Darkroom: A Moo U Hockey Romance

my tablet screen.
Ruby: Is it just me or is it suddenly HOT in here???? He’s gorgeous and funny.
Indi: I actually know him.
When Ruby gasped, Larkmont gave us a glance and I had to ignore Ruby and turn my attention back to Hudson’s presentation.
“Speaking of breasts,” Hudson said, “my first photo is from one of my favorite shows, Game of Thrones. For those of you who haven’t seen it, the show is famous for its nudity. In fact, one fan site actually tallied up a grand total of eighty-two nude scenes across the seventy-three episodes.”
A heightened sense of anticipation gripped the room and I realized he made that little statement about not giggling to trick us into thinking he was above the adolescent behavior of his teammates, only to follow it with a picture of boobs anyway. I expected him to justify his objectification by claiming it was art and/or a celebration the naked female form.
I was wrong.
The photo was not of boobs, butt or bush. It was a landscape I recognized, having watched Game of Thrones. In the foreground was a colossal statue of a helmeted warrior with a sword and shield. He straddled a waterway on which tiny boats could be seen. Behind him was a vast city bisected by more water. It was pretty awe-inspiring and reminded me of how much I admired the rich and intricate world that George RR Martin had created.
Hudson’s other photos included that famous one of the construction guys eating lunch on the beam of a New York skyscraper and a personal one of himself as a kid in full hockey regalia, including a helmet with a full metal cage to protect his face. He was surrounded by professional hockey players, all wearing different uniforms, which didn’t make sense to me, because even a non-hockey fan like me knew only two teams played at a time. Once again, the hockey contingent made a ruckus.
“D-Day! D-Day! D-Day!” they chanted.
Larkmont settled them down with a raised hand before she asked, “I’ll assume you’re not talking about the invasion of Normandy.”
“No. The man with his hands on my shoulders there is my dad and his nickname is D-Day,” Hudson replied. “He played in the NHL.”
“His whole family played in the NHL and he was drafted last year by San Francisco, Coach,” someone said.
Larkmont raised one gray eyebrow.
“Not Coach. Sorry. Professor.”
Looking uncomfortable, Hudson presented the last few photos, ending with a funny black-and-white portrait of a tiny bow-legged Chihuahua, taken at his eye-level. Beside him you could see the owner’s shoes and the massive paws of another dog, possibly a Great Dane. The tiny dog was wearing a knitted sweater, a knitted, brimless Gatsby cap and a comical, long-suffering expression that seemed to say, “Yup, this is my life.”
The hockey players applauded and even though they were pretty insufferable, I had to admit Hudson’s presentation was surprisingly entertaining, thought-provoking and intimate. Who knew a jock could have a creative side?
After class, Ruby and I grabbed some lunch at The Marketplace. She was munching on a chicken Caesar and I had gotten my favorite combo—the French dip and fries. The place was crowded and noisy, but the staff here had things down to a science. Even when there were lines, like today, they moved quickly. And I appreciated their commitment to offering healthy choices and changing things up so we never got bored.
“I am so glad we’re taking that photography class,” Ruby said. “Who knew it was going to be chock full of cute guys?”
“Yeah, who knew?”
“Ah, you did,” she said with an arch look. “You said you know the cute hockey player who presented last. Who is he? Because he’s gorgeous. He’s what would happen if Thor and Captain America had a baby.”
“Ruby, two dudes can’t have a baby. Well, not unless they adopt. Or find a surrogate.” I rearranged the meat on my sandwich so it was spread evenly across the entire roll, not bunched up in the middle.
“Where do you know him from?” Ruby asked.
I dipped my sandwich in the jus to let the rich broth soak into the bread then took a bite. “He hooked up with my ex-roomie once.”
“Which one?”
“My first one. Blair.”
“The one who had a thing for jock cocks?”
We’d both given each other the run down on our former roommates in the first “let’s get to know each other” session.
“Yes. That’s the one. Anyway, one day, I got out of class early and when I opened the door to our room, there she was, wrapping up a nooner. She was still in bed, but Hudson was standing there buck naked, with his back to me and oh my God, was he gorgeous. I’d never been in the presence of thighs like that. And his glutes? There are no words. He was just reaching for his pants and I must have made a noise—okay, I might have moaned a little—and he must have heard me because he stopped moving and turned.”
Ruby gasped. “Wait a second.” She leaned forward. “Are you telling me you saw his ding-dong?”
“I saw his penis, yes.”
She giggled. “Was it impressive?”
“Not particularly.”
“That’s because it was resting,” said a voice, startling us.

6
Indi
Ruby gave a little yelp.
Somehow Hudson had come to crouch next to our table without being noticed. His handsome face was literally less than a foot away. I would have asked how much he had heard, but his remark made it clear he’d heard enough.
My face burned as he straightened to his full height of a little over six feet. I wanted nothing more than to magically disappear in a puff of smoke.
“As an aspiring doctor,” Hudson said, “I’m sure you know that the male sex organ is flaccid the majority of the time and nothing in a flaccid state is ever impressive. Asparagus, for example.”
“Are you saying that your penis in a non-flaccid state is impressive?” I asked.
He gave me a decidedly wicked smile. “No comment.”
I tried very hard not to picture him with a