I’M A FUCKING idiot.
I might have looked confident when I walked out of her dorm, but it’s taking everything in me not to crawl back and give her what she wants. What I want.
Finding out what shade of brown her nipples are might be the nail in the coffin. There’s no one I can blame but myself for charging into her dorm like I have a right to question her about who she let kiss her.
Instead of getting laid, I just hardwired the object of all my wet dreams into my brain. It hasn’t even been five minutes, and I can already count the showers I’ll need to jerk off to her. The walk back to the car is a walk of shame.
Did I expect to go into her dorm and make her come all over my face?
Not for a second.
Even if I did, I didn’t think she would be just as eager for it.
I don’t bother with music for my drive because apparently, I wanted to torture myself even more. Fortunately, the roads are nearly empty. Trying to focus on my driving is impossible when I can still fucking taste her on my tongue. Her beautiful sounds and sweet body had me dropping to my knees without a second thought. Fucking center-fold worthy.
With her tits in my face and her pretty brown eyes watching me, I could worship her for eternity. I’m surprised I didn’t come in my pants like a pubescent teen the second she let me undress her. There was so much to touch, so much to taste that I felt lucky to even be allowed to look at her.
Summer could have anyone pining over her. I’ve known that since she walked into Kilner’s office the first day I saw her. She would have rather slammed my head into a car door than have anything to do with my dick, but now, her breathy yes plays on a loop in my head. It’s a special kind of torture considering I just denied my dick its salvation. I can only imagine how wet and tight she would be taking all of me, so perfectly spread out on the back of that couch. Fuck.
Barging into her dorm to find out if she and Atwood were a thing wasn’t my finest moment. Crystal Yang’s ego was bruised since that sorority party, so she thought dragging me to the Ferris wheel would change my mind. It didn’t. Especially after I saw Atwood kissing Summer.
I can’t remember if I even got an answer about why she kissed him. And I don’t know why that kiss twisted a knife so deep in my gut, I couldn’t breathe until I saw her again.
Pulling into the driveway, I spot Kian standing by the garage in his boxers as if to tell me this fucked up night isn’t over yet. He’s barefoot on the slick pavement. Music spills out of the house behind him, and a few people hang by the front door. Of course, they’ve resumed the fucking party.
There is nothing uneventful about this house. I should have taken Brady Winston’s advice more seriously because being a captain to these guys is like being a full-time babysitter.
I slam my truck door shut. “Ishida, what’s going on?” He falls into me. “She’s back. She’s back for me!”
His horror-stricken look tells me everything I need to know. Tabitha. Kian’s ex-girlfriend/stalker. “How do you know?”
“This was on my pillow!” He shoves the bride and groom wedding cake topper in my hands, and I relax.
Last year, a few days before Christmas break, a wedding cake was delivered to the house. When we opened it, it read Congratulations Mr. & Mrs. Ishida. Safe to say we don’t buy cake anymore, and anonymous deliveries are no longer accepted at the hockey house. Except the rest of us knew Dylan’s behind all this because he gets a kick out of messing with Kian.
“It’s probably nothing, buddy. I’ll take a look for you.”
Inside, I disconnect the bluetooth speakers. Get out. Party’s over,” I say over the groans and murmurs. There’s only so many things I can let slide for the sake of the team. The only reason I allowed a party earlier was so I could get everyone to Summer’s carnival. Not so these idiots can get plastered.
Finding Sebastian and Cole in the kitchen, I get them to direct everyone out the front door. I head straight for Dylan’s room and hear the moans too late. Knocking would have been smart.
“Donovan!” I can’t say I’m shocked when I see him tied to the bed, a blindfold over his eyes and a gag in his mouth.
The blonde turns to wave. “Hi, Aiden.”
I throw her a tight smile. “Do you mind, uh, untying him?”
She removes the blindfold and gag. Dylan blinks, adjusting to the light. “Hey, what’s up, man?”
Only he could be so cavalier. I toss him the cake topper, and he snickers before he spots my expression, and his amusement vanishes. I might be petty, but if I’m not getting laid tonight, no one is.
“Living room. Now.”
By the time he makes it out, he’s still pulling up his sweats. “Is this about Kian? That was a joke.”
“It’s not only about that. You’re fucking around while Kilner’s coming down on me after the Yale mess. You invited those assholes here, and you’re the one who lost the bet to throw the parties.” I sift a hand through my hair. “I can’t keep doing this shit with you. You miss practice, show up hungover, and get into fights bad enough that you get ejected. When are you going to get it together?”
He runs a hand over his face. “Do I have to listen to this lecture? I’m just having fun. We all are.”
“What you do off the ice is up to you, but you’re my friend, man. Tell me if something is happening, and I’ll help.”
“Aye, aye, captain!” He mimics a salute, making my jaw tighten. “I’m serious.”
His smirk slips off his face when he looks away. “Nothing is happening.” “You would tell me if there were?”
He pauses, but then he nods. “Yeah, I would.”
Deep down I know he won’t. Dylan ready to share everything in his life unless it has to do with feelings, then he’s a brick wall.
The summer of freshman year, we camped out in Hammonasset on a team-building retreat, and that’s the only time I’ve learned anything personal about Dylan. His parents are hard on him about school, and his dad hates that he plays a barbarian sport like hockey. His mother, on the other hand, is so caring she stocked our refrigerator for an entire semester with her cooking. Eventually, they moved upstate so her visits became less frequent, but we got a good look at her relationship with her golden boy.
“Good. And I’m putting an end to that bet you lost. Anyone who has a problem with that can deal with me.”
“Works for me,” he says, visibly relaxing. “Where’d you come from?
You left the carnival hours ago.”
The switch in topic only reminds me of sounds I’ve been hearing on repeat. Her moans. And her whimpers. And her raspy calls for God. “Just checking on something.”
Dylan snorts. “Stalking your girl after Atwood kissed her? You know, I never thought you’d stoop to Tabitha’s level.”
Kian walks in at that moment, the fear on his face returning. “She’s here, isn’t she?” he screeches, disappearing into the kitchen.
“I liked you better with a gag,” I say to Dylan, which only makes him laugh harder.
“You know who else is gagging—”
I chuck an empty solo cup at him, and he dodges it. Idiot. “I’ll have fun with you at practice tomorrow,” I say.
His laughter seizes, and he pins me with a glare.
Kian comes back, holding a spatula. “Do you think I can bunk with one of you guys?”
“Not it.” Dylan beams, completely apathetic to Kian’s fear. “We can switch rooms, Kian,” I offer.
“But I would feel more comfortable with you in the room.” Could this night get any longer? “Fine.”
I’ll have to sleep on the uncomfortable sponge mattress because Kian will complain all night if he has to. And there is no way I’m sharing a bed with him, because he thrashes around like he’s being attacked. “But you can’t keep asking every ten minutes if I’m awake.”
“How else will I know if you’re asleep or not?”
I don’t bother entertaining that response when my phone vibrates. It’s Dylan, who’s already down the hall snickering to himself.
Bunny Patrol 2.0
Dylan Donovan: Get your cameras ready. Ishida and Cap are sleeping together.
Cole Carter: I’d pay to see that.
Sebastian Hayes: Of course you would, E.
Dylan Donovan: Five dollars at the door. Ten if you want to record.
Eli Westbrook: I thought that scream was the girl you have over. You scared Kian again, didn’t you?
Dylan Donovan: It was a harmless prank, Dad.
Sebastian Hayes: WTF? That’s why you dragged me to the dollar store at one a.m.?? I thought it was for a project.
“Who’s texting you?” asks Kian, trying to peek over my shoulder, clutching his spatula.
“The guys.”
“I’m not getting any messages,” he says, staring at his smartwatch.
“Maybe the WIFI’s bad,” I answer, not paying attention because I’m texting Dylan that he’s one message away from having his number blocked.
“I’m using data. There’s nothing.”
I shrug when I look at him, only to find him peering down at my phone to see the chat. I realize it too late because a look of disbelief and hurt mixes onto his face.
Shit.
“You guys have a group chat without me?!”
