Hunter is waiting by the front door when I walk downstairs, his hockey bag slung over one shoulder and a knit hat pulled down low over his ears.
“Where’s Hart?” I ask. The plan was for the three of us to carpool together.
He raises one eyebrow. “Where do you think? Harlow’s.”
“Jesus. Guy deserves a getting laid trophy.” I grab my Holt Hockey jacket from the kitchen, pull it on, then follow Hunter outside.
“Maybe you should offer him the one on your shelf,” he suggests.
I flip him off. Then say, “I don’t have that much sex,” for some unknown reason.
Morgan snorts as we climb into my truck. “Words I never thought I’d hear you say.”
“And so what if I do? I’m single.”
“Phillips, you’re having this conversation with yourself. I don’t need or want to discuss your sex life.”
I back out of the driveway, then start driving toward the rink.
Our first playoff game is tonight. It’s away, but not far. Only about an hour’s drive.
And one we’ll likely win.
But if we don’t…it’s all over.
“Been meaning to ask, how was your weekend?” Hunter asks.
We’ve both been crazy busy this week, and Conor has been totally absent. Since the start of the semester, we haven’t hung out, just the three of us, once. And I’ve barely seen either of my best friends since returning from LA on Sunday.
I shrug. “Wasn’t great. Whatever.”
I know Conor has a complicated relationship with his dad. A close one with his mom.
Hunter is more of a mystery. His dad came for the winter sports banquet a few weeks ago, but Hunter has never mentioned his mom, so I have no clue what the story is there.
“Was quiet around here without you,” he tells me.
I grin. “Aw. Did you miss me, Morgan?”
“No. It was peaceful.”
I roll my eyes. Drive another block. We’re almost to the rink.
“Have you ever had a weird end to a hookup?” I blurt.
If I don’t discuss this with someone, I’m going to lose my fucking mind.
And probably play like crap tonight.
My gaze remains on the road, but I can feel Morgan looking at me.
“What do you mean by weird?”
“Like…she just took off. At the end.”
“You’re asking me for girl advice?”
“Forget it,” I mutter. I should have known he’d make a thing about it.
Before he got with Harlow, Conor was usually with a different girl at every party. Hunter’s more discreet than either of us. He prefers to pass out his disgusting Jell-O shots than flirt with anyone. I’ve seen him make out with chicks, but they’ve been rare occurrences. He mostly focuses on school and hockey and considers having more than one drink a wild night out.
“Maybe you were off your game,” he suggests.
I snort. “That doesn’t happen. Besides, she was blowing me.”
“Did you come?”
I side-eye him. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“You asked for my advice, Phillips. I’m trying to gather information about what happened so I can give you some.”
I sigh. “Yes, I came.”
“Did you thank her?” Hunter asks.
“Thank her? I swear, if you suggest sending her a card or something…”
He snorts a laugh. “I mean reciprocate, you idiot. Did she get off?”
“I was planning to. We got…interrupted. It sounded like someone was coming over. Then she took off before I could say or do anything.”
“Wait, where was this?”
“The library.”
Hunter makes a face. “Guess I’ll be studying at home from now on. Wouldn’t want to walk in on you and…” He tilts his head. “Who was the chick?”
“Why do you care?”
“Why won’t you tell me?” He taps his fingers against the door. “I swear, if it’s a professor and you get kicked off the team and out of school—”
“Relax, Morgan, she’s a junior.”
Too late, I realize I should have just said student. Specifying her year was totally unnecessary.
“Holy fuck. It’s Rylan Keller, isn’t it?”
“No,” I answer with no confidence.
Hunter groans. When I glance over, he’s rubbing a palm across his face. “Goddammit, Aidan.”
“What? She’s twenty-one. Age appropriate.”
His hand drops as he pins me with a flat stare. “She’s also Coach’s daughter, Phillips.”
“So?”
“So, if he finds out—”
“He’s not going to find out. But even if he does, she’s an adult and she can make her own decisions.”
“And she’s not going to have to face any consequences. You’re the one on probation. Coach went above and beyond to keep you on the team and on track to graduate, and this is how you thank him? Seducing his daughter?”
I snort. “If anyone seduced anyone, she seduced me.”
Shocked the hell out of me too. I didn’t think she’d follow through—on any of it.
“End it, Aidan. Seriously. If you’ve run through the entire senior class, there are plenty of other juniors whose last names aren’t Keller.”
I chew on the inside of my cheek, knowing Hunter is right.
Even ignoring the whole coach’s daughter thing, there’s the tutoring aspect. Not the fun instructions I gave Rylan, but my college degree being on the line.
Our last session didn’t involve any tutoring. She just left me the assignment sheet.
If I don’t graduate, I’ll be the fuckup my family thinks I am. And as fun as pissing my father and brother off can be, there comes a point when it’s not enough. Antagonizing them isn’t a career. I know I’m very lucky to have a trust fund that basically guarantees I’ll never have to worry about money. But I don’t want to be that guy, the rich prick who lazes around and does nothing. Jameson’s self-importance might be overly inflated, but he’s the one with the corner office.
Which means I should leave Rylan alone.
Hook up with someone else, like Hunter is suggesting.
Focus on hockey.
Show up to my tutoring sessions on time and leave with a dry dick.
“Holy shit,” Hunter says suddenly.
I glance at him, startled. “What?”
“You like her.”
“I don’t hook up with girls I don’t like.”
“That’s not what I mean, and you know it. You’re seriously into her. She’s not just sex to you.”
He’s the second person to tell me that, and I didn’t need one to.
If I just wanted to get laid, I have lots of other options. If I just wanted to have sex with her…well, I already did that.
“It’s complicated.”
“Yeah, no shit it’s complicated, Phillips. Feelings always are. Remember what Hart was like after things ended with Harlow?”
“Remember? I was stuck on vacation with him. The whole trip was me, Hart, and the wet blanket Hart threw on everything. I would never act like that.”
Hunter rolls his eyes. “I’m sure Conor would’ve said the same thing. I’ll give you the advice I gave him—wait ’til the end of the season. Then you won’t have to worry about Coach, and you can pass your redo and be on track to graduate with us.”
“Yeah…”
He sighs. “You’re gonna ignore my advice just like Hart did, right?”
“Not ignore. Just probably not listen.”
“Same outcome, Phillips. If this comes out, I’m going to pretend I knew nothing about anything.”
I exhale as I pull into the rink’s lot and park, cracking my neck before climbing out of the truck.
I need to focus on tonight’s game, not a girl.
We’re ranked first headed into the first round of playoffs. But going forward, every game counts in a different way. If we lose, it’s all over.
And the guys are looking to me tonight. They’re expecting a goal, ideally more than one. For me to continue the impressive scoring streak I’ve been on lately.
I grab my hockey bag out of the bed, slinging the strap over one shoulder before heading toward the cluster of guys already waiting by the bus. Hart is standing right by the door that leads on board with Sampson and Williams, so I drop my bag in the pile of others and head for them. Hunter follows me.
Halfway to them, I spot Coach walking out of the rink’s front entrance.
And he’s not alone.
I haven’t seen Rylan since she left me in the library.
I don’t have her number, and sending an email to her school address asking if she was okay after swallowing my cum felt way too weird. Showing up at her house was an option, I guess, but I didn’t know how that would go over.
She took off, which seemed like a clear I don’t want to talk to you message. So I have no idea what to expect from our next tutoring session. I was planning to show up and follow her lead. If Rylan wants to pretend it never happened, then I’ll do the same.
I just wish I’d known that ahead of time.
I would have kissed her, at least, if I’d known how brief our hookup was going to be. And how it was going to end.
But I thought it was a Tuesday problem, at least.
Today, surrounded by my teammates and in front of her dad, is not how I would have chosen for our first encounter post-blowjob to go.
Rylan isn’t looking this way. She’s talking to her dad, and he’s nodding in response.
As curious as I am to learn more about their relationship, I avert my eyes before she catches me staring.
Hunter and I reach Conor and the guys he’s with, me fighting the urge to glance over at Rylan the entire time.
“Ready to kick some Barnett ass?” Robby asks, knocking fists with me and Hunter.
His enthusiasm is contagious, and I feel my focus start to sharpen. Puck drop is only a few hours away.
“Fuck yeah,” Hunter replies, nodding.
He looks totally normal, no trace of our conversation in the truck obvious on his face, and I hope I appear just as unbothered.
But maybe not, because Conor is watching me with a worried wrinkle on his forehead. “Phillips? You good?”
“Yeah. I’m great.” I manage a nod, keeping my eyes straight ahead and trying to ignore the prickling sensation along my skin that makes me think Rylan might be looking over here.
I’m trying so hard to ignore her proximity—I’m probably just paranoid.
She took off on Tuesday, so why would she be paying me any attention now?
The driver appears and unlocks the bus, so guys start filing on board.
I’m one of the first to get in line behind a couple of juniors, eager to get on the bus, put on headphones, and get in the zone for our approaching game.
Conor, Hunter, and Robby join the line behind me, their chatter not loud enough to block out the conversation in front of me.
“Who’s that girl with Coach?” Andy Pierce is asking.
“His daughter, I think. I heard this is her first semester on campus,” Jake Brennan replies.
“Damn, that’s Coach’s daughter? She’s hot.”
“I have a class with her,” Brennan boasts. “I’ll tap that before the end of the season.”
My hands are shoved into my pockets, so no one can see my fingers curl into fists.
“You’re blocking the door,” I bark.
Conor gives me a weird look. Hunter sighs behind me.
“Sorry, Phillips,” Andy says, quickly climbing up the steps.
Brennan looks me over instead of moving. “Dude, did you forget to get laid last night or something? Because you’re wound up—”
“Phillips!”
I glance over one shoulder.
Coach Keller is standing with Coach Zimmerman by the pile of our hockey bags. And Rylan is still right next to her father, studiously avoiding eye contact with me.
“Yeah, Coach?” I call out.
“Come here.”
Fuck.
I avoid Hunter’s concerned look and Conor’s confused one as I split from my spot in line and walk over to where Coach is standing.
Rylan noticeably tenses as I approach, but Coach is focused on me.
He takes a few steps forward to meet me, his furrowed forehead comically similar to how Conor’s looked earlier. I call Conor Coach Jr. during our off-season dryland practices, which Coach Keller rarely attends. They’re usually us fucking around while Hart reminds us how many days until the season starts.
“What’s up, Coach?” I ask.
“You were off at practice yesterday,” he tells me. “Everything okay?”
Your daughter is messing with my head.
I shut that train of thought down—hard. I’m distracted enough I’m worried I’ll accidentally say something I shouldn’t, during which is undoubtedly the worst possible time.
And my mistakes at practice weren’t just about what happened with Rylan on Tuesday.
“I’m good, Coach. Just a little nervous.”
Both of Coach’s bushy eyebrows fly upward at the admission. “You know what I’ve thought, Phillips? Since you joined the team as a freshman?”
I shake my head.
“That I’d never met a player with more untapped potential. You’re worried the way you’ve played these past few games has been an anomaly? They’re average games for you, Phillips. There’s not a damn thing limiting you out on the ice, except yourself. Today could be the last game you ever play. Leave it all out there and take the shot.”
I know I’ve avoided expectations. Responsibilities. I’m reliable about showing up, and that’s about it.
“What if I miss?”
“Then at least you took the shot. Not a thing wrong with trying and failing, Phillips.”
Lincoln Phillips would strongly disagree with that statement.
If you ask my father, it’s better to bench yourself than embarrass yourself.
“I’m not afraid to fail,” I tell him.
Maybe myself too.
“Good,” Coach replies. “Because you’re starting tonight.”
My stomach flips. “Wh-what? Why?”
“Because you earned it, Phillips.”
“But Conor—”
“It was Hart’s suggestion, Phillips. He’s seen the same thing I have—you deserve it. He’s looking out for the whole team, which is what a good captain does.”
“But Hart is the captain. He should start.”
If we lose, this could be Conor’s last game too. I can’t take that moment from him.
“Any team would be drooling over the number of goals one of my centers has scored this season. Let alone two. Barnett is expecting Hart to start. You’ll be a surprise, Phillips.”
I relax some. “It’s a diversion tactic, then?”
I can handle being part of a ploy if he thinks it’ll help us win.
Coach appraises me. Shakes his head. “It’s me having you take that first face-off because that’s most likely to win us the game. Statistically speaking.” One side of his mouth lifts. “Need me to call your tutor over here so she can explain those odds to you?”
“No.” My response is fast, maybe too quick. But an awkward interaction with Rylan is the last thing I need right now.
“You’re ready,” he tells me.
“I hope so.”
“I know so.” Coach Keller jerks his chin toward the waiting bus. “Grab a seat, Phillips.”
I nod, then turn and head back that way. The rest of the team is already on board.
Before climbing the stairs, I glance back once.
Coach isn’t looking this way, but she is.
Our eyes meet. Instead of looking away like I’m expecting, Rylan holds my gaze.
Kick ass, she mouths.
I nod.
Then climb onto the bus, determined to do exactly that.
Conor’s seated about halfway back. I drop down across the aisle from him, spreading my legs out as far as the seats will allow.
“What did Coach want?”
“To tell me I’m starting.” I raise one eyebrow at him. “Which you apparently recommended me for.”
Conor nods. “I wanna win.”
I snort. “You’re ten times the player I am. We both know that.”
“We don’t know that. You think that because it gives you an excuse to party more and practice less.”
I shake my head. “If we lose, it’s over.”
“I’m aware of how playoffs work, Phillips.”
“You’re the captain. You should start.”
“I’m the captain, so I decide who starts.”
I lean my head back against the cold glass of the window. “You wanna break that news to Coach, or should I?”
Hart rolls his eyes. “I suggested it. He agreed. How much longer do you want to argue about it?”
“I don’t want to argue. I want you to—” I pause, then lean forward. “What are you doing?”
I swear Conor blushes. “Nothing.”
“Bullshit. You’re making jewelry?”
“It’s just some beads.”
“Beads that make jewelry.”
“One of the kids I coach—Cody—his sister kinda has a crush on me. She brought this”—he holds up the plastic container that was in his lap—“last week as a gift because I told her I liked her bracelets. For me to make one of my own, which she’ll be inspecting tomorrow.”
“Wow.” I grin. “Does Harlow know about her competition?”
“Yes,” Conor grumbles. “I asked her to make it for me. She refused, told me to do it while I was sitting on the bus. So…” He shrugs, then rummages through the container again.
I deliberate, then lean toward the aisle. “Give me some.”
“What?”
“Give me some beads so I can make a bracelet.”
He rolls his eyes. “Phillips…”
“What? I’m serious. Give me some. Better than staring out the window.”
Hart appears unconvinced but passes the container over for me to rifle through. I grab a section of string, a random assortment of beads, plus a three and a four for my jersey number. There are letters too, but I don’t bother with those.
“Maybe this’ll be my lucky charm,” I tell Hart as I start threading the beads with the string.
He snorts, but his reply is serious. “You don’t need a lucky charm, Phillips. You need to accept you’re good, and that the team is relying on you to play well tonight. That you’re an asset, not a benchwarmer.”
Hearing The team is relying on you to play well tonight would normally spark some panic.
But I think of Rylan mouthing Kick ass.
Coach’s encouraging expression when he told me to take shots.
Hart deciding I should start.
They all think I can do this.
So maybe…it’s time I start thinking that too.
