Master of Timing

He had asked her out. And once they established that Lyndsey would keep an eye on their schedule to make sure she’d had a night off when they were next here, they got to talking about movies. The free time that Sidney had, he tried to fill with books and spending time with friends (both in and outside of the team), but every now and then on a particularly quiet day he’d resort to a movie.

Both of them liked horror movies (although Lyndsey doubted that he understood just how much she liked them), and he wasn’t afraid to admit that he was a sucker for a good romantic comedy. She laughed a little in sympathy when he said he’d cried over Marley & Me, and swore that it had put him off dog movies for life. Her too.

He had fallen asleep at some point, his eyes closing against the brightness of the screen even though he fought tooth and nail to keep them open. Lyndsey figured when he stopped replying that she should get some sleep too, considering she had been up a few hours later than she normally would, and she was going out with her friends to some new club downtown that evening. She didn’t want to be yawning the whole time.

“Lyndsey, why the fuck is your phone glued to your face?” Claire asked, pushing a drink between her friend and the screen. “Who are you texting?”

“It’s just Kate,” She laughed, taking the drink and setting her phone down in her lap. It was a total lie, but her friends knew of the Aussie so it was more likely that they would let it slide.

“When the hell is she going to get her ass out here? I want to meet this mystery friend of yours.” Brent pointed a finger at her, although it wasn’t all that steady considering he had started the drinking festivities at lunch time and everyone else was trying to catch up.

“I don’t know, actually,” Lyndsey supplied, and this time she actually opened up a message to Kate and asked her the exact same question Brent asked her.

’I can’t believe I just slept for 12 hours.’

She glanced up to see the table of friends in a disagreement about…. something, so she focussed her attention back down to her hands. ’Having a lazy day huh, Crosby?’ she teased, laughing when Kate came back to interrupt her and Sidney.

’UHM, ONE DAY WHEN I HAVE A MILLION DOLLARS. WHO WANTS TO KNOW?’

“Brent,” She called out, flipping around the phone, taking another sip of her drink. It was delicious, and she motioned to Claire who was getting up to go to the bar to get her another one. He read the screen and laughed.

“Uh, tell her the most awesome Canadian wants to know and wants to meet her whenever - who’s SC?”

Lyndsey’s phone had buzzed in her hand but she just assumed it … wasn’t him.

“Oh, uhm,” She stuttered, turning the phone to swipe away the message alert. Her face felt hot. “Nobody.”

“Lyndsey Jeanette, you are blushing!” Brent stood, his bar stool falling backwards as he pointed a finger accusingly at her. “YOU’VE MET SOMEONE!”

“No, I haven’t,” She tried to shush him, but he waved his arms around as he twirled in a circle, announcing to everyone within shouting distance of their table that she wasn’t, in fact, a nun like they had all thought. “Oh my God.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Claire asked, setting the new round of drinks down. Lyndsey was glad, she had nearly finished the cocktail she had trying to stop herself from turning as red as a Blackhawk sweater. “Brent, sit the fuck down.”

“Lyndsey has a boyfriend.”

Claire’s eyes widened, and she turned to her left.

“No I don’t, shut up-“

“What’s his name?”

“SC! What does SC stand for huh? NO! LET’S GUESS.”

“Oh my God,” She repeated, shoving her phone into her bag and folding her arms on the table so she could hide away. She could hear Brent throwing names left right and centre, and wished more than anything that the ground would open up and swallow her whole.

She loved her friends. A whole lot. And she hated that she worked shift hours, because if she had a normal job like the rest of them she’d actually get to see them more than once a month. But it was times like these, in the middle of a bar in downtown Edmonton, on her one night off for the week that she really regretted ever meeting any of these people.

They were wrong; she wasn’t a nun. She had dated in the past, she was just in what the books called a ‘dry spell’ at the moment. She had too much going on in her work and personal life to even think about going out to find someone to share her misery with. Because at the moment, that’s what her views on relationships were - someone to spend all your time with where you both hated on the same things and talked shit about the world.

Plus, ya know, the sex and stuff. But mainly the hating thing.

If there was one thing that was a deal breaker, it was that a guy didn’t hate the same things she did and feel the need to mock them with sarcasm and distain. If they couldn’t do that, it was never going to work.

She wondered briefly what Sidney hated.

“Sheryl Crow!”

“What the fuck Brent, Sheryl Crow?”

“It’s SC!”

“You’re an idiot.”

“Simon Cowell. Steve Carrell.” Brent gasped. “Sean Connery!”

“Okay, you’re cut off.”

Lyndsey smiled at Claire, but didn’t want to raise her head. She could feel how hot her face was still.

“Uhm, wait who else…”

“What makes you so convinced they’re famous?”

“Shut up Claire. Scott… Cleary! Sam Cohen- NO SETH COHEN.” She felt a hand slap down on her arm, and she jumped back, Brent was incredibly close to her face. “Did you meet Seth Cohen? Because I’d approve.”

Claire rolled her eyes and downed a shot.

“You’re an idiot,” Lyndsey stole Claire’s line and reached for her drink, downing half of it.”

His eyes widened. “Wait… is it….” Lynds glanced sideways at her girlfriend, who was biting her lip and trying not to laugh. “Santa Claus?”

He peeled off in a fit of laughter, and the two girls just groaned. “Why the hell do you always have to be drunk?”

She nodded in agreement, and Claire left him to his own devices, strolling away towards the bathroom. She leant in, and Lyndsey knew the worst was yet to come. Drunk Brent she could handle, lying to the Spanish inquisition that was Claire Bainree was a whole other ball game.

“Okay, seriously. Did you meet someone?”

“Claire, no. And even if I did, just when would I have the time to start a relationship, huh? I barely even see you guys.”

Claire squared her up, squinting her eyes accusingly and leant forward, staring Lyndsey down. But she held her own stare right back, and her friend seemed to accept that as a answer, holding up a drink to cheers them. “To not having social lives.”

She laughed, and clinked their drinks together, both of them settling into a conversation that shifted between shopping, and their plans for the Christmas break. Lyndsey had to work Christmas Day, but she had the three days off after so she had asked all her family to just get her gift vouchers so she could cash in on those serious post Christmas sales. She had nearly finished her cocktail, in a haste to avoid any conversation that she couldn’t bluff her way out of, so she grabbed her bag and jumped out, asking if Claire wanted another before Brent practically ran up the table with wide eyes.

“Jesus Christ, what is the-”

“Sidney Crosby.”

Lyndsey froze, one foot on the ground, the other still on the rung on her seat. “What?”

Oh God, oh God, oh God, how does she lie herself out of this one, she can’t lie to these people, not properly anyway and they would know and then she’d be in trouble and then they’d never leave her alone and anything her and Sidney have would be over before it even had a chance to begin-

“SC!” Brent exclaimed, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Claire snorted from behind her drink. “Yeah, because this one would be able to meet Sidney Crosby and not lose her shit. In what world do you live in?”

“Uhm, maybe he got treated at Lyndsey’s hospital when he got hit in the Oilers game.” Brent gave his friend a snarky look and turned to the nurse. “You can tell us, we won’t say anything.”

“You’re insane,” She laughed, although it sounded empty to her ears, pushing away from the table. “Claire’s right, I wouldn’t be able to hold a conversation with that man.” Brent pouted and sat down, his eyebrows furrowed together as he struggled to come up with a new name.

“I’d pay to see you talk to him Lynds, I’d be right there to drag you away when you became a babbling mess,” Claire laughed and Lyndsey could only hold her smile for a second, turning her face away before she headed to the bar with a weird feeling in her chest and an overwhelming sense to start crying.

She made the order for their drinks and pulled out her phone, opening her messages.

’I don’t think I know how to be lazy.’

Lyndsey rolled her eyes, and turned her phone off, sliding it back into her bag. She couldn’t talk to him anymore tonight, she already felt shit enough and confused enough about their situation as it was.

She handed over the money to the bartender, it was more than the drinks cost but she asked for a vodka shot, throwing it back quickly before taking the drinks back to her friends. They had a marvellous talent of bringing her crashing back down to reality, and she needed to forget all about Sidney Crosby for a while, and how screwed up her head was about the mess she had gotten herself into.

No.

More than that.

She needed to get drunk.



It had presented a problem, her knowing Sidney Crosby. Firstly, like she had already mentioned, Lyndsey sucked at lying to her friends. She was lucky to get away with it so far, but that was mostly because everyone was plastered, and Brent had moved on from figuring out who SC was, to who he could take home for the night.

Claire was still eyeing her suspiciously though. She was the group’s regular Magnum PI and wouldn’t let something go if she knew she could end the night badgering it out of people.

And even if Lyndsey was to tell them it was Sid, it would just open up a whole big, gigantic can of worms that she wasn’t ready for. because they would ask how they met (kind of a breach of patient/hospital confidentiality, wasn’t it?), what the texts meant, Lyndsey would accidentally blurt out something about the flowers, and it would eventually get to someone scrolling through her phone and finding out about their date.

Was it a date?

He said it was, but how was she going to be able to trust him? The Sidney Crosby that was played on TV and did interviews and things was different to the one who couldn’t talk at the hospital and liked The Outsiders. He had obviously been trying to prove to her he was a real person, not just what was behind the face of the media, but it made it hard for her to believe him.

She had zoned out on the dance floor, her body automatically moving to the thumping bass from the speakers and it wasn’t until some blonde bimbo in too high heels fell into her that she came back to her senses.

“Fucking watch it.”

“Excuse me?” She started, turning around to shove the twiggy, ratty hair extensions, feed-her-a-cheeseburger-now, wannabe model off her. “Get the hell off me.”

“What did you say?”

“Back the fuck off-”

“Come on,” Claire interrupted, shoving the girl’s hands away as she attempted to grab at Lyndsey and she dragged them off the dance floor, heading to the bathrooms.

“Stupid, fucking moron.”

“Okay, okay, calm down.” The line wasn’t all that long, but Lyndsey threw herself against the carpeted wall and closed her eyes anyway. She was thirsty all of a sudden, and way too hot. And her heart rate was up pretty high too.

This was a bad combination.

“Claire, I don’t…”

“I know, here.” She was ushered inside, and made to lean against the bench. It was brighter in here than in the club and she felt something cool hit her neck, Claire pressing some damped wipes against her skin. “Jesus, since when do you start shit on the dance floor?”

She didn’t answer. She was trying to even out her breathing, because there was no way she was resting her knees on this manky ass floor to vomit into the toilet. No, she was fine not catching some form of STI, thank you very much.

She took the hand towels as Claire used one of the stalls, and she turned around to face herself in the mirror. Her bangs were pushed back, but the baby hairs around her face were stuck to her sweaty skin, so she brushed them back before running her fingers under the eyes, fixing the mascara and eyeliner that had decided it was now time to make her resemble a raccoon.

She glanced around, confused for a second, before she remembered that she had cloaked her bag and didn’t have any gum or her lipgloss with her. She pouted at herself. How was she going to make herself look pretty now?

The toilet flushed at the same time the door to the bathrooms opened, two girls holding up another as they laughed their way inside. She heard a muttered “I don’t feel good,” before they threw the middle girl in the first empty stall, just in time for her to empty her stomach.

“Classy,” Lyndsey muttered, turning back to the mirror, eyes connecting with Claire’s before she rolled them in response. She wet the hand towels again and pressed them against her face, running one hand then the other under the tap to cool them down.

“You okay?”

She nodded. “I think I’m gonna head home soon, though.”

“Yeah,” Claire agreed, turning back to look in the stall. The girls hadn’t shut the door. “Do you want me to come with you?”

Lyndsey went to answer, but a rushed yell behind her interrupted. “Courtney? Court, wake up!”

“Come on,” Claire murmured, drying her hands as she stepped back. “Let’s go.”

“Hey, Court-”

“Oh God, someone - where’s your phone, we have to call an ambulance!”

“What’s wrong?” Lyndsey asked. The urgency in one of the girls voices sobered her up a little.

“I don’t- she’s. Why is she shaking?”

“Here.” Lyndsey moved forward, and Claire told her she was going to find a staff member to call an ambulance. She rushed out of the bathroom and Lyndsey knelt down next to the girl who was slumped against one of her friends, foaming at the mouth. “Okay, you need to move her on the ground.”

“But, it’s so gross-“

“Yeah, that’s the least of your concern.” The authority in Lyndsey’s voice made the girls shuffled back, moving the unconscious girl into a position so she was lying down.

“What’s happening to her?”

“I don’t know, I need to clear her airways. Can you wet a hand towel and pass it to me?” Lyndsey moved the girl on her side, tipped her head back and opened her mouth.

“Are you a doctor?”

The wet towel was in front of her face. “No, I’m a nurse.” She was thankful she’d only just washed her hands, and she stuck two fingers in the girl’s mouth, clearing out as much of the foam as she could. It sounded gross, but she hoped to hit her gag reflex to make her vomit, because it was probably the best thing for her, until she got into an ambulance.

“Oh my God, Courtney. Please be okay.”

If there was one thing Lyndsey couldn’t handle when she was drunk, it was other drunk girls crying. Throw in the rare situation of her fingers down their friends’ throat, and she nearly lost all patience. Courtney choked in her passed out state, and Lyndsey moved herself under the girls’ head so she could hold it up for her to vomit on the floor.

Seeing as round one had already made the toilet bowl, this was mostly just bile, but it was still gross either way.

“Oh shit. Okay, can we clear out this bathroom and lock the doors, send everyone upstairs.” Lyndsey looked over to see a young guy dressed all in black, a radio attached to his ear. She assumed he was a manager. Claire was standing behind him, both their bags in her hand. “You’re trained in CPR?”

“I’m a nurse,” She answered, using the hand towel to wipe away the mess on her hand and the girl’s mouth. She still hadn’t regained consciousness, and Lyndsey could feel from the leg behind her back that she wasn’t breathing steadily. “Claire, I need you to count fifteen seconds on your phone.”

The one time she had decided to not wear her watch.

“Yeah okay, tell me when.”

Lyndsey struggled to find the girls’ pulse. It was a mix of her being drunk, so she couldn’t really feel her fingers, and the fact that the girl in front of her was seriously in trouble. She tried her neck in a couple of different spots against her carotid artery but couldn’t find a pulse, so she moved to her wrist. She ripped off the bracelets that were in the way and tossed them towards the friends who were still standing at Courtney’s feet, one of them crying hysterically.

Lyndsey rolled her eyes. Drunk bitches in clubs.

“Okay, go.” She counted the beats against her fingers in her head, and stopped when Claire called out. “Shit,” she muttered to herself. “Okay,” she glanced up at Claire. “Can you remember - whatever 14 times four is?” She was drunk too, she couldn’t do math.

Claire frowned a little. “56, yeah. Why?”

“For the EMT’s.”

The manager who had stood by quietly spoke into his mouthpiece, bending down beside Courtney’s knees. “The ambulance is here. What do you need us to do?”

Lyndsey looked up and swallowed. She was too out of it to function how she normally would. “Uh, well the gurney is going to have to get in here, so they’ll have to move.” She pointed to the friends, who were wiping their eyes. “I’ll tell them what I can and then I think they’ll want to get out of here pretty quickly.”

There was a banging on the door, and Claire moved the girls standing by back up against the furthest stall. Lyndsey prayed it was one of the ambulances that serviced Misericordia.

“Okay, what have we - Lyndsey?”

She sighed. “Hey Mike.”

He paused, crouching down, gloved hands moving towards Courtney’s face. “What have we got?”

“Uh, some form of date-rape drug, I think? I was in here washing my hands and her friends brought her in. She threw up pretty much straight away, and then started to seize.”

Mike moved his hands over her arms, checking for marks that showed any signs of other kind of drug use. “Heart rate?”

She went blank. “Claire, what number did I say?”

She ignored the small smile that Mike sent her. “56,” She got in response.

By now Angie had joined them, moving the straps on the gurney apart so that they could put Courtney on it.

“Airways clear?”

Lyndsey nodded, moving to hold Courtney’s head as Mike shuffled her up, grabbing her shoulders as Angie took her feet. They got her on the gurney, strapped her in and put an oxygen mask over her head. “Her friend’s are pretty out of it too,” She said quietly, tapping Angie’s elbow.

“Figured. We’ll let them ride with us.”

Lyndsey nodded, and waved for the girls to follow the paramedics as they took their friend out of the bathroom. Claire stepped forward slowly, and put her hand on her arm. “You okay?”

She nodded and washed her hands as the same manager stepped back into the bathroom. “Wow, you’re amazing,” He gushed, holding his hand out for her to shake once she’d dried it. “Anything you need, it’s on the house.”

“Oh that’s okay, we were just going to go-“

“No,” Lyndsey interrupted, Claire raising an eyebrow. “After all that, I think I need another drink.”



Lyndsey was pretty sure- no, one hundred percent sure- that she might have to call in sick to work the next night. Because she had continued to stay on a drink the night away, much to Claire’s amusement, and they had even outlasted Brent.

Who was currently passed out against the booth they had moved into.

“We’ve already heard this song!” She yelled into the air, slamming her hand against the table and then reaching for another shot that was lined up.

Another thing, she wasn’t checking her bank account tomorrow. Nope. No sir, that was not happening.

“Dear fucking Lord, what is wrong with you?” Claire laughed, barely able to keep herself upright. When they had left the bathroom, following the manager to the upstairs bar (“VIP? Fuck. Yes.” Lyndsey had groaned in response), they were met with a bar card and a nod from the bartender who was obviously under instruction to give them whatever they wanted, in as much quantity as they could handle.

Wasn’t there supposed to be like, liquor licensing laws or something? Was no one looking out for their health?

“I just- nothing. I’m perfectly fine,” Lyndsey slurred, waving her hand in her friends’ direction. Not that it mattered. Claire had decided it was time to draw on Brent’s face, and she rummaged through her clutch to find some lipstick.

They were a mess.

They needed to go home.

Lyndsey had a moment of clarity and got out of the booth, her eyes focussing on the bar that was only maybe 30 feet in front of her. She could do this. And no, no don’t hold your hands out like a zombie, just put one foot in front of the oth-

“Need a hand?”

She looked up.

Bright blue piercing eyes stared back at her. “Hello,” She smiled, her attention for the bar momentarily distracted. “You have eyes like Jared Leto.”

Oh my god, someone needed to get her some water.

The stranger laughed, putting his arm around her shoulder, helping her walk again in the direction she originally was heading. “I get that a lot. Water?”

“Yes please,” She groaned, leaning on arm on the bar so she didn’t have to hold her head up anymore. She hoped she didn’t look completely out of it. Even if she was. She had some dignity left. Somewhere.

She should find her dignity. Maybe it was in her clutch.

The glass was in front of her before she could even blink. Had the bartender been keeping an eye on her and Claire? She had no idea. The only thing she knew was that the water was as cold as possible and it felt so good against her throat, which was scratching and raw from the alcohol and yelling over the music.

She was going to be one very sore and sorry lady tomorrow.

“What’s your name?” The stranger asked, his hand resting on the small of her back. He was a little too close for comfort, but she brushed it aside, smacking her lips together to try and get some feeling back to her face. He was watching her, a smirk on his lips as his eyes darted down to her lips, then back up.

It was enough.

Now, Lyndsey wouldn’t ever be able to tell someone just why did it, or what possessed her to throw herself at a complete stranger. She was going to blame it on the alcohol and adrenalin and the text message she had ignored on her phone that had been plaguing her all night.

She kissed him.

And it wasn’t just a ‘oh whoops, I slipped and my face fell on your face’ kiss. It was dirty, messy, the kind usually reserved for the dance floor or the back of a cab or the inside of a hallway at 4 in the morning. Not under the lights of the bar.

He made a noise of surprise, but that didn’t stop him from pulling her closer, his arms moving down her sides and his hands gripping her ass so hard it dragged her hips against his. She moaned, threading her fingers through his hair and tugging gently. She was always glad she had the kind of butt that meant a guy had something to hold on to, but the jolt of feelings it sent through her spine was a feeling she couldn’t describe.

She rolled her hips back against his and he gripped her tighter, hard enough that there was a small chance Lyndsey might have bruises tomorrow, if she cared to remember to look. He was good looking, his jawline strong against her hands as she moved them down his neck. She felt his muscles under his button up shirt, straining against the material as he pulled her impossibly closer.

He was warm. Lyndsey pulled back a little to catch her breath.

Jawline.

Muscles.

Shirt.

’Can you believe he's dropped like 10 pounds of muscle in 4 days? Good Lord, can you say bone structure?’ Jackie’s voice came through her head.

Sidney.

Wait, what?

She stepped back, away from him, wiping her hand with her mouth. “Oh God, I’m sorry.”

He laughed, reaching for her again, but she ignored his hand. “Hey, I was into it.”

“Yeah, that’s not…” She trailed off, looking over to the booth. Claire was giving her a thumbs up. “I gotta go.”

“Seriously?”

She didn’t wait to hear what else he had to say. She was about 2 seconds from either throwing her guts up, or spilling her guts about what just went through her mind. “What are you doing? He’s cute!” Claire hissed, but didn’t hesitated to drag a sleepy Brent out of the booth. She had woken him up in her haste to become the next Picasso.

“I need to get out of here,” Lyndsey rushed, and she knew that she looked a little bit sick. She chanced a peek over her shoulder as she swiped her bag from the table. Jared Leto eyes was gone.

“You okay?”

They were outside, waiting for a cab. Lyndsey had turned her phone back on, to check to see that it was close to three a.m. How the hell the club was still open on a weeknight, she had no clue.

But she wasn’t okay. She was drunk, and tired, and just made out with a complete stranger at the bar which wasn’t totally bad but it was certainly out of character. And she had a headache starting to form that had nothing to do with the alcohol and she almost wanted to mention it to Claire because Claire never remembered anything when she was drunk but Lyndsey didn’t.

She was a mess.

“No,” She answered quietly, looking down at her shoes. Her feet were killing her too.

“Lynds?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” She sniffled, all good feelings now gone as she slid into the backseat of the cab. Brent ended up between them, passed out again and snoring softly in the middle seat as Claire rattled off the address to Lyndsey’s house, since she was first. She stared out the window, ignoring the nagging feeling that her friend was looking at her, and she wiped away a tear as it slipped down her cheek.

She didn’t want to cry over him.

What was the point?

“Lyndsey, what’s going on?” Claire’s quiet voice broke through the silence of the cab, and she sounded genuinely worried.

“I don’t- it’s. You wouldn’t understand,” She finished meekly, playing with her rings and looking at her lap.

Her friends’ hand was on top of hers, rubbing her thumb against her fingers. “Try me.”

Lyndsey sighed shakily, the tears that threatened to bawl just so close behind her eyes. She opened her mouth, and it came out like word vomit.

“I might’ve lied before. I met someone, and he’s really nice but I’m all confused because he doesn’t live here, just flies in for work sometimes, but he said he wants to take me to dinner and we were texting while I was watching The Outsiders, but he couldn’t watch it because…well, he just couldn’t and I think I’m getting my hopes up, cuz, like, it’s me, ya know? Why would he be all. Whatever. And I can’t talk to him because he doesn’t live here, just flies in for work sometimes but I miss him and we didn’t even talk when he was here because he couldn’t and I don’t know what to do.”

She purposely didn’t mention who it was that she met and she was quite surprised all of that spilled out of her without any hint of who she could be talking about. Claire’s hand was still on hers, holding tightly as Lyndsey took a deep breath, sniffling away tears.

“Oh, Lynds. I wish you would’ve told-“

“Just forget it.” She interrupted, looking out the window again. “It’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid! This guy would be nuts not to like you. You’re an amazing girl. I mean it,” She pressed when Lyndsey scoffed. “Plenty of people do the long distance thing, I’m sure it-“

“Just,” She sighed, pulling her hands away. “Can we not talk about it?” She looked around Brent and into her best friends’ eyes. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

Claire nodded solemnly and sat back. The rest of the cab ride was in silence.



It didn’t take more than ten minutes to get to Lyndsey’s house. She had found her keys in her bag and handed Claire some cash, who had agreed to take Brent home with her since he crashed on Lyndsey’s couch the last time they’d gone out. She just waved goodbye and got out, hurrying to her front door, slipping on some ice before she made the front steps.

“Fucking winter and it’s fucking snow and cold,” She muttered, hearing the cab pull away slowly into the darkness. She fumbled for the lock and found her way inside, the living room light still on for her. She loved her Mom.

She had dumped her bag on her bed, and slipped out of her heels before making her way to the bathroom, reaching for her toothbrush as the light flickered on. She caught her reflection in the mirror.

She looked like absolute hell.

Her hair was a mess, but she knew that it was only that way from dancing. After they had left the bathroom after the Incident, she had let go on the dance floor and tried to bump and grind away her problems against the other people surrounding her.

Her make up was another story.

Her lipstick was smudged a little, the taste of the guy with the eyes still subtly there on her tongue. She tried to brush it away, hoping that the mint of the toothpaste would help her feel a little better in the morning. She multi tasked in swiping off her make up, but wished there was something she could do to get rid of her blood shot eyes that had nothing to do with her contacts drying out.

Sidney.

Her phone.

She finished up as quickly as she could, making her way back to her room to search for her phone.

He hadn’t texted her back from earlier, but she figured that it was probably a time difference thing. He had probably fallen back to sleep.

Forgetting about her.

She didn’t realise that she had been sitting on the bed for about ten minutes, just staring at his message. ’I don’t think I know how to be lazy.’ Of course he didn’t. He was Sidney fucking Crosby, golden prodigy of the National Hockey League and she was Lyndsey, that random nurse who broke protocol technically and read to him once in his hospital room. Why the hell was he after someone so pathetic.

She couldn’t do this. There was no point to it, and it was stupid, and she was stupid and he was not and she didn’t need all this drama.

Drama that she couldn’t share with anyone. Because why would they believe her?

She pressed her fingers against the screen, typing out a message in haste, but making sure that everything was spelt correctly. Or, not like she had been seven shades of blind drunk when she’d typed it.

’You know what, this makes no sense, we live a fucktonne of miles away from each other and you're a hotshot hockey player and I'm just a girl in Canada. I’m a nobody and We're never gonna see each other. We're kidding ourselves and I'm not ready to be sad all the time so have a good life.’.

She turned her phone off.

She went to bed.