Hutch

1

Hutch

I'm late.

Professor Marks is going to murder me. He already hates me because he apparently despises all professional athletes. He thinks none of us actually want to learn shit. Which might be true for some, but not me.

I'm to terrified of my mother to not do well in school and graduate. She busted her ass to get me here and I'll be damned if I disappoint her. If it weren't for her working three jobs to pay for all the hockey camps and gear, I wouldn't be sitting at a Division 1 school doing what I love. All she asked of me was to actually graduate with a degree I could use.

Thank God it's my last year, though. Classes that aren't deemed "token" classes for athletes are hard and it was all I could do to keep up last year. I'm not looking forward to this year since this is the year I have to get picked up by an actual team.

Scouts have been calling Coach, and not just about me. Several of my team members, some of them freshmen, are garnering a lot of attention. I turned down two offers my sophomore year and I'm still terrified it was a mistake. Granted, they weren't major teams, but it was the NHL.

I turn the corner and don't even have time to stop before I plow head first into a bundle topped with dark red hair and she bounces back, landing on her ass. Green eyes blink up at me from behind a pair of dark rimmed glasses. Not a flicker of recognition sparks in them.

Now that's interesting.

"I'm sorry." I drop to my knees and start gathering her things together. "I didn't see you when you came around the corner."

"No, I'm sorry." Her voice is soft and musical and has a distinct accent, one I'm not familiar with. "I'm late, got turned around, and wasn't looking where I was going."

"I'm late too." I flash her a grin, but she's not even looking at me. She's too busy trying to gather the books behind her.

"Oh my God, it's him!"

My eyes close. I'm not in the mood to deal with fans. I have to, though. Its part of the image, especially if I want to get picked up by a team. I can't look like I'm being rude or brushing them off. Normally, I don't mind smiling and playing the part, but I actually resent the interruption.

The girl looks at me and then to the girls coming up on us at a fast pace. She frowns, but there's still no recognition in her gaze.

"Hutch!" one of the girls squeals.

"Who?" She looks at me quizzically.

This girl has no idea who I am. It's a new experience. Even back in high school everyone knew me. Now that I'm the number one forward in college hockey, its almost impossible to go anywhere without being recognized, especially here on campus.

"Hutch," one of the girls answers the redhead, contempt in her voice.

"Uh...this is my friend Jamie."

My entire being stills at her lie. She looks confused enough I'd buy the lie.

"What?" another girl asks. "That's Hutch."

"Uh, no. This is Jamie. We were walking to class together and I tripped."

I keep my head down, more thankful than I can say as the girls go quiet. I pick up the rest of her things and hand them to her.

"Ready?" She asks and stands, reaching a hand out to me. I take it and nod, letting her pull me up. She grunts a little and I can't help but smirk. She's probably a full foot shorter than me and when I'm standing, I'm right. She barely comes to my shoulder.