Offside: Chapter 4

An hour later, I was crammed into a borrowed miniskirt and standing in a nightclub. That I was wearing heels and makeup for the second night in a row illustrated just how drastically my life had gone off the rails.

“Oh my god. That’s disgusting.” I slammed the empty shot glass on the bar, shuddering. The acrid alcohol lingered on my tongue and burned as it traveled down my throat.

Noelle laughed, handing me my drink. “It’s just tequila, B.”

“It’s awful, is what it is.” I frantically sipped my raspberry vodka seltzer, trying to wash away the horrid aftertaste.

“Sorry,” Zara said, tucking a lock of auburn hair behind her ear. “I forgot you’re not a big drinker. Next round, we’ll make it something easier, like blue balls.”

“Blue balls?” I recoiled. “That sounds even worse.”

“Nah. It’s Malibu and a few other things. But it’s delicious. Doesn’t even taste like alcohol.”

“If you say so.”

Loud bass reverberated through my body, and I swayed on the spot to the DJ’s remix. They had dragged me to a new club called XS on the other side of town. Because it was technically considered Falcons’ territory, it was the kind of place I would usually avoid—which made it the perfect place to drown my sorrows. There was no way Luke would be here. None of the team would be. And tonight, the anonymity felt like freedom.

As the alcohol kicked in, warming my veins, thoughts of tonight’s game and yesterday’s devastation faded into the background. Maybe drinking did make my current situation more tolerable.

Zara propped herself up on the bar, resting her elbows on the top and surveying the crowd methodically. “I think you need a rebound, Bails.” She raised her brows, watching me as she sipped her rum and coke through a yellow straw. “You know what they say: the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else.”

I adjusted my black skirt, which rode up every two seconds. It belonged to Noelle and was about three inches too short for my liking. “Zara, it just happened.”

“Exactly.” Noelle nodded emphatically, her aquamarine eyes serious. “Beat him to the punch.”

My stomach lurched at her unintentional implication that Luke would also be moving on with someone else in the near future. Maybe I did need that blue balls shot after all.

“No way. With the way my luck is going, I’d end up going home with a serial killer.”

“Maybe Luke is the cause of your bad luck.” Zara shrugged. “When was the last time you two did it, anyway?”

It had been longer than I cared to admit. He’d been busy with training and classes, and I’d been juggling a heavy course load. I’d told myself it was a slump, but the truth was, sex had become more of a chore than anything.

Thinking back, I couldn’t remember the last time we’d actually done it. Maybe after the party at Paul’s parents’ lake house in August? That was over a month ago, but that was normal, wasn’t it? Couples had ups and downs. Even if some of the downs lasted a while.

“I don’t know,” I lied. Heat filled my cheeks. “Awhile.”

“Exactly. And it’s probably bad juju for Luke to have been the only”—she gestured vaguely to my pelvic area, biting her magenta bottom lip—“passenger.”

In spite of myself, and likely because of the tequila, I laughed. “My vagina is not an airport terminal, Zar.”

“What’s this, now?” a deep voice cut in from behind me.

I turned and jumped, startled to find Chase Carter’s imposing figure leaning against the bar behind me, amusement stamped on his gorgeous face.

Agitator for the Falcons, leading the league in penalties drawn last season, and the second-to-last person I wanted to see.

Clearly, he heard the whole thing, right down to my vagina comment. It had been a shit-tastic week, so I wasn’t even surprised. Maybe I would get hit by lightning next.

“Speaking of rebounds,” Zara muttered under her breath. “Hello.”

I ignored her and shot Chase a withering glare. “Don’t worry about it.”

He raised his brows, widening his dark eyes in mock innocence. “But I’m dying to hear more about takeoff and landing.”

Noelle giggled and Zara snort-choked on her mouthful of rum and coke, coughing uncontrollably.

“Oh my god.” I rolled my eyes, turning back to face my friends.

“Sorry,” Zara gasped, pounding her chest with her fist.

“How are the runway conditions tonight?” Chase pressed.

I scanned the bar area for potential weapons, coming up woefully short. “Do you think it would be considered first- or second-degree murder if I kill you with a cocktail stirrer? One could argue it was spur of the moment if I used a weapon of convenience. But I have thought about it for a long time.”

Chase took a step closer, the corners of his full lips tipping up into a smirk. “And why would that be? We don’t even know each other. Or do we?” He tilted his head, studying my face. “You do look kind of familiar. Have we…?”

“No.” I made a face. From what I’d heard, it was no surprise he couldn’t keep track of his conquests. “God, no. I meant because everyone from Callingwood hates you.”

“Is that so?” The facade cracked, and he broke out into a full, smug grin, not even trying to hide his enjoyment.

My level of annoyance was reaching an all-time high. This guy was six feet and three inches—so the sports news community reported—of solid muscle, but the biggest one was his ego.

He was such a shit-stirrer.

Zara, now recovered, watched us but didn’t intervene. Noelle’s eyes bounced back and forth like she was witnessing a heated tennis match. Neither of them knew who Chase was and, lacking the proper context, had probably fallen under the spell of his good looks.

Rumor had it most women did.

Actually, the word on the street was that women fell under the spell of more than just his looks. Namely, his mythical, magical penis. According to legend, he seduced a beautiful adjunct professor in his freshman year, and she was so distraught when he ended things that she transferred to a college on the West Coast. Then he slept his way through the BU spirit squad and half of the women’s hockey team before working his way over to the rest of the campus co-eds and a handful from my school as well.

Because while I may have hated him, not everyone at Callingwood was as loyal to our sports teams.

And despite Chase’s personality, which evidently left much to be desired, I’d been told they all came back wanting a repeat performance because—allegedly—he was that good.

Not to mention nice to look at.

The bartender appeared, and Chase rested his forearms on the bar and ordered another drink. I shifted back to face Zara and Noelle, eager to escape. “Why don’t we go dance?”

“Sure.” Zara bopped along to the music. “I love this song.”

Thank god. I grabbed her by the hand, intent on dragging her away, Noelle trailing behind.

“Hold on.” Zara came to a sudden halt and set her drink on the bar. She fumbled in her purse, emerging with her phone. Her face scrunched as she studied the lit-up screen. “My mom is FaceTiming me. I’ve gotta take this. Watch my drink for me, will you? I’ll be right back.” She gave my arm a squeeze and darted off to the bathroom.

Noelle tilted her head, a scheming look on her face. “You know what? I’m going to check on her.” She followed Zara, leaving me standing at the bar with Chase, Mr. Wannabe Air Traffic Controller.

Traitors.

Then again, I could have left. It wasn’t like he had a gun to my head. So I guess that made me a traitor too.

Chase turned to me, midnight eyes tracing my face. “You really do look familiar. You go to Callingwood? What’s your name again?”

“I give out that information on a need-to-know basis, and you definitely don’t need to know.”

Taking a sip of my drink, I averted my gaze and focused on the multicolored lights illuminating the dance floor, flashing in a pattern from red to green to blue. He was trying to hit on me, and my poor ego was so bruised that I almost liked the attention. Almost.

Plus, it would really piss off Luke if he knew, which was what he deserved right now. But flirting with Chase would be akin to committing treachery against my brother and our friends. And hooking up with him was definitely out of the question…right?

Despite that, though, I was newly single, not dead, and he was hot. It didn’t hurt that his black T-shirt hung perfectly off his broad shoulders, its short sleeves showcasing his buff arms. Arms that could probably pick me up and slam me against a wall with ease.

Not that I was thinking about that.

“Hardly seems fair that you know who I am but you won’t even tell me your name.”

“Yeah, you’d know a lot about fair,” I said. “I’ve seen you play.”

Though unfair wasn’t the word I would use to describe his style of play. Chase didn’t technically break the rules, at least most of the time. He bent them just enough to make the other team snap and take the penalty instead. Case in point: what happened with Paul earlier tonight.

He was an instigator.

And a heartbreaker.

“Didn’t know you were such a fan, Callingwood.”

“I’m not.” Scanning the room, I searched for someone else—anyone else. But the dance floor was packed with writhing bodies whose identities were obscured by the strobe lights and artificial fog. Besides, I wouldn’t know anyone here. We were firmly on Chase’s home turf.

Chase took a long pull of his beer, an amused look on his face. I clutched my drink tighter, clamping down on the urge to pour it over his head.

“Is it a highly controlled airspace, or what?”

I glowered at him. “You’re such an asshole.”

“Tell me, what’s the landing strip like?” His broad shoulders shook with laughter.

“Pretty sure your aircraft is too small to find out.” I gave myself a mental high-five for thinking on my toes.

He gave me a crooked smile, like he could tell how proud I was of my comeback. “Not bad.” He took a step closer, lowering his voice as it took on a husky quality. “But it’s definitely an Airbus.”

Airbus? I mean, I kind of suspected based on the rumors I’d heard. But he was exaggerating, right? Between the gossip and the way he carried himself, though, maybe he wasn’t. Without his hockey gear, he had the most perfect V-shaped torso, but as for what that lead to…

God help me, now I was actually thinking about what he was packing. Had I lost my mind? This was Chase Carter. Impressive body aside, I hated him. It was basically a requirement. The rivalry between our schools ran thicker than blood.

The realization snapped me back to the present where he was still standing next to me, dark eyes watchful. His gaze weighed down on me, waiting for a response.

I released my lower lip from between my teeth. “Oh.”

He shifted his weight, stepping closer. I got a hit of his cologne—which smelled way too good considering who was wearing it—and my stomach twirled.

Something tugged between my legs in response, a stirring I hadn’t felt in ages. Not even with Luke.

“You seem a little flustered,” Chase said.

“More like repulsed.”

But if I was being honest, it was a bit of both. It was unsettling how my mind and body were at such odds when it came to him. Clearly, I was rebounding. And a little drunk.

He took a sip of his beer, sizing me up. “I hope you’re not a gambler. You have a terrible poker face.”

Irritation rippled through me, mingled with sudden self-consciousness. Heat surged to my cheeks. I hoped the lighting was dim enough to hide it.

“I think you’re the one who’s getting flustered.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Maybe a little.”

“Well, either way.” I cleared my throat, squaring my shoulders. “The terminal is closed. Indefinitely. Lack of qualified pilots.”

“Oh, I think you’d find me highly qualified.” His voice dropped even lower, the sound an impossible combination of gravel and silk.

My heart rate skyrocketed as heat from my cheeks flooded the rest of my body. For a moment, I gaped at him, lost for words. Then Noelle and Zara strolled back up to where we were standing. Zara had a puzzled expression on her face, oblivious to the innuendo train wreck she was walking straight into.

“I think my mother just sleep-FaceTimed me.” She gestured with her hands, palms up. “Is that a thing? Do you think Ambien can make you do that?”

Noelle shrugged. “I dunno. One time I ate an entire cake after taking an Ambien, and I didn’t even remember it the next day.”

Chase cleared his throat. “I’d better get back to the team.” He nodded in my direction, adding, “Think it over.”

Then he sauntered away, like he had innuendo-laden conversations with strange girls at bars all the time. No big deal.

Actually, he probably did.

“Think what over?” Zara’s eyes widened.

“Oh, nothing. Just the usual obnoxious Falcon trash talk.” I waved her off.

“Is that who he was?” Noelle asked, craning her neck as she watched him disappear into the crowd. She was on the periphery of the hockey world, only mildly aware of its most basic inner workings, and what she did know was solely due to her friendship with me.

“Yup.” I drained the last of my drink. “The enemy.”

“Hot enemy.”

Zara nodded. “I would climb him like a tree, B.”

“No,” I said. “He’s a jerk.”

A social media alert popped up on my phone. It was an update for The Sideline, a gossip site centered around our local college’s varsity athletes. If there was a rumor floating around, The Sideline would cover it. Everything from who was doping—allegedly—to who’d just signed a cushy pro contract.

I followed the stupid site solely due to my paranoia that someday, one of the stories would feature me. With the recent breakup, my fears might have finally come true. Hands shaking, I tapped the notification and bit my bottom lip while the page loaded:

My heart roared in my ears as I clutched my phone. Eighty-six was Luke’s number. Not that I needed the hint; he was the only Bulldog who was newly single.

He was with someone else already.

Didn’t even miss a beat.

But who could he have moved on with so quickly? Then it hit me…Sophie. Sophie Crier. I’d been suspicious about all those late nights since the beginning of the semester when they’d been “working on their marketing group project.” When I confronted him, though, Luke made me feel like a crazy, jealous girlfriend. But this explained everything, including his sudden about-face.

“Bailey?” Zara said. “Earth to Bailey?”

I stared at the screen, the display blurring. “Hold on a sec.”

Denial creeped in, tempting me like a siren’s call. Maybe it wasn’t true. Maybe The Sideline fabricated the story like they were sometimes known to do. It had to be fake, right? Luke would never do that to me. At least, not again.

I took a screenshot and sent it to Luke.

Bailey: Care to comment?

Three gray dots appeared. Then disappeared. Then appeared. Disappeared…and didn’t return. Five minutes later, I was on the dance floor with the girls when my phone vibrated.

Luke: It’s not what it sounds like.

Which meant it was exactly what it sounded like.

Two could play at that game. But first, I was getting another drink.