The Learning Hours

by Sara Ney

Alexandra leans forward when he finally struts off. “Dude, you totally have to go.”

  “I know, and I’m going to, I just can’t decide if I should do it without telling him. I don’t want to freak him out or add more pressure. Those guys are such assholes.”

  “Maybe he’ll tell you about it later. It’s only like, one o’clock.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Do you trust his roommate?”

  “I don’t know—Rhett doesn’t trust him, so no, not really.”

  Alex takes a bite of celery stick, crunching as she chews. “Know what I think? I think you’re being paranoid.”

  “About what?”

  “About what would happen if you went. He’s not going to be mad, Laurel. He’s a guy, and guys think with their dicks.”

  Shrug. “Maybe.”

  But maybe not.

  “You always overthink everything. Seriously, what’s the worst thing that could happen if you go? You finally get laid? The other girlfriends are going—do you really want him to leave him there stag? Some of those WAGS are bitches.”

  “I do not overthink everything. I’m using my common sense and trusting my better judgment instead of being impulsive.”

  “But think about it this way: this is your chance to get him alone in the middle of nowhere. You’ll probably be sharing a room.” My cousin’s black eyebrows wiggle. “Or you can sneak away for some alone time, maybe go skinny-dipping.”

  “Are you out of your mind? It’s cold out.”

  “True, and there is that problem of shrinkage.” Alex dangles a limp straw wrapper over her tea mug. “I know you want to go. Stop pretending you’re not going to.”

  She’s right.

  I do want to go.

  If Rhett is going to be stuck in a cabin with all those dicks for the weekend, he needs a friend, an ally.

  And that person is me.

  Rhett: We had a meeting this morning. Just wanted to let you know I won’t be around this weekend, you know, in case you wanted to hang out.

  Me: What’s going on?

  Rhett: Coach is making us do a team retreat at some cottage in the woods? Won’t be back until Sunday but I’ll have my phone.

  Me: I’ll miss you. Have fun…

  Rhett

  The sound of tires gradually moving over solid ground fills the air, my roommate’s black car slowly creeping up the wide, rocky driveway in the woods.

  We’re gathered on the deck of Coach’s lake house, a huge log cabin with tons of windows and a wraparound porch, isolated in the middle of nowhere. Fire pit. Two piers. Jet skis, speedboat, and pontoon. It’s more than enough to keep us occupied while we’re stuck here for twenty-four hours.

  No one has dared touch anything in the house for fear of breaking something or messing shit up.

  Coach would kill us.

  The place is meticulously maintained and obviously worth a shit ton of money.

  Beer cans popped, we’re gathered on the wooden deck, taking up every chair we could find in the storage shed, waiting for a few stragglers. Gunderson, Pitwell, and three others haven’t arrived yet.

  “The look on your face when you walked into the practice gym the next day after those dicks stiffed you with that bill.” Oz Osborne laughs in my direction. “Priceless.”

  Zeke Daniels—notoriously quiet—chuckles into his beer can, lips twisted into a smirk. “I wish I would have seen your expression when you saw your Jeep.”

  “Fuck you, assholes.” I laugh. “I’m lucky I wasn’t alone—those fuckers just left me there.”

  “Yeah they did.” Oz laughs, high-fiving Tennyson. “Do you know how long it took to find some girls to wrap your Jeep like that? Like an entire five minutes.”

  They laugh again, the noise echoing in the woods. It’s taken a full three hours with these guys to finally laugh everything off; their good-humored ribbing feels like an opening for a place in their tight inner circle.

  “I have to ask, why did y’all keep doing that shit to me?”

  “Because you say things like y’all.” Daniels snorts and rolls his eyes. “We’ve never had a new guy join the team so late, seemed reasonable to make you earn our respect.”

  “By wiping my Jeep down with Vaseline?”

  Oz takes a drink of beer. “Huh, is that what they used? I thought they’d use cooking grease or some shit like that.” He’s impressed. “Vaseline is way better.”

  “Haha fuckers.”

  “What the hell is taking every else so long to get here?” Brandon asks, craning his neck toward the driveway, trying to conjure up the stragglers. He’s seated next to Ryker, the asshole who gave me a ride to the Pancake House but left me stranded there.

  “Don’t know.” Osborne checks his cell phone, casting a glance around the group, making eye contact with several of the guys. They glance at each other, Oz’s brows rising when Johnson’s eyes flick to the cell phone in Oz’s palm.

  His brows rise, too.

  Weird.

  If I hadn’t been staring straight at him, I would have missed it. A queasy feeling settles in the pit of my stomach. They’re planning something; I would bet money on it.

  There are three of us on the deck now, the rest methodically disappearing one by one as cell phones start pinging with notifications.

  “Where the hell is everyone going?” I wonder out loud, wanting to keep track now that my radar has gone up. “Are we doing a bonfire or what?”

  “Um.” Oz doesn’t meet my eyes. “Changing into swimsuits.”

  “Y’all brought suits?” My eyes narrow. “It’s not even sixty degrees.”

  The shore down by the water is lined with three kayaks, two canoes, and a rowboat; Coach’s kids must use that shit when they’re here. If the weather would cooperate, thirteen athletes stranded in bumblefuck with no gym for miles would be having a field day with those water toys.

  But, it’s fifty-four fucking degrees and windy with a storm approaching from the west. No one is getting in the water, not without freezing their balls off.

  “You afraid of a little shrinkage, New Guy?” Ryker jokes.

  Hardly.

  I’ve seen these douches naked in the shower and have nothing to be ashamed of.

  In the driveway, Gunderson’s car door opens. Slams.

  Then another slam echoes, causing everyone to turn.

  My throat drops to the pit of my stomach when that bright familiar hair is tossed, the russet waves popping against the green leaves of the trees. She bends, ass in the air, to retrieve something from the front seat, and I stare, dumbstruck.

  What the hell is Laurel doing here.

  “Well looky who it is, New Guy, your two favorite people: Gunderson and Fire Crotch,” Johnson says as he ogles her.

  I take a shot, rising out of my seat and landing a fist in his ribcage. “Don’t call her that, dickhead.”

  “Sorry, but her hair is red.” The idiot says it like I’m the asshole here. “That makes her a fire crotch.”

  Ryker sniffs. “Do her curtains match the drapes?”

  Johnson laughs, rolling his dull brown irises. “Like he would know.”

  What the hell is she doing here?

  Laurel is gorgeous, a delicate juxtaposition against the rustic landscape. Fiery red hair in a high, flirty ponytail, her tight white tee is smoothed over her set of fantastic breasts, black leggings showing off her sexy, incredible figure. White Converse crunch the loose gravel beneath her feet as she takes a few tentative steps toward me.

  Wiggles her fingers in greeting. “Surprise?”

  That is a fucking understatement.

  “Was it a mistake coming here?” She raises a hand to her hair, fingering her ponytail. “You don’t look as excited as I thought you’d be.”

  “I…”

  Her blue eyes scan the shore down by the lake. The deck. Peer into the house through the panoramic windows.

  “Um, where are all the girls?”

  “Girls?”

  “
Yeah, the girls. Rex said there would be a bunch of girls here? He said…” Her voice trails off. “Well shit.”

  I stuff my hands into the pockets of my jeans. “I don’t know how to tell you this, so I’ll just say it: this is a mandatory team buildin’ weekend. There are no girls here.”

  “Oh my God.” Laurel’s skin burns as bright as her flaming hair, fists clenched into balls at her hips. “Gunderson, that jerk! Now I’m stuck here with a bunch of guys?”

  “It’s fine, we’ll manage. Let’s grab your stuff and stash it in my room until we figure this shit out.”

  “I’m going to kill that roommate of yours. I knew I shouldn’t have trusted him. God, I feel like such an ass.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” My hand goes to the indent of her waist as we make our way to Gunderson’s car to grab her stuff. “To be honest, you’re a sight for sore eyes. It’s nice having a friendly face show up.”

  A beautiful, sexy, smiling face.

  Her scowl is adorable. “I’m still going to kill Gunderson.”

  Yeah. I am too—the whole lot of those dickheads.

  I grab her bag out of the trunk—a large, quilted, floral duffle bag with a cross-body strap—hike it over my shoulder, and lead her back toward the house.

  She trails along behind me, small hand slipping into mine.

  I stare down at our clasped hands as we step up onto the cedar deck, smile down at her, helping her up onto the raised porch.

  In the short time I was at the car gathering Laurel’s things, the guys were evidently busying themselves picking up the beer bottles and cans from the patio. Daniels holds a black trash bag open while everyone tosses the garbage inside.

  He gives Laurel a nod, his weird, piercing gray eyes checking her out skeptically. “What’s up?”

  She blushes under his scrutiny. “Hi.”

  “Laurel, you remember Zeke Daniels? Don’t mind his pissed-off expression, he has resting dick face.”

  “Okay.” She laughs as we pass him, allowing me to lead her into the house. Inside the log cabin is more wood, split logs from floor to ceiling, a massive fieldstone fireplace standing eighteen feet tall.

  With the impending cold weather, someone had the foresight to light a fire.

  Facing it, a leather sectional and an ottoman covered in cow print fabric. Plaid pillows and fuzzy throw blankets.

  “Wow. This is incredible.” Her mouth tips down at the corners. “It’s a shame I won’t be staying.”

  There’s a bunkroom above the garage, but we drew straws and I ended up in one of the guest rooms overlooking the lake, so that’s where we head.

  I lead her to the stairs, lugging her heavy bag.

  “What the heck is in here?” I grunt, readjusting the strap digging its way into the muscle of my right tricep.

  “I didn’t know what the weather was going to be like, and I wanted to have options…sorry.”

  “I’m just teasin’.”

  Her arm reaches around, turns the handle, and gives it a shove so I can walk through and dump her duffle on the king-sized bed.

  “Do you have a bathroom in here?”

  “Yeah, through that door.”

  “Okay. Give me a second?”

  “Take all the time you need.”

  Laurel is halfway through the bathroom door when she turns, resting her hand on the doorjamb, biting her bottom lip and studying me where I stand in the center of the room. “I’m so sorry I just showed up like this. I really did think there would be other women here.”

  “It’s okay. Don’t worry about it.”

  “I know, it’s just…I don’t want to make this any harder for you than it’s been with your team.” She palms the doorknob. “The look on your face…you looked shocked.”

  “I was, but that’s just because I…” Was happy to see her. Relieved, even. Fuck yes I was glad to see her when she stepped out of that car. “Anyway, take your time. Then we’ll go see if any of the guys want to start the grill; I’m starving.”

  “Perfect.” She gives me a warm smile. “I’ll be right out.”

  “I’ll wait.”

  Laurel

  My hand lifts to the ponytail in my hair and I ease the rubber band out. Slide it over my red locks, dragging it until it’s all the way out. Give my head a shake, letting the whole mess cascade around my face.

  Fluff it.

  Run a hand down the front of my shirt, smoothing the hem over the top of my black cotton leggings. Turn this way and that to check out my profile in the mirror.

  Stomach is flat. No underwear lines.

  Boobs look great.

  Bending, I untie both my shoes, kicking them off. Pull off my socks, ball them up, shove them inside my Chucks. Grab a washcloth, dampen it under the faucet, and wipe my stinky sneaker feet with a little soap and water.

  Blow out a breath before pulling the door to the bedroom open.

  Rhett is seated at the foot of the big bed, legs spread, arms braced on the mattress behind him, backward baseball cap making him look young and carefree with his ears sticking out under the edge.

  His crooked smile gives me pause, and before he can rise, I step into his open legs. Lean in, hands sliding to his shoulders, lips pressing against his.

  If he’s surprised by my physical attention, he recovers quickly, mouth widening, meeting my kiss with a solid peck of his own. Arms go around me, hands firmly cupping my ass cheeks and squeezing, tongue exploring my mouth.

  “Mmm.” I press in closer, bending to press a kiss to his temple. “We can’t get carried away or they’re going to think we’re fooling around in here.”

  “Trust me, they don’t have that much faith in me.”

  “Then they’re idiots,” I whisper. Rhett’s giant hands span my waist, fingers fanned out, thumbs nearly touching. “Because I…because…”

  I like you.

  Think you’re wonderful.

  Want to be more than friends.

  Only I can’t get the words out; they’re lodged in my throat.

  “You can’t stay.” His head hits my belly and I take the opportunity to run my fingers along the column of his strong neck.

  “I know.” But I’m here now.

  He lifts his head. Tips his chin so he can look me in the eye. “During dinner we’ll figure out how to get you home. Maybe Gunderson will let you take his car, and he can ride home with someone else—it’s his fault he put you in this position.”

  Us, I silently correct him. Gunderson put us in this position.

  “That works.”

  “All right. Let’s go find something to eat.”

  Rhett stands before I can back away, our bodies smashed together, the rigid length of him distinctly noticeable against my thigh. He lifts an arm, hand sliding to the back of my neck. I rise to my tiptoes, meeting his lips for another kiss.

  Sigh.

  The house is eerily quiet when we finally crack the bedroom door, emerging into the lofted overlook above the cavernous living room.

  The empty living room.

  The empty living room with the perfect view of an empty deck and an empty beach.

  “Where the hell is everyone?”

  “Maybe they went out on the boat?”

  I lag behind him, peer over the guardrail of the loft. Stare down into the empty, silent kitchen. No way are twelve wrestlers this quiet.

  “Do you suppose…” I can’t even finish the sentence, certain I know the answer. “They left us here?”

  “Let’s check their rooms for luggage.”

  We find nothing as we hit room after room, not a trace of anyone except us.

  “I should have fucking known they were going to pull something like this.” He gets out his phone. Pounds out a message.

  His cell dings within seconds and he proceeds to go angrily back and forth several times before I can’t stand it any longer and ask, “What did he say?”

  Rhett slaps his phone in my open palm and my eyes scan the messages in the
group chat.

  Rhett: Where the hell are you assholes? Did you run to town or something?

  Gunderson: Gone like a freight train, gone like yesterday.

  Rhett: What the hell are you on about? Are you here or not?

  Gunderson: No dipshit.

  Rhett: So y’all didn’t run out to pick up dinner or what?

  Johnson: No dumbass. Like, gone. For the night.

  Gunderson: We went home.

  Rhett: ALL of you?

  Johnson: Yeah. All of us.

  Rhett: You fucking left us here? Stranded?

  Johnson: Yah, calm down—it’s only an hour away. Thought you’d want to be alone with Fire Crotch.

  Gunderson: We like to think we’re doing you a favor.

  Rhett: HOW is stranding us an hour from home doing us a favor?

  Gunderson: Tonight when you’re banging the ginger, you’re going to be THANKING us. I accept cash and gift cards in any denomination.

  Ryker: Don’t worry your pretty little heads—we’ll be back in the morning to fetch you.

  Gunderson: And dude, lighten up. Have fun before she wises up and figures out how boring you are.

  “They left us here?”

  Not going to lie, I’m not broken up about it—not even a little. In fact, quite the opposite.

  Instead of anger, a bubble of excitement wells up inside me and I tamp down the happy dance my feet want to do across the hardwood floors.

  “So we’re here…alone?”

  “Looks like it.”

  “For the entire night?”

  “Yeah. Jesus Laurel, I am so sorry.” Rhett blows out a puff of frustrated air, hand gripping the back of his neck. “It’s one thing for them to fuck with me, but another for them to involve you.”

  I can’t very well say, I’m glad the idiots are gone, let’s cuddle, can I? Not when he feels so guilty that I’m stuck here.

  So I go with, “Let’s make the best of the situation. What do we have for food? I really am starving.”

  Together we head to the large kitchen, noting a heavily stocked fridge with relief. Water bottles, juice boxes, chocolate milk. Eggs. Vegetables and fruit. Hot dogs and chicken breasts. It looks like someone went to a deli and bought pasta salads.