by Elle Kennedy
“I bet your parents are so chill, right?” Brenna says enviously.
“Yeah, they’re awesome,” I confirm. “Except for their constant nagging about how I don’t have a girlfriend. They’d probably throw a party if they knew I gave you a drawer.”
She laughs, then closes said drawer and turns to me. “Done. What do you feel like doing?”
“Want to watch a movie?” I suggest. “I can make some popcorn.”
“Oooh, I like that idea. Let me put on comfy clothes and I’ll meet you out there.”
I give her ass a playful smack on my way out the door. In the kitchen, I experience a wave of déjà vu when I find Kayla at the sink, pouring a glass of water. This time she’s wearing clothes. And instead of filling with hunger, her eyes cloud over when they land on me.
“Hey,” I grunt.
“Hey.”
I open the cupboard and grab a packet of microwave popcorn.
“Movie night?” She sounds a tad testy.
“Yep. You and Brooks can join if you want. I’ll make another bowl.” It’s a bogus offer—I ask only because I’m confident she’ll say no.
No way Kayla is going to willingly spend time with Brenna. The moment my girl walked through the front door, Kayla had reacted like a territorial cat. The claws came out, and she might as well have hissed. What made the entire encounter awesome was Brenna’s complete disinterest in the chick.
“So… Jake Connelly’s got a girl spending the night.” Even testier now.
“Yeah.”
“Must be serious.”
I don’t answer. Turning my back to her, I stick the popcorn in the microwave and punch in the time.
“Or is it not serious?” she prods.
Again I refrain from answering, because guess what—it’s none of her fucking business. But then Brenna speaks up from the doorway.
“Oh, it’s very serious.” She saunters over, and even in a pair of plaid pants and a T-shirt, she’s so sexy that my body instantly responds to her. Or at least it does before I notice the Briar hockey logo on her chest.
“That’s blasphemy,” I say, pointing at her shirt.
“No, that’s blasphemy,” she replies, pointing at my shirt.
I glance down and remember I’m wearing a gray tee with the Crimson logo over the left breast.
Near the counter, Kayla makes a disparaging sound.
Which spurs Brenna to twist around and beam at her. “Aren’t we so cute?” she gushes. “We’re like Romeo and Juliet!”
For a second, the blonde looks like she’s going to hiss for real. Instead, she flashes a mocking smile. “Uh-huh, you two are the cutest.”
“Aw, thank you, Kaylee.”
“Kayla,” she snaps before stomping out.
Brenna starts to laugh.
“You’re such a bitch,” I tell her.
“Yup. That girl wants you, though.”
“Who doesn’t?”
“You might be right about that. I swear, I can’t go anywhere without bumping into someone who’s into you. The chick in the bathroom, Bubble Butt’s girlfriend, your friend Hazel.”
“Hazel?” I frown at her. “Why would you say that? You don’t even know Hazel.”
“Oh, you mean she didn’t tell you she ambushed me on campus?”
What?
“I’m sorry—what?” I vocalize my shock. Hazel hadn’t mentioned that at all. Granted, we haven’t spoken much this week, but if she actually had confronted Brenna, you’d think that would be something she deemed important enough to share with me.
“She tracked me down at the Coffee Hut,” Brenna explains. “She basically gave me the whole what-are-your-intentions-with-Jake speech and the I’m-gonna-kick-your-ass-if-you’re-playing-him threat.”
I chuckle. “Yeah…she’s kinda protective of me. We grew up together.”
Brenna gives a faint smile. “She’s a lot more than protective.”
“Nah.”
“Remember that thing we were saying about men being dumb?”
I scowl at her. “When were we ever saying that?”
“Oh, right. That was me and Summer. Forget what I just said, Jakey.” She blinks, the poster child of innocence. “Men aren’t stupid at all.”
Neither of us pays much attention to the movie. We snuggle up under a blanket and spend the next hour teasing the hell out of each other. Brenna’s hand constantly brushes my dick. At one point she starts giving me an over-the-pants hand job…before reaching for the popcorn again and leaving me with the biggest case of blue balls.
I return the favor by stroking her nipples through her shirt until they’re harder than icicles and straining into my palm. When she tries to push her tits into my hands, I take the popcorn bowl and start munching.
About halfway through the movie, Brenna presses Stop and sets the remote control on the table.
I look over in mock outrage. “I was really into that.”
“Oh really? Tell me what that movie was about, Jake.”
I dig into my memory bank and come up empty. “Aliens?” I guess.
“Incorrect.” Snickering, she practically drags me to the bedroom, where she plants her hands on her hips and says, “Lie down.”
Because I’m not the stupid man she thinks I am, I lie down.
And before I know it, I’m naked and at her mercy. She’s kissing me everywhere, her soft lips gliding over my chest, warm tongue grazing my abdomen on her teasing journey south. She licks my oblique muscles, her breath tickling my skin, and then she abruptly sits up and removes all her clothes. Now we’re both naked, with my erection poking up between us like a huge spike.
She moans happily. “You are so effing sexy.”
“Right back at you.”
It’s my turn to give a happy moan, because her mouth lowers and suddenly she’s sucking my dick. I lazily thread the fingers of both hands through her hair, guiding her along the length of me. “Feels nice,” I murmur.
“Just nice?”
“Very nice.”
“Just very nice?”
“Jesus Christ, babe.”
Her laughter heats the tip of my cock. “I’m kidding. Sorry. Summer pulled that on me earlier and I told her she was a brat.”
“Mmm-hmmm, and then you decided to do the same thing to me?”
“Yup.”
“And men are the stupid ones?”
“Are you calling me stupid when I’m giving you a blowjob? Because to that I say, I rest my case.”
Dammit. She’s right. Men are dumb.
“Forgive me,” I beg.
Grinning, she resumes the task of torturing me. When her tongue scrapes the underside of my cock, pleasure sears into my balls, drawing them up tight. She cups my sac, squeezes it, and my hips arch off the bed. “Oh fuck. That feels so good.”
She jacks me faster, her tongue swirling around my tip at every upstroke while her other hand continues to tease my balls. They start tingling, my heart beats faster, and I fist one hand in Brenna’s hair to stop her.
“No,” I croak. “I don’t want to come this way. I want to be inside you.”
“I want that, too.”
She grabs a condom from the nightstand and rolls it on me. I pinch the tip to make sure we’re good, then beckon at her with my cock.
“Have a seat,” I say graciously.
“Oh my God, Jake. That was so lame.”
“Really? So this isn’t enticing you at all?” I wave my dick again.
“It’s enticing,” she relents, but although she straddles me, she doesn’t guide me inside her yet.
My erection rests heavy against my stomach. Brenna places both palms on my chest and bends down, her breasts swaying seductively as she brings her perfect lips to mine. We kiss, and it draws a husky groan from my throat. She swallows the sound, and then her tongue touches mine and it’s like an electric current running from the tip of my tongue to the tip of my cock. Fuuuuck. This girl turns me on something fierce.
“You like being teased,” she remarks. “I find that interesting.”
“Why’s that?”
“Most guys don’t have the patience for it.” Her mouth travels to the side of my jaw. She rubs her cheek over my stubble, before kissing her way down to my neck. “Other guys would have flipped me over by now and started drilling into me from behind.”
“How about we don’t talk about other guys? How about we talk about this guy?” I tug her head back to my lips, and this time it’s my tongue filling her mouth and her moaning against my lips. “But yes,” I whisper, “I like foreplay. I like dragging it out.”
“You like begging?” Her voice is throaty.
“Who’s begging?”
“Not yet, but you will be.” She goes back to kissing and sucking on my neck like it’s candy, all the while rubbing her naked body all over me. My dick remains trapped between us, weeping inside the condom, because it needs somewhere to go so damn bad and—
“Please,” I plead, and she gives an evil laugh, because she succeeded in making me beg.
She lifts up, grabs the base of my erection, and impales herself on it. And holy hell, it’s like a hot fist clenched around me.
Pleasure darkens Brenna’s eyes. She sweeps her long hair over one shoulder, and it cascades down, veiling her nipple. I reach through the dark strands and tweak the rigid bud before muttering, “Ride me.”
She does. But it’s just the slight rocking of her hips.
Again, she’s teasing me. And again, I’m loving it. I gaze up at her breasts, groaning when she cups them with her hands. Christ, that’s sexy. I stroke her hips, caress her thighs, rub her clit with my thumb. I can’t stop touching her. Luckily, she’s not complaining. Each time a fingertip makes contact with her flesh, she moans or whimpers or releases a contented breath.
“I like you, Jake,” she murmurs.
“I like you, too.”
Her pace quickens, and my eyes close. I more than like her. I think I’m falling for her. But I’m not going to say it out loud, and especially not during sex. From what I’ve heard, chicks don’t take a sex I-love-you seriously. They think it’s induced by semen.
But semen has nothing to do with the warm sensation ballooning in my chest. It’s a feeling I’ve never experienced before, and that’s how I know it’s real. It’s not lust—trust me, I know lust. This is something entirely new.
I am definitely falling for this girl.
As she rides me, a flush rises on the tops of her breasts. “These are so pretty,” I mutter, squeezing them gently.
She leans forward. “Put your mouth on them.”
So I do, nuzzling the swell of one soft tit before capturing a nipple between my lips. Her pussy clenches around me, and she starts moving faster.
“Getting close?”
She nods wordlessly. Her breathing quickens. She’s no longer riding me so much as grinding furiously against me. I have to grip her hips to steady her, because she’s trembling so wildly.
“That’s a good girl. Give it to me.”
She comes apart, collapsing on my chest and struggling for breath. And as she’s climaxing I dig my fingers into her waist and thrust upward, pounding into her until I come too.
Within seconds of our respective orgasms, Brenna lifts her hips, grips the base of the condom so nothing spills out, and pulls me out of her. Then she turns on her side, snuggling up beside me. I hold her close to me and we fall asleep like that.
33
Brenna
I love Jake’s apartment. It’s big, roomy, and always nice and toasty, not frostbite cold like my basement in Hastings. I know I can’t stay forever, but for now I’m enjoying being here. Being with him.
It sucks that some of my friends still aren’t speaking to me, but to be honest, I’m starting not to care. Jonah Hemley didn’t purposely set out to break Hunter’s wrist. I do believe it was an accident. And yes, it wasn’t Hunter’s fault—he had no idea that he’d slept with Jonah’s girlfriend. Violet, or whatever her name is, was the one pretending to be single while cheating on her boyfriend. But at the same time, she was Jonah’s girlfriend, and the kid was upset. Sure, he handled the situation poorly, but not maliciously.
Speaking of upset, my friends are undoubtedly feeling the sting tonight. The Division I Men’s Ice Hockey Committee made its selections—and Briar won’t be one of the sixteen teams playing in the national tournament. Harvard has their auto-bid because they won the conference tournament. And from our conference, Princeton and Cornell received at-large bids from the committee over Briar.
Right now, the talking heads on TV are picking apart the conference finals. I’d been scrolling through my phone while Jake watched the segment, but my head jerks up when Kip Haskins mentions a familiar name.
“Are they talking about Nate? Turn it up.”
Jake hits a button on the remote control. The volume gets louder.
“Briar University should’ve won that game,” Kip is telling his cohost.
I turn to Jake with a huge grin. “Hear that, Jakey? Even the talking heads agree.”
“Uh-huh, well, you didn’t win the game, now did you?”
“Hush, baby, I’m trying to watch.”
He snorts.
On the screen, Kip is raising very good points. “Their two best players were ejected. How in good conscience can you call that a fair matchup? That’s like the ’83-’84 season Oilers playing in the Stanley Cup finals without Wayne Gretzky and Paul Coffey.”
“Oh fuck off,” Jake scoffs. “There’s no way he’s comparing Hunter Davenport and Nate Rhodes to Gretzky and Coffey!”
“They are really good,” I point out.
Jake is agape. “Gretzky-level good?”
“Well, no,” I relent. “But nobody is.”
“I am,” he says smugly.
I roll my eyes, because I don’t want to encourage his grandiose delusions, but deep down I suspect he might be right. Aside from Garrett Graham, there haven’t been many players out of college lately with Gretzky potential. Jake is definitely an anomaly.
“Playing with the big boys is a lot different than college,” I warn him.
“Oh really, played on a lot of NHL teams, have ya?”
“Absolutely. I did a few seasons with New York—Islanders and Rangers. Two seasons with the Maple Leafs—”
“Oh shut up.” He pulls me into his lap and starts kissing my neck.
“I’m not done watching,” I protest. The announcers are still arguing, but now it’s even more hilarious, because Trevor Trent is basically saying the same thing as Kip Haskins. They’re now both in complete agreement that the Briar-Harvard game was unequivocally lopsided.
“See!” I say victoriously. “Even they know the truth! You can’t say you won that game.”
“Of course I can say we won the game.” He’s exasperated. “Because we won the game! Hello? Auto-bid?”
“Yes, but… Okay, I’m not going to argue about this,” I grumble. “Just know that if Hunter and Nate were skating that night, the outcome could’ve been a lot different.”
“That is true,” Jake agrees.
“I heard it was about a girl,” Trevor is saying, and the two HockeyNet hosts chuckle at each other, until Kip dons a thoughtful look.
“But that raises a good question,” Kip muses. “If you’re so immature that you’re swinging your fists over a girl during the most crucial game of your season—do you not deserve to get ejected?”
“Hunter didn’t get ejected!” I yell at the screen.
Trevor backs me up. “Davenport wasn’t ejected. He was injured. The instigator was Jonah Hemley.”
“And what’s Rhodes’s excuse?” Kip shoots back. “He’s the team captain. What’s he doing throwing himself in the middle of a brawl?”
“Damn right!” Jake chimes in. “Rhodes made his own bed.”
“You know these hockey players—they’re hot-blooded,” Trevor counters. “They operate on aggression and passion.”
Jake hoots. “You hear that, Hottie? I’m aggressive and passionate.”
“I am so turned on right now.”
“Good. Get on your knees and suck me off. See how aggressive and passionate I am?”
I punch him in the arm. “That is so unappealing to me.”
“Fine, then spread your legs so I could eat you out.”
“I’ll think about that one.”
He grins at me. “Keep me posted.”
The lighthearted mood dies when the hosts bring up the topic of my father. “Jensen had a great season,” Trevor says. “Shame they didn’t get a berth, but hopefully next year will garner a different result. I really do believe he’s the best coach in D1 hockey right now.”
Sadness coats my throat. I wonder if I should text my dad. He must be so disappointed that Briar’s season ended this way.
“I should text my dad,” I say out loud. “You know, offer my condolences.”
Jake’s tone goes soft. “I’m sure he’d appreciate that.”
Would he? I have no idea, but I still send him a short message saying they played a good season and next year will be even better. He doesn’t immediately respond, but he’s not much of a texter. I simply hope he reads it and knows I’m thinking about him.
To my horror, actual tears well up.
“Are you…” Jake doesn’t miss my watery eyes. “Are you crying?” he asks with a note of concern.
“No.” I rub the side of my finger underneath my eye. “Sending that message made me a bit sad. I hate it when he’s mad at me. I mean, he doesn’t show much emotion around me anymore, but when he does, it’s usually more disapproval than anger.”
“Do you realize how messed up that sounds? You hate the anger, but you’re totally cool with the disapproval?” Jake asks incredulously.
“Well, no. I’m not cool with it. I’m used to it, is all.” I let out a sigh. “And I guess I understand it. I told you, I haven’t exactly been the perfect daughter.”
“Why? Because you ran wild in high school? What teenager doesn’t?”
“I did more than run wild. I…” A lump rises in my throat, and it’s difficult to talk through it. “Honestly, I think he’s ashamed of me.”