COLTON
I sit up in bed and look around. What time is it? I reach over to my bedside table, trying to grab my phone, but I accidentally shove it to the floor. “Just fucking great.” I grumble, swinging my arm over the side of my bed and picking it up. It’s eleven a.m., and I should probably already be up, but I don’t want to get out of bed. I don’t want to leave my apartment at all today.
This stupid party has terrible timing.
I launch Instagram, seeing new DMs. With a sigh, I open the first message in Requests, hit the Accept button, and stare at a full pair of boobs. Right. I look at the name and frown. Jordan P. I don’t even know her. Why in hell would she send me her tits? I tap on the girl’s profile photo, and realization hits me. It’s the one Clay fucked last night.
I roll onto my back, holding my phone in the air while scrolling through her profile. She’s attractive, loves sports and music, just something is missing. Sure, she has nice boobs, but I have no desire to fuck her. Especially not after her blow job last night. Not that it was really bad, but I didn’t enjoy it that much.
Tossing my phone onto my covers, I slowly stand up and stroll to my closet. I put on a tee and a pair of sweatpants, yawning loudly. I will need a bucket of coffee to wake up. I snatch my phone and head to the kitchen. Good thing I decided to buy some food yesterday; I won’t starve before I drag myself out of the apartment.
Before I start making a sandwich, I open Spotify, and MGK’s “kiss kiss” fills the room. It’s heaven. Literally.
Never in my life could I imagine my asshole father would do something good for me. Well, he did. He rented this apartment, paid for the entire year in advance.
It’s my last year in college. My chance to make things right and to work on my grades. If I’m lucky and don’t screw up my chances, maybe I’ll be signed by the California Thunders. I was their first-round pick when I was nineteen. They have been watching my progress ever since. Who knows if, or when, they will still want to sign me, trade me or pass on me completely once I graduate. With my luck, I don’t want to leave anything to chance. I work hard on and off the ice, and my only focus is on my future as a professional hockey player .
I will do absolutely anything for it, and my father knows it.
He gave me a long speech when he brought me to this apartment. He wanted me to focus on my studies and not just on pleasure. And I was almost tempted to say “fuck you” and go back to living on campus. I hate lies, and I know my father couldn’t care less about my career. He wants me to work for him, and all this pretense is just about me having my degree, nothing else. In his world, reputation and status are everything.
The thing about me is I’m one of those people who prefers to do the opposite of what they’ve been told. If someone tells me, Don’t go there; there is trouble waiting for you, I will say, How can I stay away? Trouble is waiting for me. But with this apartment, I quickly changed my mind, and I haven’t regretted even once that I took the old man up on his offer. For my own selfish reasons.
Drinking my coffee, I sit down on the couch in the living room. All my muscles are relaxed, and my heartbeat is calm—not how I’m used to feeling on weekends when I don’t have any games. Canceling my visit tomorrow feels weird, as going has been my ritual for six months already. Yet I’ve done it for myself, because the visits have become exhausting.
My phone dings, and I pick it up. This girl doesn’t know how to read between the lines, does she? I shake my head as I open her message.
JORDAN P:
Do you like what you see?
ME:
Who are you?
JORDAN P:
Your cock fits my mouth perfectly. Last night proved that better than anything.
I scoff, close Instagram, and dial Clay’s number. Stretching across the couch, I grab the TV remote. I need to fill time, so I might as well kill a few hours by watching a show.
“What?” My best friend’s voice is groggy and barely audible.
“Hello to you too, moron.” I laugh, hearing him groan.
“Thompson, it’s not even fucking noon.”
“Time to rise and shine, Rodgers.” I turn on the TV and browse Netflix in hopes of finding something that will catch my attention.
“When you said you weren’t going to go visit your parents, I thought you would be busy railing some chick all night and again this morning.” He yawns. “But you went home alone, and now you’re calling me before noon…for what?”
“Why did that chick send me pics of her tits? Did she send them to you too?”
“Which girl?”
“From last night. The freshman.”
“The one that I fucked? Or the one that fucked you up?” Involuntarily, I grit my teeth and press my palm to my cheek. It freaking stung for an hour last night, and Clay’s words reminded me about it. I’m not sure it was just because she slapped me without any remorse. It was more about her defiance. I’m not used to girls behaving like that with me.
“The one that gave me a blow job.”
“Nah, she didn’t send me anything. She checked me off her list, so now she has her sights set on you. Solely on you,” he snickers, clearly not as sleepy as he was a few minutes ago.
“I hate clingy,” I mutter under my breath as my eyes land on You. I haven’t seen the third season, so maybe this is a good opportunity to catch up.
“I know, man. Everyone on campus knows that—except maybe her,” Clay explains. “Give her time and she’ll back off. Or just find another girl at the party tonight so she knows there is nothing to wait for.”
“We’ll see.” I place my phone between my ear and my shoulder while I set my mug on the table and sit up straight.
“Damn, Colt, really—why did you need to wake me up?”
“Because.”
“What are you doing?” Clay yawns.
“Watching Netflix.”
“No chill?” he asks teasingly.
“Why is it always about sex with you?”
“Because I’m young, dumb, and broke,” he singsongs, trying to sound like Khalid. “Can I come hang with you?”
“Are you suggesting we Netflix and chill together?” I cackle, hearing silence in return.
Then he murmurs, “Sorry, man, you’re not my type, like at all. I hope you understand.”
“Yeah.” I chortle, standing up from the couch and heading back to the kitchen. “Come over whenever you want. I don’t have any plans.”
“Was your dad angry you decided to stay in town?” I stop in my tracks, suddenly lost in my thoughts. No one knows where I spend almost every Sunday lately. Not even Clay.
“I don’t care.” I take a few more steps and open the cupboard. M&Ms. My guilty pleasure since I was ten, when Mom bought them for me after a practice.
“Cool. I will grab something to eat and be at your place in an hour or so.” Clay doesn’t insist on talking about my dad. We’ve known each other since we started playing hockey together eleven years ago. We have been there for each other through thick and thin, and I appreciate the hell out of him. Even if he can be annoying as fuck.
“Okay. Buy some pizza.” I end the call and tuck my phone into my pocket.
The day is not going how I envisioned it, but maybe it’s for the best? Sometimes unexpected things are exactly what we need to light up our lives and breathe fresh air into something that’s been resting in dust. Plus, I definitely wouldn’t say no to having a good laugh with my friend. Weekends haven’t been my favorite days of the week for a couple of months now, and it’s probably time to start changing that. At least, to start trying to change it.
At ten p.m., Clay and I step into a house that’s already full of people. Loud music echoes through the walls, finding its way under my skin. Adrenaline rushes through my veins, and I smile. I love this atmosphere, even if I often act like Ebenezer Scrooge. The truth is simple: I was fun, until I realized I was on a path of self-destruction. When Coach said, Another trick and you’re out, I didn’t have much choice but to obey.
Hockey is my life. I carry on with my finance major for it. I breathe for the opportunity to be on the ice again. It’s the only thing in the world that makes any sense to me. The only thing that matters. Sometimes it means running myself to death with late-night practices and working to be the best during games. I am a champ, and there is no way in hell I will give up on my dreams.
“Let’s get drinks.” Clay claps a hand on my back, pulling me out of my thoughts. I simply nod and follow him into the house.
I feel eyes on me, but I don’t pay any attention to them. Being on the hockey team taught me how to deal with popularity. There were some bumps and bruises along the way, but I got there. I don’t care what people think of me, whether they like me or not. Their opinion isn’t worthy of my time or my worries, under any circumstances.
“Where is everyone?” I shout, trying to talk over the music.
“They should be by the pool.” Clay looks at me over his shoulder. “Moore sent me a text.”
I roll my eyes, and it doesn’t go unnoticed by my best friend. He smirks, shaking his head and looking away. What? I’m picky, and I won’t be friends with just anybody.
Moore joined the team last year as our left wing, and I had a hard time tolerating his attitude. He’s an arrogant, rich prick, and I have no desire to be associated with him. The feeling is not mutual. The dude has wanted to be my friend ever since we met, and I always remind him to back off. On the ice, I try to get along with everyone, for the sake of the game and our team. But outside the rink, I’m different, and not everyone likes the boundaries I set.
“Here.” Clay shoves a bottle of beer into my hand. I hold his gaze, contemplating tonight’s outcome. I haven’t gotten drunk in what seems like an eternity. Maybe I can afford one night of total madness? I chew on the inside of my cheek for a few moments, and then I take a sip.
We move further into the house until I see Drake Benson, our captain. He’s a damn mountain of a man. Sometimes, standing near him, I feel small—and I’m fucking six foot three. The way this guy looks speaks volumes, but he’s a real softy inside. Guys joke about his behavior a lot, calling him a teddy bear. Truth be told? He doesn’t get upset about it at all, and I don’t remember him being angry even once. Only during games, but who can blame him? On the ice, our emotions run high. We set our eyes on the win and do everything in our power to succeed, like we’re an interconnected whole. One wrong move can rouse the beast in any of us. Not just in someone hotheaded like me.
“Drake, what’s up?” Clay calls out to Benson, and he turns his head to look at us. His hat is on backward, and a smile plays on his lips. He’s in a good mood, and it’s infectious. Being near him, even I act nicer. Maybe that’s the reason why I don’t like hanging out with him? He’s rubbing off on me, and becoming the life of the party is not something I want.
“Hey, Rodgers, Thompson,” Drake greets us, and we shake hands. “Nothing. Literally nothing. Playing the role of the babysitter.”
“Your sister here?” Clay looks around.
“Yeah, she just went to use the bathroom with her best friend. As soon as they are back, I will be on the lookout again.”
“Since when do you look after Layla so closely?” I arch my eyebrow at him, surprised.
He made it clear last year his sister was off-limits. He didn’t want any of the guys from the team dating her or fucking her, and I respected that. We all did. Until today, he never tried to forbid her from having fun. Something is off.
“It’s not actually about her.” He shrugs. “Ava has a tendency to create trouble out of nowhere. I want to make sure everyone knows she’s under my protection too, so next time there is a party, I will be free to do whatever I want.”
“Ava?” Rodgers furrows his brow. “Isn’t Grace her best friend?”
“Grace is her roommate.” Drake gestures toward the couch. Layla’s roommate is sitting near Moore, flirting with him like there’s no tomorrow while he looks bored. I’m not sure she has any chance with him, or anyone from the team. She’s a bit much. In everything. “Ava is her best friend.”
“Is she new? Because last year, your sister and her roommate hung out with us at all the parties, and I kinda thought they were best friends. Always together. Inseparable.”
Benson smiles, shaking his head. “Ava is our neighbor. Layla has been friends with her for an eternity, but she’s a year younger than my little sis. They are inseparable.”
“Is she hot?” My best friend’s gaze darkens. That’s not what amazes me though. Drake’s reaction is interesting, to say the least.
“She is,” he rasps, narrowing his eyes. “But she’s off-limits.”
“That’s ridiculous. I totally get it when it’s your sister, but her best friend?”
“Her best friend is also off-limits. That’s final.” Benson’s smile fades away, and I blink in total stupefaction. A wild guess crosses my mind, but I keep my mouth shut. It’s too early to draw any conclusions. For starters, I need to see the girl and Drake together. Somehow, I’m sure I’m right.
Clay huffs, taking a sip of his drink to hide his irritation. The guy is just like me. He hates when someone tells him he can’t do something. He is more than happy to go against anyone, except his teammates. Which means one thing: whoever this girl is, he won’t be able to lay his hands on her. He doesn’t want to have our captain as an enemy—no one does. Including me. A healthy team atmosphere is the key to future wins. If we are at each other’s throats, we won’t stand a chance against our rivals.
“What a pleasant surprise.” Layla’s voice rings in the air, rising above the music. “I thought you decided to skip the party.”
I whip my head around to look at Benson’s sister, and my eyes land on her. The freshman.
