A COUPLE DAYS after my talk with Sabrina in the quad, I heave myself off Fitzy’s couch and get ready for a brutally early morning practice. I didn’t plan on crashing at his place last night, but our video game session lasted until two a.m. and there was no point in driving home when we had to wake up at five-thirty for a six o’clock practice.
Fitzy lives alone in a shoebox-sized apartment in Hastings. His “bedroom” is separated from the living room by a curtain he hung from the ceiling. Getting to the tiny bathroom pretty much requires me to climb over his bed.
The big tattooed hockey player is sprawled on his stomach, sleeping like the dead, so I not so nicely smack his ass as I head for the bathroom.
“Wake up, dude. Practice,” I grunt.
He mumbles something unintelligible and rolls over.
I find a spare toothbrush in a drawer next to the sink and tear it open. As I brush my teeth, I scroll through my phone to see if Sabrina texted when my phone was on silent last night.
She didn’t. Damn. I was hoping my speech—and that amazing fucking kiss—might’ve changed her mind about going out with me, but I guess it didn’t.
I do, however, find the most mind-boggling conversation in the group chat I have with my roommates. All the messages are from last night, and they’re bizarre as fuck.
Garrett: The hells, D?!
Dean: It’s not what you think!!
Logan: It’s hard to mistake ur romantic bath with that giant pink thing! In ur ass!
Dean: It wasn’t in my ass!
Garrett: I’m not even going to ask where it was
Dean: I had a girl over! Garrett: Suuuuuuuuure Logan: Suuuuuuuuure Dean: I hate you guys Garrett: <3
Logan: <3
I rinse my mouth out, spit, and drop the toothbrush into the little cup on the sink. Then I quickly type out a text.
Me: Wait… what did I miss?
Since we have practice in twenty minutes, the guys are already awake and clearly on their phones. Two photos pop up simultaneously. Garrett and Logan have both sent me pics of pink dildos. I’m even more confused now.
Dean messages immediately with, Why do you guys have dildo pics handy?
Logan: ALINIMB
Dean: ??
Me: ??
Garrett: At Least It’s Not In My Butt.
I snort to myself, because I’m starting to piece it together.
Logan: Nice, G! U got that on the first try!
Garrett: We spend too much time 2gether.
Me: PLEASE tell me u caught D playing w/ dildos.
Logan: Sure did.
Dean is quick to object again.
I HAD A GIRL OVER!
The guys and I rag on him for a couple more minutes, but I have to stop when Fitzy stumbles into the bathroom and shoves me aside. He’s got crazy bedhead and he’s buck-naked.
“Gotta piss,” he mumbles.
“Mornin’, sunshine,” I say cheerfully. “Want me to make you some coffee?”
“God. Yes. Please.”
Chuckling, I duck out of the bathroom and walk the four or so steps into his kitchenette. When he finally emerges, I shove a cup of coffee in his hand, sip my own, and say, “Dean shoved a dildo up his ass last night.”
Fitzy nods. “Makes sense.”
I snicker mid-sip. Coffee spills over the rim of my cup. “It really does, huh?”
He gives another nod and chugs the rest of his coffee. I’m already dressed and ready to go, so I leisurely finish my drink while Fitzy dashes around the apartment in search of some clothes.
Five minutes later, we step outside into the early morning chill and head off to our respective cars. Luckily I’ve got my gear in the back, so I don’t have to stop at the house first. And although it’s stupid as fuck, Fitz and I race to campus like a bunch of speed demons. He wins, because my truck is old and slower than molasses.
We make it to the arena with ten minutes to spare, which is good because my phone chooses that moment to ring. My pulse quickens at the thought that it might be Sabrina.
It’s not. I’m slightly disappointed when I see Mom’s number and then feel bad about it because I love my mom.
“I’ll see you in there,” I call out to Fitzy, who’s hopping out of his car. He nods and ambles off, while I answer the call. “Hey, Mom. Practice is about to start, so I don’t have a lotta time.”
“Aw, I won’t keep you then. I was just calling to check in and say hi.” Her familiar voice causes something inside of me to soften. I swear,
Mom always has that effect on me. I could be tense as shit, and one word from her loosens all my muscles. I guess I’m a mama’s boy, but it’s not like I could be anything else, seeing as how I don’t have a dad.
“You’re up early,” I remark. It’s only five o’clock in Texas, which is early even for her.
“Couldn’t sleep,” she admits. “I’m styling an entire bridal party this morning. I’m nervous.”
“Ah, there’s nothing to be nervous about. You’re the hair whisperer, remember?”
Mom laughs. “That I am. But makeup, not so much. Those courses I took last summer helped, but jeez, kiddo, I’m freaking out here! How could I ever live with myself if I was the woman who ruined a bride’s big day by painting her face like a clown!”
“You’ll do fine,” I assure her. “I guarantee it.”
“Oooh, a guarantee? Not even a simple ol’ promise? You’ve got a lot of confidence in your mama, John.”
“Of course I do. Because my mama’s a rock star.” “I really raised a charmer, huh?”
“Yup.” I grin as I balance the phone on my shoulder and slide out of the pickup.
“Okay, give me a quick rundown of what you’ve been up to,” she orders.
I make my way to the massive front steps of Briar’s hockey facility. “Not much,” I confess. “Hockey, school, friends—the usual.”
“Still no girlfriend?” There’s a teasing note in her voice. “Nope.” I hesitate. “I did meet someone, though.” “Oooh! Tell me everything!”
Laughing, I reach into my pocket for my student ID to unlock the front doors. Security is tight here. “Nothing to tell yet. But when I’ve got more details, you’ll be the first to know. Anyway, I gotta go. Walking into the rink.”
“All right, call me when you’ve got more time to chat. Love you, baby.” “Love you too.”
I hang up and swipe my ID in the keypad, then barrel into the sleek, air- conditioned lobby where framed jerseys hang on the walls and colorful championship pennants stream down from the ceiling.
I wish I’d had more time to talk to Mom, but when it comes to Briar hockey, there’s no such thing as slacking. Coach Jensen runs a top-notch program that prides itself on excellence and hard work. Just because we’re sucking balls these days doesn’t mean those fundamentals have been lost.
In a brisk stride, I head for the locker rooms. I still have my phone in hand, and after a moment of hesitation, I give in to the urge to text Sabrina.
Me: Mornin, darlin. Give any thought to what we talked about? I’ve got a first date offer here with ur name written all over it…
Then I put my phone away and go to practice.
*
Sabrina
I’M ALREADY LATE to meet the girls, but when I fly outside after my evening tutorial, I know instantly that I’m about to be even later.
Beau Maxwell and a few of his buddies are congregating at the bottom of the steps, surrounded by half a dozen football groupies. From where I’m standing, it’s obvious that the boys are enjoying the attention. Although Briar is primarily a hockey college, the football players get plenty of limelight around here too.
“S!”
Beau breaks away from the group when he spots me on the steps. His blue eyes light up, which brings ugly scowls to the faces of the girls around him. They clearly don’t appreciate my poaching their quarterback slash potential hookup for the night, but I don’t particularly care. I haven’t spoken to Beau in weeks, and I can’t deny that I’m happy to see him.
I descend the stairs while he ascends them and we meet halfway for a hug. Strong, muscular arms wrap around me and swing me right off my feet. I laugh, ignoring the groupies who are murdering me with their eyes.
“Hey,” I say when he sets me back on my feet. “How’ve you been?” “Not great, actually. Not great at all. My bed is cold and lonely without
you in it.”
I can tell he’s joking because his pout is exaggerated. And even that silly expression doesn’t make him any less handsome. With his dark hair and chiseled features, Beau’s sexy as hell. We met at a party last spring where, within seconds, he sucked me in with his dimpled grin and easy-
going charm. I think we fell into bed with each other about ten minutes after that, and he’s one of the rare guys I allowed myself to see more than once.
Except now we’re standing face to face, and he’s doing nothing for me. No tingles. No heat. No I want to hit that again. As gorgeous as Beau is, he’s not the one I want to be naked with these days.
That honor falls to John Tucker. AKA the sweetest, hottest, most patient guy on the planet. AKA the guy who asked me out via text this morning and who I still haven’t texted back.
“Seriously, baby, what did I do to deserve such punishment?” He clutches his heart with mock pain, and the scowly, fumy groupies get scowlier and fumier.
“Uh-huh. I’m sure your bed’s been miserably empty since I left it. I bet you’re living the sad, lonely life of a monk.”
“Not quite.” He winks. “But you could at least try to act like you miss boning down with all this—” He sweeps a hand in front of him from head to toe.
And yeah, “all this” is mighty appealing. I’m talking big chest, sculpted arms, long legs, and muscles to spare.
But Tucker has all those things too.
“I see your ego is still as massive as ever,” I say cheerfully. Beau nods fervently. “It is. Not as big as my dick, of course—” “Of course.”
“But I’m not complaining.”
“Other than your big dick and ego, how’s life? How’s Joanna?” I’d met Beau’s older sister Joanna at one of his parties, and watching the two of them bicker had been highly entertaining.
“She’s great. Still doing that show on Broadway and killing it.” He sighs. “She asks about you all the time.”
“She does?”
“Oh yeah. She thinks I’m an idiot for not making you my girlfriend.” “Making me?” I echo dryly.
“I tried to tell her that I’m too much man for you, but Jo insists that you’re too much woman for me. She’s wrong, obviously.”
My lips twitch in humor. “Obviously. What else? How’s the season going?”
His laidback expression falters slightly. “Team’s lost two games already this season.”
Sympathy tugs at my chest. I know how important football is to him. “I’m sure you can still turn things around,” I assure him, though I have no idea if that’s even true.
Apparently it’s not. “Naah, we’re fucked,” he says glumly. “Two losses pretty much guarantees we won’t make the playoffs.”
Ah, crap. And it’s his last year at Briar too. “Hey, but at least you led the team to one championship during your time here,” I remind him. “That counts for something, right?”
“Sure.” But he doesn’t sound convinced of that. He clears his throat and offers a smile that lacks the luster from before. “Anyway, I’m glad I ran into you. I promised not to say anything about this, but I figured it’s cool to bring it up to you since you’re the other party.”
I wrinkle my forehead. “The other party of what?”
He grins broadly, and this time it does reach his eyes. “Tuck’s epic pursuit of you.”
Oh God.
“What are you talking about?” I squeak.
“Ha. Don’t play dumb, baby. It’s been like a week since he tracked me down at the gym, and I know the guy—no way did he go a week without tracking you down.”
Anxiety pricks my belly. Beau and I might have ended things on fantastic terms, but that doesn’t mean I feel comfortable discussing other guys with him.
As if he senses that, he softens his tone. “It’s all good, S. You don’t have to give me deets if you don’t want to.” He shrugs. “I just wanted to make sure you knew he was a decent guy.”
Wait, what?
“Wait, what?” I say aloud.
Beau laughs. “Tucker,” he clarifies, as if I don’t know who we’re talking about. “I know you have this vendetta against hockey players—”
“I do not!” I protest.
“You totally fucking do!” He’s laughing harder now. “Do you want me to list all the times I had to sit there and listen to you trash Di Laurentis? Actually, I wouldn’t even be able to list them. That’s how often you did it.”
“There may have been a couple of occasions,” I concede with a grumble.
“A couple, a hundred, same diff, right? But yeah, I’m not even gonna try to defend Dean—who’s fucking awesome, by the way. I know you won’t change your mind about him. But Tucker is legit cool. He’s one of the nicest dudes I’ve ever met.”
Same, I think wryly. Out loud I ask, “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I know you.” He reaches out and tweaks a strand of my hair. Behind us, an outraged gasp sounds from the groupies. “You’ve probably already thought of a million reasons not to give Tuck a shot. And if one of those reasons is that you’re really not into him, then great, don’t go out with him then. But if you are into him, don’t let this big brain of yours—” He gently taps my head “—talk you out of it, ’kay?”
“You should probably stop touching me. Your fans are getting upset.”
He snorts. “You really think me touching you is gonna stop one or two or all of them from sucking my dick tonight?”
I blanch. “Gross, Beau.”
“Truth, Sabrina.” He waggles his eyebrows. “I’m a god around here. I can do no wrong.”
Huh. Must be nice to live in a world where everything gets handed to you on a silver platter, where your mistakes mean nothing.
I keep my cynical thoughts to myself. “So what exactly did Tucker say to you?”
“That he’s into you.” Beau gives another shrug. “He wanted to know if our history was gonna pose a problem for him. I told him no.”
My jaw falls open. “So he pretty much asked you for permission to date me?”
“Permission?” Beau snorts loud enough to cause all his buddies to glance over at us. “Yeah, right. More like he announced that he wanted you, and that if I had a problem with it, too bad so sad.”
I fight the grin that’s trying to surface. For all his sweet words and aw shucks smiles, Tucker really is an alpha fucker. I don’t know why that thrills me so much, but it does.
“Anyway, don’t be stupid about this,” Beau says sternly. “Someone like Tuck might be good for you. He can keep you from studying yourself to death.”
“Oh!” I exclaim. “Before I forget—I got into Harvard!”
“For real?” His face breaks out in the biggest, broadest smile. “Congratu-fucking-lations!”
And then he hauls me into his arms again for a bear hug, while his gorgeous groupies glare bloody murder at me.
