Page 33 of Neo
“Economics.”
“I hated that class in high school. What will you do with that degree?”
“Law school.”
“That makes sense.” He doesn’t seem to be too impressed. “But why do you want to be a lawyer?”
Oddly enough, nobody has ever asked me that, not even my academic counselor. Whenever I tell anyone my career goals, they simply look as if they’re impressed and congratulate me. It’s the polite thing to do, but I think we’ve already established that Neo isn’t worried about being polite.
“It’s all I’ve ever wanted to be.”
“But why?”
“For truth and justice,” I say in a clipped tone, annoyed by all his questions that are making me uncomfortable. “Why do you want to play hockey for a living?”
“Because it’s a good living.”
“And that’s it?”
“Ten million dollars is a good reason to do anything.”
“But that’s your why? That’s why you get up every single day and train, eat clean, consume no alcohol, and go to bed by eleven?” I challenge.
“How do you know what time I go to bed?” He grins sinfully. “Have you been asking around about me?”
“Absolutely not. It was a lucky guess,” I say, but that’s kind of a lie. I haven’t asked anyone about him, but it only takes a few seconds to conduct an internet search on one Neo Major and see his entire life encapsulated on a web page.
“You sure?” He teases, licking the right-hand corner of his mouth.
“I’m sure.” My eyes dart away.
“I play hockey because I love it, but my determination to be the best is fueled by something bigger.”
I return my eyes back to his.
“Exactly…your why.”
“Yes, my why, as you describe it is my brother.”
“You want to succeed in honor of him?”
“My brother was going into the NHL right after he graduated high school. He was a big fucking deal in the hockey world. A prodigy really.”
Hmm, I think I was a little lazy with my research. I’m going back on the computer as soon as he leaves tomorrow. Obviously, I missed a huge section about Neo’s personal life. Suddenly, a lot of things are starting to make sense about who he is and what drives him. He’s not just some brooding, beautiful thing to stare at. There are layers to him.
“I’m so sorry about your brother,” I tell him again. “It always infuriates me that people get behind the wheel when they’ve been drinking or getting high. It’s so selfish.”
“Yeah,” he replies, his eyes fiercely trained on me, and I feel butterflies in all the wrong places. “Thanks for saying that.”
“Why don’t we just search for something old and familiar and watch that,” I suggest nervously.
“Yeah, because in a minute I’m putting on a hockey game.”
“And I’m ready to pull out a book,” I laugh.
“Okay, there’s no need for such drastic measures. Maybe instead of TV, why don’t we play a game while we wait for the wings?”
“You don’t really seem like the game type,” I say while walking into my bedroom to change into the baggiest sweats I can find without being too hot inside my own house.