COLTON
“Dude, you look weird.” I shoot a glance in Clay’s direction. What the hell does he want? “Before practice, you were checking your phone almost every fifteen minutes. Now you’re doing it again, and the more you do it, the angrier you look.”
“I’m frustrated.” And horny, but I keep that bit to myself.
Clay furrows his brow, eyeing me suspiciously. “About what?”
“About…” I grab my bag from the bench and drape it over my shoulder. “A lot of things.”
Clay blinks and immediately snorts. “Such a mysterious asshole.”
“Shut the fuck up,” I mumble, edging to the door of the locker room and nodding to the guys as I go.
All my muscles are sore because practice was shit. We did drill after drill, focusing on puck protection and maintaining possession skills. It ended with Coach yelling at all of us for being useless pricks. Not that we didn’t deserve it. Being a bunch of cocky morons, we let our latest wins cloud our minds, feeling as if we already won the cup. No matter what, we should always keep our eyes on the prize and not let confidence control our actions. The main thing we all need on the ice rink is a cool head and an indisputable desire to win. Nothing else.
“What are you planning to do?” Clay chimes in, interrupting my thoughts. He follows me down the hallway, and I don’t even need to ask. He’s sure I’m giving him a ride.
“Need to finish my essay, and then I’m going to sit on my couch and do nothing.”
“Boring,” he mocks, and I show him my middle finger. “It’s our last year, Colt. We need to have fun.”
“I think we’ve had our share of fun already, starting with freshman year. Don’t you think?”
“Of course not. We’re fucking young, and before we graduate, we should enjoy our youth, do—”
“Clay, you have no idea how much I want to be signed by the California Thunders once I’m out of this place. I don’t want to risk my chances again.”
“You were their first-round pick, and your game has only gotten better with time. Hanging out with your friends, going to parties, hooking up with girls…”
And I’m not listening to him anymore. Her image pops up in my mind, and my skin instantly feels hot. My palms still remember her soft skin under my touch, how fucking perfect her tits felt in my hands, and how sweet she tasted. Why didn’t she answer my text? Is she going to avoid me again?
“Thompson.”
I wheel my head toward him and pinch my brows together. A stupid smirk plays on his lips as he looks me up and down. “What?”
“You weren’t listening,” he states mockingly as we trudge to the parking lot.
“Kinda got lost in my thoughts.” Or more like memories. Vivid and fucking real—I even feel her scent all over me. As if she’s here with me. I’m under her spell, so much even my head is spinning. For the first time in my life, I have no idea what to do with myself, because I’m afraid to ruin everything. “What did you say?”
“Moore is throwing a party in two weeks,” Clay says. “It’s his birthday, and he expects all of us to be there.”
“Not interested.” I unlock my car and toss my bag into the backseat. “As soon as he mentioned it would be at his house, I knew I wouldn’t go.”
“It’ll be after our home game on Saturday,” he presses, putting his bag into the backseat too. “If you skip, it’ll look weird.”
“Since when do I worry about other people’s opinions?” I scoff as we climb inside my car. “It’s not a secret I don’t like him. He knows it too.”
“Isn’t that exactly what Coach said? A healthy relationship between team members is as important as our behavior on the ice. Even Benson is going, and you know they were pretty hostile with each other because of Ava.”
Ava. Ava. Ava. She’s fucking everywhere and nowhere at the same time. She’s definitely not within my reach.
“Benson is free to do whatever he wants, even being friendly with that asswipe. I can’t think of anything that would change my mind about this party.”
“I know exactly what would change your mind,” he says, and I focus on him with a raised brow. “Layla is always at the parties if her brother is, and that means Ava will be there too.”
“And what?” My heart pounds rapidly, and my palms get sweaty.
“I saw how you looked at her yesterday.” Clay points his finger at me. “You like her. Don’t deny it.”
“I was being friendly, nothing else.” I try to play it cool. Cracking a fake smile, I stop my car near his dorm. “Plus, I can admit she’s gorgeous and it’s hard not to pay attention to her.”
“First, Thompson, you suck. Second, next time the girl you like hooks up with another guy because you were a damn coward and couldn’t make a move on her, don’t take it out on her. That’s a hundred percent on you.” My jaw drops. What the actual fuck?
“Rodgers, get your fucking ass out of my car.” I shoot daggers at him as he opens the door and jumps outside.
Clay takes his bag from the backseat, slams the door, and then comes back to the passenger side. Our gazes lock, and he shakes his head. As if he’s disappointed in me. Is he serious? “Moore hasn’t given up, and he’s running out of time, Colt. Do you want him to win the bet and hook up with her at his party?”
“The bet is fucking stupid.” I state, remembering the uneasiness that spread through my veins when I broke Moore and Rodgers hands when they made the bet. But I don’t want Clay to know how I feel about all that. So I do what I do best to keep people away from me: I turn this situation around. “Do you think she’ll want to be your friend if she knows you made a bet on her?”
“Colt, you’re a predictable asshole.” He closes the car door, spins around, and storms inside the dorm.
I don’t move for the next ten minutes. I rap my fingers on the steering wheel as my thoughts go in circles, each one stupider than the next. Her radio silence is affecting me in the worst way possible. What if she keeps ignoring me? What if what happened at my place was just a moment of weakness? Her being a bit drunk? My head hurts, and I start the engine. Hoping to take my mind off these thoughts, I drive aimlessly till after nine p.m.
I walk out of my shower, dry my hair with my towel, and then just stare at myself in the mirror. When did my life turn into a fucked-up circus, one I have trouble navigating? I continue to push everyone away, not allowing myself to open up to even my closest friends. I have no idea how to accept when I’m wrong; I always turn things around and put the blame on others. The walls I have built around myself are high thanks to my dear father, who always sees me as his heir and never his son. And anyway, because of Helen’s manipulations, my walls are almost unreachable.
Did I think Helen would wreck my life when I met her in my father’s office three years ago? Never. She was his new secretary, a sexy twenty-four-year-old with big boobs and a round ass. I wanted to fuck her, and she was more than happy to indulge my games. I thought I was playing her, only to later realize she was playing me. Damaging in the process the only person I’ve ever loved: my mom.
My phone buzzes, ripping me out of my thoughts. I grasp the countertop with my fingertips to steady myself. My forehead is sweaty, and my damp hair sticks to it. It’s hard to breathe, and my heart is ready to jump out of my chest. Fucking rabbit hole. I hate myself for letting these memories back into my mind. I hate everything that woman represents. She wasn’t worth even a minute of my time.
I grab my phone, unlock it, and realize I don’t see anything. My vision is blurry, and I can’t even put letters into words. A fury whirls inside my chest, darkening my emotions. I’m nothing more than a tangle of anger, hate, and bitterness. Do I think anyone will want to be close to me if they see the real me? I’m fucking sure not even Clay would stay. No one. Especially not Ava.
Putting my phone back on the counter, I turn around and stride to my bedroom. I need to get myself together, and the only solution I have is going back to the ice rink. I can always practice getting the puck to the net, or just do rounds on the ice. Hockey is my cure, and I can’t imagine my life without it. It has healed me so many times, and one thought about not playing anymore brings me down a peg or two. It’s my dream, and I won’t give up until I make it a reality. Nothing can stop me.
In my car, I finally take my phone in my hands. I sent her a message around two p.m., and I got an answer at ten tonight. She knows how to rile me up without even trying.
ME:
What else do enemies make better?
HONEY:
To answer your question, we need to test the theory first. Do enemies really make the best lovers, or is that just a myth? Your kisses definitely made it to my list.
I break into laughter, and I can’t stop for a good five minutes. This girl is a fucking hurricane, and I’m right in the middle of it. In all honesty, I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.
