not stop until he was begging for mercy. He laughing from under me and somehow freed his arms. He grabbed my hands in his and set me back on my back and he laid on his. I didn't realize that we were holding hands until I wiped away the tears I had from laughing so hard. His large hockey glove of a hand held mine and I felt like a tiny doll. It just felt so perfect. He yawned and I looked at the clock, seeing that it was later than I had planned on going to bed. I yawned too, in response to his. I was really exhausted. I had a very eventful day. School, followed by work, followed by the Skinner job, followed by the Draft, followed by meeting some of my favorite players, and topped off by an after-party at a club. I stretched and couldn't fight slumber anymore.

“Goodnight.” I exclaimed, rolling over and giving him a peck on the cheek. I turned off the light that was on the table next to me and closed my eyes, totally forgetting that we were still holding hands.

I woke up with an alarm. A very loud, throbbing, obnoxious alarm. I shot straight up, scared by the noise that had erupted from nowhere and assaulted my eardrums. Skinner was lightly snoring, facing the other wall, hard into REM sleep. I leaned over him to turn off the alarm that was on his side and laid back down, sighing. I stared at the ceiling, listening to the soothing sound of Ray LaMontagne that apparently one of us put in last night before we went to bed. The soft, light sound of Skinner's snoring and Ray's raspy voice made me drift off into daydreams. I wasn't asleep, but I was just thinking about how lucky I was, to be with my favorite NHL player. I had been so drawn into the fact that I was just chillin' with a cool guy that I didn't really step back and remind myself that he was famous and a lot of people would be watching him this weekend. I needed to make sure that I took care of him and stayed out of the spotlight as much as possible.

I sat up, running a hand through my hair. It was nasty from the party last night and I saw a bathroom that was connected to his room. I had no idea when his morning skate was, but if he was anything like me, he set his alarm hours before so he could hit snooze at least five times. I glanced over to him. His face was tucked between his pillow and the mattress. I could see his body rising and falling with each breath and I smiled, noticing how peacefully he slept. I slowly got out of bed, trying not to stir him. I checked over my shoulder once I stood up completely, to make sure that he didn't wake up. I stretched, hearing my back and ankles pop. Fuck you, soccer. I took the bag of clothes that I had with me into the bathroom. I found a cabinet with spare towels and chose one. I looked at the reflection in the mirror and scowled. My bare face probably had scared the hell out of Skinner. I wrinkled my nose at myself, pulling at the skin underneath my eye, watching it bounce back into place. I looked tired and I felt it too. I just hoped that I could get Skinner ready and awake so he would be ready for a busy day.

Once I emerged from the shower, I braided my hair and threw on a tank and some yoga pants. I applied some light makeup, just enough to cover my under eye shadow and blemishes. I added minimal eyeliner and mascara, not really bothering with any more than that. After I had cleaned all of my stuff up, I walked back into the bedroom to see that Skinner had rolled onto his back. His mouth was parted, his rosey lips forming a perfect “o”. His eyelids trembled and his nose twitched. I wondered what he was dreaming about. He moved his legs and they pulled the blanket down a little. It revealed his shirt, that was pushed up a little, with his stomach exposed. I could see the waist of the plaid boxers he was wearing and his muscular stomach. I felt my cheeks grow hot. God, I'm such a weirdo. I shook my head at how creepy I felt and left the room.

In many ways, we'll miss the good old days. Someday! Someday!” Julian Casablancas rasped from my speakers. I had set up my iPod dock so I could listen to music when I was making breakfast. I had every pan that Peters and he owned, doing something. I was making pancakes, omelets, and bacon. I danced a little to the song, singing into my spatula. I heard footsteps and Skinner walked in as I flipped a pancake over.

“I like these slippers.” I announced, looking down at the zebra print fluffy slippers that I was wearing. His cheeks covered in a blush that showed his embarrassment.

“Sutter and LaRose bought them.” he blurted out, putting his hands up to defend himself.

“Don't get so defensive. They are comfy.” I giggled, dancing around in them a little.

“They are.” he agreed. I cocked an eyebrow at him. “Not that I would know.” He ran hand through his hair. His hair was stuck up and his cheeks were a light rose color, from a mixture of sleep and embarrassment.

“Your hair is a mess.” I laughed. He tried to fix it, but only made it worse. “Here. Let me.” I reached out and combed his hair down with my fingers. He looked at me and my hand lingered near his ear for too long. I could feel my heart beating in my ears as we just stood there, looking into each other's eyes. His brown eyes made me feel beautiful. Like I was worth his time. I felt needed, wanted. Skinner leaned forward and I didn't know what was going on. My head felt dizzy and when we both had invaded each other's personal space, a screech rang from upstairs.

“TURN THE FUCKING MUSIC OFF.” Ally yelled from Peters' bedroom. Skinner and I jumped back, stepping apart six feet. I turned back to the stove, flipping the bacon and he went into the fridge for something. I giggled, trying to clear the awkwardness. Being the douchebag best friend that I am, I turned up the iPod dock, just as it turned to Aerosmith. Steven Tyler's voice isn't particularly a soothing note for a hangover.

“FUCK YOU OLIVE.” she shrieked. “Oh god.” I heard her feet hit the floor and run down the hall and into the bathroom. She hurled and the toilet flushed. Skinner and I had doubled over, laughing. We could hear her mumbling some very unkind words. She came down the stairs and plopped down at the counter on a bar stool.

“Please don't puke in front of me.” Skinner said, looking at her with terrified eyes.

“I won't.” she said, laying her head on the cold marble counters. “I only puke once in the morning.” Skinner looked at me for reassurance and I nodded, sending him a wink. When I turned back to the omelet, I made a face. Wow. This is awkward. I almost kissed Skinner and now I winked at him. He's probably thinking that I like him. But I don't... do I?
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Wow. I feel like a super douche-bag for not updating in a while.

I've had to deal with my depression (okay, I'm dramatic) about the Canes not making the Playoffs, but I've gotten over it. The Penguins and Blackhawks are still in, so that's good. :)

This chapter is kinda short, so hopefully one will be coming really soon.