by Toni Aleo
When my phone dings, I notice I have a message on Facebook. From Jace.
Jace Sinclair: You’re just gonna leave me hanging?
Grinning, I hit his name and go to the chat.
Avery Rose: Can’t confirm or deny your allegations.
Jace Sinclair: Oh you can, it’s just will you?
Avery Rose: No comment.
Jace Sinclair: I’ll shoot you some disgustingly corny lines until you do.
Avery Rose: Is that supposed to be a punishment?
Jace Sinclair: Baby, if you want punishment, I can give you some. Just ask.
Avery Rose: Ew, you just went full 50 Shades of Grey on me.
Jace Sinclair: I did, so bend over, let me spank ya a bit.
Avery Rose: I will cut you if you try.
Jace Sinclair: Challenge accepted.
That has me giggling so hard, my stomach hurts. Falling over to my side, I watch the little chat bubbles as he types, feeling every bit like a girl with a crush. I’m hanging on every word he types and I am practically begging for more.
Jace Sinclair: No, but really, tell me you wrote that song for me.
Avery Rose: I didn’t write it for you, thank you.
Jace Sinclair: Jeez, you know how to cut a fella down, huh? But fine, about me.
Avery Rose: Still no comment.
Grinning, I wait for his response like I’m waiting for Santa on Christmas morning, with all the anticipation and hope of a five-year-old. He makes me giddy and excited. I hadn’t even realized I was holding my breath until the message comes through.
Jace Sinclair: Give me your number.
Avery Rose: Stalker, no.
Jace Sinclair: Yes, give it to me.
Avery Rose: Why?
Jace Sinclair: Cause I need it.
Avery Rose: For?
Jace Sinclair: Because I want the number for the most gorgeous girl on campus, the one who makes my heart race, and also the one who traced her tongue up my ab and wrote a song about it.
Swoon! He is incredible.
Avery Rose: Well then… ask nicely.
Jace Sinclair: Avery, beautiful Rose, can I please have you number?
Avery Rose: Yes
Once I send it, I fully expect him to text me. But instead, my phone starts to ring. Surprised, I read the number I expect is his and consider answering it. I should send it to voice mail just to mess with him. But I go ahead and answer it.
“Hello?”
“Tell me that song isn’t about me.” His voice is low, rough, and every bit dripping with naughty sex. I close my eyes, my whole body tensing up as I grip my blanket, for what, I have no clue. Holy hell, his voice is torture.
“No way. No comment,” I manage to say, and in return, he laughs softly.
“You’re gonna make me work for it?”
“I am.”
“Good,” he says then, sending chills down my spine. “What are you doing after your gig?”
“Probably coming home to go to bed.”
“Or, you could come out with me.”
“To?”
“A special place.”
“Your bed?”
“No, you horny thing, somewhere special.”
“Fine, I’ll bite—”
“Oh, thank God,” he moans and I giggle, my cheeks burning with not only embarrassment but need, too.
“Goodness me. I mean, where?”
“You’ll see, but you have to agree.”
“You’re impossible.”
“Say yes.”
“Fine, yes.”
“Awesome, cool, so yeah.” He pauses awkwardly which I think is so stinking cute, and I’m breathless as silence comes over the line. “So, not to sound like a complete stalker loser, like Markus has been calling me, but I’ve been thinking about you all day.”
Grinning, I press my lips together as giddiness washes over me. “Really?”
“Yeah.”
“I guess I’m supposed to say the same, huh?”
“It would be nice if I wasn’t the only stalker here.”
That makes me laugh, and soon he is laughing with me. “Yeah, you’re not.”
“Cool.”
“Cool.” I open my eyes, looking at the ceiling, unsure what the hell is going on. Why are we so ridiculously cute and awkward? We had sex all night and morning. I shouldn’t be self-conscious, but I am. Along with giddy and unable to stop smiling. What does that even mean? “What are you doing to me?”
I can hear his smile in his voice as it drops an octave. “Nothing yet.”
“Jace, you know what I mean. I feel all schoolgirl-like.”
“Good, ’cause I feel like a kid going through puberty talking to my crush.”
“So you’re crushing?”
“Oh, yeah. Hard.”
“How hard?” I ask to lighten the moment because he is getting deep and I can’t handle it. He can’t be this into me, can he? I’ve spent so long thinking I was nothing, but he makes me feel like something. Then I can’t help but feel like I’m in deep. Which cannot happen. Not yet. I just met him. And I want fun! I don’t want something serious.
“Really hard, and don’t act like you aren’t crushing either.”
“Never said I wasn’t.”
“Didn’t confirm it either.”
“Well, maybe I don’t word vomit like you do.”
“No, you just write hot-ass songs about me to show how you feel.”
“You’re full of yourself,” I accuse and he laughs.
“Fine, keep it under lock. I’ll find that key.” He probably didn’t mean it to be suggestive, but it is and I’m almost speechless as I bite my lip.
“I hope you do.”
“I will.”
The silence comes back and I grin. “What now?”
He doesn’t answer me right away, and I can just see him sitting there, smiling and looking all hot and shit. “Well, I have to go to practice.”
“Ah, hockey.”
“Yeah, the best sport ever.”
“That’s debatable,” I comment and he pauses.
“Not a fan?”
“Not so much.”
“Probably ’cause you haven’t seen me play. You should come check me out sometime.”
“Is that right?”
“Yup, and I bet you’ll love it after that.”
I want to watch him. Badly. But I can’t let him know that.
“I’ll even take you to dinner afterward.”
“Pizza?”
“Oh, yeah. Or hell, we can Netflix and chill for sure.”
“You’re very persuasive, Sinclair.”
“And you’re beautiful.” He says it so simply, with so much meaning, that my heart is racing as I suck in a deep breath.
“I wasn’t expecting that.”
“Good, my goal is to keep you on your toes.”
Closing my eyes, I shake my head as I soar through the clouds. “So I guess I’ll see you tonight?”
“Yup, I’ll be in the front row, screaming for you because, baby, you’re my June Carter.”
“Oh wow, Lame Line Larry.”
He laughs. “Don’t hate, June.”
“Goodness me, does that make you Johnny Cash?”
“Your biggest fan? Yeah.”
“That’s corny.”
“Hey, I’m known for that,” he says with teasing in his voice. “But I gotta go.”
“For hockey,” I deadpan, a little sad. I don’t want to stop talking to him.
“Hey, someone’s gotta support the kids while you’re working your way to the top.”
“Oh my, really?” I laugh and his chuckles run down my spine.
“Just saying,” he says between laughs. “But I’ll see you tonight.”
“Okay, bye.”
“Bye, baby,” he says and then the line goes dead. Laying my phone against my chest, I know I should be completely freaked out. I should be running for the hills.
But instead, I think I just f
ell even more for Jace Sinclair.
Shit.
I love the ice in the Bullies’ arena.
I’m not really sure what it is about this ice, but I love it. It’s my favorite out of every surface of ice I’ve ever played on. I’ve played on a lot, too, even had my own little rink at home growing up, but nothing compares to this ice. It catches my skates perfectly, my stick glides effortlessly on it, there a banner on the wall for the most goals scored in a season with my name on it, and I just feel good when I’m on this ice.
I think it’s because Jude and Jayden both played on this ice and went to the NHL afterward. It’s my stepping-stone to the goal I’ve worked for all my life, and that thought is overwhelming. My brothers owned this ice, led the players on it to victory, and taught me key plays on it. I’ll never forget the countless hours I spent here with Jude and Jayden when I was in high school. They’d drive me up here for a little stick and play, just to keep me fresh between tournaments. Those are some of my favorite memories. Just me and my brothers, tearing up the ice.
Then last year, Jayden worked me to the bone to make me better. When Jude was in town, he’d come play too. It was great and those are moments I hold in my heart. Even with Jude considered better than us because he had made it already, he never threw that in our faces. He pushed us… Yeah, he teased us, but his goal was to motivate us. He did and then Jayden joined him out there. As much as I want what they have right now, my time is coming because of their love, their support. It is something I’ll never forget. Nor will I forget when I would score on them, or when the roles were reversed and I’d show them a new trick. Those are the kinds of things that stick with me. The long talks in the locker room, the brotherly teasing, and the promise of a future of us three in the NHL together. That’s my end goal, and it’s coming.
All because of them. Because they are my best friends.
So yeah, this is my favorite place on earth.
And it’s my year to follow in their footsteps. It’s my time. It’s my turn to lead this group of guys to the championship and beyond. To be a strong presence on the ice, to show the scouts what they need, to go first. To be the best. To be just like Jude and Jayden Sinclair. I know I’m ready to be in the big leagues with my brothers; I’m ready to make my mom proud. To make Jude and Jayden proud.
But even with all that, and knowing that I’m home, I wish like hell I was with Avery.
I know, insane, but I can’t stop thinking about her. She has the sexiest voice I have ever heard. I love when she sings, I do. But when that girl talks, all low and with purpose, it makes my cock rock hard and my world spin. She is something, that’s for sure, and I can’t wait to be done here so I can see her again.
When the whistle blows, it pulls me from thinking of Avery and on to what Coach Moore is saying. I still can’t look him in the eye, though. All I see is him touching or kissing my mom, and soon, I’m gagging. It’s weird, like, really weird. But he’s my coach so I try to pay attention, while trying not to make eye contact. It’s tough because Coach Moore is a look-into-your-soul kind of guy when he talks. Even when it’s only about plays, you know he means business just by the way he looks at you.
So, needless to say, I’m dying.
“Sinclair, Reeves, and Gordon, line one,” he says and Markus fist-pumps me, a grin on his face.
“One-way ticket into the draft.”
I nod, returning his grin. He’s right. Gordon is a senior and a damn good player. He has bypassed the draft for three years now because he doesn’t want it. He wants to be a lawyer but enjoys playing, and he’s awesome. I can’t hate on him either for not wanting to go into the draft. Different strokes for different folks. Also means more space for Markus and me. As long as all three of us stay healthy, we are in. No doubt about it.
“You know it, one and two right here.”
Markus scoffs at that. “I’m one, you’re two.”
“Come on, dude. You know the truth,” I tease back and he laughs.
“Whatever, and since you’re in full girl-mode now, don’t cry when I beat you.”
Dick. I glare. “Bring it, Reeves.”
He taps his shin when the whistle blows, and we all get into position, waiting for the whistle to blow again for the start of the play. When it comes, I’m at ease and at home as we run the play like it’s meant to be run. I’ve been doing this my whole life; it’s automatic to me, and man, I love it. This is where I want to be. This is my life. But then Avery is there, smiling at me in my head, and I have no clue why.
I shouldn’t be thinking of her. I should be playing. But instead, I’m thinking of the way her hair felt in my hands and how she nuzzled my neck as she slept. Jesus, that girl could be a big disturbance in my life. She could break me. I know this, but there is no other way of going about this. I have to see where this is heading because I’m pretty sure it’s going to be somewhere awesome. Where life is damn good. That’s what I want. Her words from before come crashing into me—that we are two different people on two different paths, but I don’t care. I think I want to merge our roads, and I feel we can. Usually, when I feel something, I’m right.
Hell, I’m always right.
When practice is over, I’m exhausted. Stumbling back to the Bullies’ house, I crash into bed but only after I set my clock to wake me for Avery’s gig tonight. Shit, what time was that? Opening a text, I type her name and then text her.
Me: What time do I need to be there?
Avery: My time slot is 8-9.
Me: Cool. I’m gonna catch a nap.
Avery: Jealous, I have to study.
Me: Want me to come keep you company?
Me: I mean, I can sleep beside you. Because I’m napping.
Avery: lol. No, you’re a distraction. I’ll want to stare at you instead of study.
Me: And write songs about me?
Avery: Pitiful. You’re beyond self-absorbed.
Me: Well, you aren’t helping with that, writing songs about me and shit.
Avery: Have a nice nap, Jace.
Me: Study hard, Avery.
Grinning, I roll over face first into my pillow, and it doesn’t take long until I’m drifting off. But just as I fall asleep, my phone rings.
Fuck me.
Groaning, I peek out to look at my phone and find it’s Coach calling me.
Well, hell.
Sitting up, confused, I answer.
“Hey, Coach.”
“Sinclair, come over to my house real quick.”
“What?”
“Come over here real quick. I need to ask you something.”
Crapola. What did I do wrong? Getting out of bed, I say, “I’m coming.” I hang up and run up the stairs before going out the door, searching my brain for something that Coach would want to talk to me about? Practice was great. The guys are doing well. I feel good, and I waited until everyone was done before I left. So what the hell is going on?
Coach’s house is right next to ours and isn’t that long of a walk, but he’s killing my naptime. The door is ajar when I reach it, and I push it open, calling out, “Coach?”
“Come in here,” he calls from the kitchen, and when I enter, as I’ve done plenty of times before, he’s sitting at the kitchen table.
By himself.
Like a weirdo.
I look at him and he looks at me, and I look away quickly as an eerie silence falls over the room.
He clears his throat. “So, um, I’m sure you’re wondering why I called you over.”
I nod. “Yeah, I am,”
“Well, let me get to the point. I wanted to ask you if you’d be okay with me dating your mom.”
Scrunching my face up, I finally look at him. He’s giving me that hard look, the one that kind of scares me, and I’m unsure if I can be honest here. I’m pretty sure he might try to kill me if I say no. But then, what reason do I have to say no? I think…gag…she likes him and he…gag… likes her. My mom hasn’t been happy for a while, and if Coach…gag�
�can do that, who am I to stop him?
“Does she want to date you?” I ask, holding back the vomit as he holds my gaze.
“She does.”
Gag.
Swallowing the vomit that wants to escape, I shudder. “I mean, Coach, y’all are adults. You don’t have to ask me.”
He nods slowly. “I respect you, Sinclair. And because of that, I want to ask. I already asked Lucy and your brothers. They are fine with it, but I want to make sure you are too before I proceed in a relationship with her.”
Those bastards. No one could call me?
And good God, a relationship? Ew.
“Thanks,” I manage to say without puking all over his hardwood floors. “I appreciate that and, yeah, Coach, you’re a good dude. Just please don’t hurt her.”
He nods. “I can promise you I won’t. She’s a very special lady.”
“She is.” I tuck my hands into my pockets, but he just stares at me. Staring back at him, my eyes widen. “Yeah, I got nothing. Can I leave?”
Coach chuckles as he nods. “Yeah, Sinclair. Thanks for coming over.”
“Yeah, and ugh…um, good luck with my, er, mom,” I say awkwardly before hightailing it out of the house. Once the door is shut behind me, I pull out my phone and call Baylor.
“Hey, loser.”
“Chick, your dad is dating my mom, and you couldn’t tell me? I get that Jayden wants me to feel all gross inside and loves fucking with me, but you? I expected a call.”
“What?” she asks, and I pause.
“You know our parents are dating, right? He just asked me if it was okay.”
“What!” she shrieks and then the phone goes dead.
Huh. Guess she didn’t know.
Shrugging my shoulders, I head back to the Bullies’ house and run back down the stairs to my room, falling face first into the bed again. I want to sleep, I do. But then I sit up and I’m texting Avery.
Me: Someone just asked me if they could date my mom.
Avery: I thought you had a dad.
Me: I do. They are divorced. Sorta.