Hitting the Crossbar

1: Get a Box or Two

1

Get a Box or Two

It shouldn't have been this cold.

It was early October in Edward Bay, Canada. It was supposed to be cold, I got it. But cold like autumn, not the middle of Antarctica. Even in what should have been the warmth of my dorm room, I was freezing. I wrapped the comforter around me even tighter. I wanted to sleep. I needed to sleep.

"Hazel."

The bane of my existence had entered my dorm room. Well, okay, maybe he wasn't the bane of my existence in general . . . but he was right now.

"No, no, no. Get him out," I groaned into my pillow, shifting my head away from the voice. It was too early for this. My first class wasn't until ten thirty. I could still get a few more minutes of sleep in. I knew it wasn't even nine yet because I could hear another voice whose sociology lecture started then.

"Macy," said my roommate, Maddy, with a sigh. She was probably tired of hearing my complaints every time I didn't have morning practice. It wasn't my fault that I favored my sleep.

"No, I don't want to see him. Not now," I muttered.

"She already brushed her teeth," Maddy told him, probably rolling her eyes. "She literally just crawled back into bed."

In a lazy drawl, the ruiner of my peace said, "I figured you of all people would be very happy to see me."

"I usually am," I said, muffled into the pillow. "Just not now."

"Okay," Maddy said. "I'm going to class before you two start doing whatever you're planning on doing. Bye, Mace!"

"Bye!" I yelled into my pillow, and the door slammed shut.

Before I knew it, one side of my bed dipped, and my comforter partially rose up before falling back down. When he wrapped his strong arms around me and pushed my hair out of the way to kiss the back of my neck, I leaned back into his presence involuntarily. Like I always did. "Morning," he said.

"What do you want?" I muttered.

"I come with food for you." That was all he needed to say. My eyes popped open, and I twisted around. But the only feast laid out for me was the smug expression spread across his face.

Samuel Henry Cahill.

There were a lot of things people used to call him. A bad boy. A player. Cocky. Egotistical. And while he was still some of those things, he was also my idiot of a boyfriend with vivid green eyes and curly hair that was currently spread around his face, some of the strands splayed out onto his forehead. He was extremely good-looking, and he knew it. He was an amazing soccer (or as he loved to say, football) player.

Although we had met only a few months ago after his parents had shipped him from his hometown in England to mine in Canada, it didn't feel that short. It felt like we had known each other our whole lives.

He wasn't perfect, but he was to me. Even when he had the audacity to lie about food.

I narrowed my eyes at him. "There's no food."

"We'll get some when you're happy to see me." He grinned.

I hiked one leg over his body, straddling him while leaning forward into his warm embrace. "I am happy to see you. But I wanted to sleep, and when I hear you in the morning on Fridays coming to walk with me to class, that means my sleep is ruined."

Since the school year had started back in September, I was grateful every time I got to see Sam. Sam went to Hayes University, about an hour away from me in Southford, near Hamilton, while I attended Henry David Florentine University, just east of London. The two of us played for the varsity soccer teams at our schools. Both of us were constantly busy. We might not have seen each other as much as I would have liked, but I soaked in every moment I could with him.