by Elle Kennedy
“I like them,” I protest. “…for the hour or so I use them.”
We share a giggle over that, until Carin brings up a guy who brought down the average.
“Do you remember Ten-Second Greg, though?”
I shudder. “First, thank you very little for bringing that bad memory up, and second, I’m not saying there aren’t duds. Just that the odds are better with an athlete.”
“And the hockey players are duds?” Carin asks.
I shrug. “I wouldn’t know. I didn’t ax them from my list of potentials because of their performance in the sack, but because they’re hyper-privileged jerks who get special favors from the profs.”
“Sabrina, girl, you got to let that go,” Hope urges.
“Nope. Hockey players don’t make the cut.”
“God, but look at what you’re missing out on.” Carin licks her lips with exaggerated lasciviousness. “That one guy on the team with the beard? I want to know what that feels like. Beards are on my bucket list.”
“Go on then. My boycott against hockey players just means more for you.”
“I’m on board with this, but…” She smirks. “Need I remind you that you hooked up with the manslut Di Laurentis?”
Ugh. That’s a reminder I never need to hear.
“First, I was totally drunk,” I grumble. “Second, that was sophomore year. And third, he’s the reason I’ve sworn off hockey players.”
Even though Briar University has a championship-winning football team, it’s known as a hockey college. The guys who wear skates are treated like gods. Case in point—Dean Heyward-Di Laurentis. He’s a poli sci major like me, so we’ve had several classes together, including Statistics in our sophomore year. That course was hard as fuck. Everyone struggled.
Everyone but Dean, who was screwing the TA.
And—shocker!—she gave him an A, which he absolutely did not deserve. I know this for a fact, because we were paired together for the final assignment, and I saw the garbage he turned in.
When I found out he aced it, I wanted to chop his dick off. It was so unfair. I worked my butt off in that course. Hell, I work my butt off for everything. My every accomplishment is stained with my blood, sweat and tears. Meanwhile, some asshole gets the world handed to him on a platter? Fuck. That.
“She’s getting mad again,” Hope stage-whispers to Carin.
“She’s thinking about how Di Laurentis got an A in that one class,” Carin shout-whispers back. “She really does need to get laid. How long has it been?”
I start to flip her off again when it occurs to me that I can’t remember my last hookup.
“There was, um, Meyer? The lacrosse guy. That was in September. And after that was Beau…” I brighten up. “Ha! See? It’s only been a little over a month. Hardly a national emergency.”
“Girl, someone with your schedule isn’t allowed to go a month without sex,” Hope counters. “You’re a walking ball of stress, which means you need a good dicking at least…daily,” she decides.
“Every other day,” Carin argues. “Give her lady garden some time to rest.”
Hope nods. “Fine. But no rest for the pussy tonight—”
I snort in laughter.
“You hear that, B? You’ve been fed, you had an afternoon nap, and now you need some sexy times,” Carin declares.
“But Malone’s?” I repeat warily. “We just established that the place is crawling with hockey players.”
“Not exclusively. I bet Beau is there. Want me to ask D’Andre?” Hope holds up her phone, but I shake my head.
“Beau’s too much of a time commitment. Like he wanted to talk during sex. I want to do the deed and leave.”
“Oooh, talking! Scary.”
“Shut it.”
“Make me.” Hope tosses her head, her long braids smacking against my coat, and then exits Professor Gibson’s house.
Carin shrugs and follows her, and after a second of hesitation, I do too. Our coats are drenched by the time we reach Hope’s car, but we have our hoods on, so our hair survives the downpour.
I’m really not in the mood to chat up any guys tonight, but I can’t deny that my friends are right. I’ve been plagued with tension for weeks, and these past few days I’ve definitely been feeling the…itch. The kind of itch that can only be scratched with a hard, ripped body and a hopefully above average-sized cock.
Except I’m extremely selective about who I hook up with, and just as I’d feared, Malone’s is thick with hockey players when the girls and I stride inside five minutes later.
But hey, if that’s the hand I’ve been dealt, then I guess there’s no harm in playing it and seeing what happens.
Still, I have zero expectations as I follow my friends to the bar counter.
2
Tucker
“Stay away from that one, kid. She’s toxic.”
Dean is dispensing his (usually misguided) wisdom to our freshman left wing, Hunter Davenport, as I walk into Malone’s out of the pouring rain.
The roads are shit, and I don’t particularly want to be here tonight, but Dean insisted that we needed to party. He’d been restlessly pacing our townhouse all day, grumpy as hell and obviously upset, but when I questioned him about it, he shrugged and said he was feeling antsy.
Which is bull. I might be considered quiet compared to my loud-mouthed teammates, but I ain’t slow. And I sure as hell don’t need to be a detective to put the clues together.
Allie Hayes, the best friend of our other roommate’s girlfriend, crashed at our place last night.
Dean is a manwhore.
Chicks love Dean.
Allie is a chick.
Ergo, Dean slept with Allie.
Plus, there were all the clothes scattered around the living room because Dean is physically incapable of having sex in his bedroom.
He hasn’t fessed up to it yet, but I’m sure he will eventually. I’m also sure that whatever went down between them last night, Allie’s not looking for a repeat performance. Though why that should bother Dean, the one-night stand king, I’ve yet to figure out.
“She doesn’t look toxic to me,” Hunter drawls as I shake the water out of my hair.
“Hey Fido,” Dean grumbles my way, “go dry off somewhere else.”
I roll my eyes and follow Hunter’s gaze, which is Krazy Glued to a slender brunette facing away from us at the long counter. I see a short skirt, killer legs, and thick dark hair streaming down her back. Not to mention the roundest, tightest, sexiest ass I’ve ever had the pleasure of admiring.
“Nice,” I remark before grinning at Dean. “I take it you already called dibs?”
His face turns white with horror. “Not a chance. That’s Sabrina, bro. She already busts my balls in class on a daily basis. I don’t need her busting them outside of school.”
“Wait, that’s Sabrina?” I say slowly. This is the girl who Dean swears is his nemesis? “I’ve seen her around campus, but I didn’t realize she’s the one you’re always bitching about.”
“One and the same,” he mutters.
“Damn shame. She sure is nice to look at.” More than nice, actually. In the dictionary next to fine is a picture of Sabrina’s ass. It might also be next to the words gorgeous, goddamn, and smoke show.
“What’s the deal with you two?” Hunter pipes up. “She your ex?”
Dean recoils. “Fuck no.”
The freshman purses his lips. “So I won’t be breaking the bro code if I make a move?”
“You want to make a move? Go nuts. But I’m warning you, that bitch will eat you alive.”
I avert my face to hide a grin. Sounds like someone may have turned Dean down. There’s definitely some kind of history between them, but even after Hunter presses him about it, Dean doesn’t give up any other intel. Across the room, Sabrina turns. She probably feels three sets of eyes on that ass—two of which are damn hungry.
Her gaze catches mine and holds it. There’s challenge in her eyes and t
he competitor in me rises to meet it.
You enough for me? she appears to be asking.
You have no idea, darlin’.
A spark of heat lights her gaze—that is until it falls on Dean. Immediately, her lush lips thin and she jerks up her middle finger in our direction.
Hunter groans and mutters something about Dean ruining his chances. But Hunter’s a baby and that girl has enough fire in her to ignite the world. I can’t imagine her wanting to take an eighteen-year-old to bed, especially if he sees defeat in the first obstacle. Kid’s gotta get stronger if he wants to play with the big boys.
I dig in my pocket for some cash. “I’m gonna grab a beer. You guys need a refill?”
They both shake their heads. Having discharged my friend duty, I make my way to the bar and Sabrina, arriving in time for the bartender to deliver her drink.
I lay down a twenty. “I’ve got that, and I’ll take a Miller when you’ve got a minute.”
The bartender grabs the bill and hustles off to the cash register before Sabrina can object. She gives me a contemplative look and then lifts the beer bottle to her lips.
“I’m not sleeping with you because you bought me a drink,” she says over the rim.
“I hope not,” I reply with a shrug. “I have higher standards than that.”
I give her a polite nod and mosey back to the table where a few of my teammates are congregated. Behind me, I can feel her eyes boring into my back. Since she can’t see me, I allow a smile of satisfaction to spread across my face. This is a girl who’s used to being chased, which means I need to work a little surprise into my pursuit.
At the table, Hunter’s eyeing another pack of girls, and Dean’s head is buried in his phone, probably texting Allie. I wonder if the other guys know they did the dirty. Probably not. Garrett and Logan are in Boston with their girlfriends until tomorrow, so chances are they’re still in the dark. But Garrett was adamant that Dean keep his hands off Allie this weekend. He didn’t want any drama to interfere with his currently perfect life with Allie’s best friend, Hannah.
Given that there haven’t been any explosions or frantic phone calls, I’d bet that Dean and Allie are keeping last night’s hookup on the DL.
Just as Hunter opens his mouth to deliver some bad line to one of the girls who’s made her way over to the table, the lights flicker ominously.
Dean frowns. “Is it the Apocalypse out there or something?”
“It’s coming down pretty hard,” I tell him.
After that, Dean decides to take off. I stay put, despite the fact that I didn’t even want to hit the bar tonight. I don’t know why, but that brief exchange with Sabrina got me more than a little worked up.
It’s not like there’s a shortage of girls in my life. I might not brag about my conquests like Dean or Logan or my other teammates, but I get plenty of play. I even indulge in one-night stands if I’m feeling it.
And right now, I’m feeling it.
I want Sabrina under me. Over me. Anywhere she wants to put herself will do. And I want it so bad I have to rub my hand over my beard so I don’t give in to the urge to slide it lower and rub something else.
I’m still not sure how I feel about the beard. I grew it around the time of the championship game this past spring, but it got mountain-man out of control on me, so I shaved it over the summer. Then it grew back because I’m lazy as hell, and trimming it close is a helluva lot easier than shaving it all off.
“Have a seat, man,” Hunter encourages. His eyes actively telegraph that there are three of them and two of us, but these girls, as pretty as they are, don’t interest me at all.
“All yours, kid.”
I drain my bottle and return to the bar where Sabrina’s still standing. A couple other predators have edged closer. I give them all a hard stare and slide into a newly vacated space beside her.
I lean an elbow behind me against the bar top, giving her the illusion of room. She reminds me a little of those untamed ponies, all wide eyes, long legs, and the unspoken promise of the best ride of your life. But you play your hand too soon and she’s going to run off and there’ll be no catching her.
“So you’re a friend of Di Laurentis?”
The words are casually tossed out, but considering she and Dean don’t like each other much, there’s probably only one right way to respond and that’s by denying everything.
Still, I won’t do that to a friend, not even to get laid. And whatever issue Sabrina has with Dean doesn’t influence me, just like Dean’s opinion of Sabrina isn’t going to shape what I’m looking for with her. Besides, I’m a big believer in the saying that you begin how you intend to go on.
“He’s my roommate.”
She makes no effort to hide her distaste and starts brushing me off. “Thanks for the drink, but I think I see my friends waving at me.” She nods toward a group of girls.
I survey the crowd, none of whom are even looking in our direction, and turn back to her with a sad shake of my head. “You gotta do better than that. If you want me to go, tell me to go. You look like a girl who knows what she wants and isn’t afraid to say it.”
“Is that what Dean told you? I bet he called me a bitch, didn’t he?”
This time I opt to keep my mouth shut. Instead, I take a drink.
“He’s right,” she continues. “I am and I’m not sorry for it.”
Her chin juts out adorably. I’d pinch it, but I think I’d lose a few fingers and I’m going to need them later tonight. I have plans to have them all over her body.
She takes another sip of the beer I bought her, and I watch the delicate muscles in her throat work. Fuck, she’s beautiful. Dean could’ve said that she sucks the life out of babies and I’d still be over here. She’s got that kind of draw.
And it’s not just me. Half the male population in the bar is throwing glares of envy in my direction. I cant my body slightly to hide her from view.
“Okay,” I say lightly.
“Okay?” She gets the cutest look of confusion on her face.
“Yup. Is that supposed to scare me off?”
Her perfectly shaped eyebrows crash together. “I don’t know what else he said, but I’m not easy. I’m not against a hookup, but I’m picky about who I let into my bed.”
“He didn’t say anything about that. Only that you liked to bust his balls. But we both know that Dean’s ego can withstand a blow now and again. The question is whether you’re hung up on him. Kind of seems like you are, because he’s the only thing you can talk about.” I shrug. “If that’s the case, I’ll skate right now.”
While Dean said he didn’t have feelings for Sabrina, I want to make sure there aren’t any lingering emotions on her end. Her tone when she mentioned him was mad, though, not bitter, which I take as a good sign. Anger could stem from any number of things. Bitterness is usually hurt feelings.
When—not if—we get into bed together, it should be because she wants to be with me, not as a way to get back at Dean.
Her gaze flicks over my shoulder to where my teammate is still sitting, then back to me. She and I drink in silence for a bit. Her chocolate-brown eyes are tough to read, but I get the sense she’s weighing my words carefully. It might be that she expects me to talk, fill the silence, but I’m waiting her out. Plus, it gives me time to inspect her close up. And from this distance, she’s even more beautiful than I realized.
She doesn’t just have a world-class ass and endless legs. Her rack is the kind that can turn a man religious. As in, thank you, Jesus, for creating this glorious creature and please, Lord, make her not a lesbian. Not blatantly staring at the pretty swells rising above her top is one of the harder things I’ve had to do.
Finally, she sets her bottle on the bar. “Just because you’re pretty doesn’t mean I’m interested.”
I grin. “A guy’s gotta start somewhere.”
A reluctant smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. She wipes her hand against her skirt and sticks it out.
“I’m Sabrina James. I’ve heard all the jokes about being a witch, and no, I am not hung up on Dean Di Laurentis.”
I take her hand in mine and use the contact to pull her an inch closer to me. It’s baby steps with this one.
“John Tucker. Glad to hear it, but you should know that Dean is like a brother to me. We’ve had each other’s backs on the ice for four years, lived together for three of them, and I plan to stand up at his wedding and hope he does the same at mine. That said, he’s my friend, not my daddy.”
“Wait, you’re getting married?” she says in confusion.
It’s kind of amusing that out of everything I said, that’s the bit she’s harping on. I smooth a hand down the outside of her arm and loosely circle her wrist with my fingers. “In the future, darlin’. In the future.”
“Oh.” She picks up her beer and then puts it down when she sees it’s empty. “Wait. You want to get married?”
“Eventually.” I chuckle at her astonishment. “Not today, but yeah, one day I want to be married and have a kid or three. You?”
The bartender comes by, and I nudge another twenty in his direction.
But Sabrina shakes her head. “I’m driving. One beer is my limit.”
I order us waters instead, and he’s back in a flash with two tall glasses.
The lights flicker again, sending a jolt of urgency to my gut. I’m going to have to close this deal soon or lose out entirely.
“Thanks,” she says as she sips the water. “And, no. I don’t see myself having kids or a husband in the near future. Besides, I thought you hockey players liked to play the field.”
“At some point, even the great ones retire.” I smirk over the top of my glass.
She laughs. “All right. I’ll give you that. So what’s your major, John?”
“Tucker. Everyone calls me Tucker or Tuck. And it’s business admin.”
“So you can manage all your hockey money?”
I still haven’t let go of her wrist, and with each exchange, I’m eliminating all the distance between us.
“Nope.” I nod toward my knee. “I’m too slow for the pros. I got banged up in high school. I’m good enough for a scholarship here, but I know my limits.”