Line Mates & Study Dates (CU Hockey, #4)

by Eden Finley

I’m going to go do something stupid.

Because I didn’t do something stupid last night. I did something fundamentally messed up.

Well done, Asher, you eternal man-child.

“There’s no place like home. There’s no place like home.” Except there’s a gigantically big, huge, stupid problem with that. This is my home. It’s Ezra-fucking-Palaszczuk who needs to get out of my bed and this house before any of my little brothers and sisters see him in here with me. Or worse yet, if my older brother sees him.

The deep moan in my ear was sexy last night when I was drunk, but now it makes me cringe. Not because he’s a dude but because of who he is.

Alcohol is an evil mistress. It takes those devious “what ifs” and turns them into reality. Sleeping with my brother’s best friend should have been reserved for when West really pissed me off.

No one has ever accused hockey players of being smart.

Why, why, why did Ezra come visit my brother while I was all … I shudder, vulnerable? Eww, that’s gross. Go away, you useless emotion.

Acknowledging I’m being an irrational shithead doesn’t make me stop being one.

“Why are you still here?” “You were a lot nicer last night.” “Alcohol makes me nice. Get. Out.”

“See you round, Little Dalton.” I hate, hate, hate being called that. Little Dalton, Mini Dalton … everyone in hockey does it, and it’s annoying.

“Why are you the way that you are?” West starts. That’s a good question.

“Fuck you.” Even if he has a point. Just … fuck him.

“The blue line is not a euphemism for drugs, you can’t pet puck bunnies, and for the love of all that is good on this earth, when it comes to hockey players, remember Momma’s rules: look with your eyes, not with your hands.”

Note to parents everywhere: don’t judge your kid based on what you like.

“No offense …” Beck says, sounding exactly like he’s about to be offensive.

I am so unfit compared to a mere eight weeks ago. Note to self: learn to read while running on a treadmill or something.

I’d like to tell them all to fuck off, but I can’t even breathe, let alone speak.

Move away, Asher. Move away before you do or say something Asher-like.

“You need to get your ass home before West kills you. And then kills me for the fun of it.”

“I should, uh, get back home. Make sure West doesn’t kill Rhys, that the twins aren’t killing each other, and that Zoe’s calmed down from her panic attack.” My eyes widen. “Oh, wow, I just realized that’s a whole lot to dump on someone. Let’s rewind that. I’m … going home.”

This is the perfect opening for me to play the woe is me card. My parents are dead. My siblings and I are orphans. If the word “orphan” doesn’t make someone uncomfortable,

“So, do you get all your general knowledge from cartoons?” “Pretty much. They’re about my intellect level.” Asher grins.

“You’ll never guess who I just ran into.” “Oh, yeah? Who?” “One of your players. Asher Dalton. You’ll be proud. I’m being nice already.”

I liked him better when he wasn’t an authority figure.

“Did you have a plan out there at least?” “For?” “Oh, are we pretending you’re dumb again? Fine. A plan for after you got your lights punched out and Dad screams himself hoarse. What happens then?”

“Why have you been ignoring me all week?” he suddenly asks. “I haven’t. We talked on Monday.” “Yeah, four days ago.” “Technically three if you don’t count today, which I don’t, because look—we’re talking.” “Now who’s playing dumb?”

“I call people bitch all the time. It has nothing to do with their sexuality.”

“Are you checking me out?” I jump at being caught, but he’s smiling again. “Just objectifying you.” “And that’s better because …” “It’s not personal. You have a nice butt.”

Asher Dalton just gained a new best friend. Whether he wants it or not.

“It gets rid of all the toxic shit you put in your body” is not an appropriate essay answer. Don’t know why. Seems perfectly valid to me.

I make my way inside the three-story building and automatically head for the study rooms people usually use for group assignments. Anywhere else and I’m worried I’ll get lost. Not a big shocking revelation here, but I don’t know the library well. Or … really at all.

I smile and wave. “I know, right? I didn’t think I could step inside here without bursting into flames, but apparently a library is not like a church.”

I read and read and read, but all my brain is doing is going “Ooh, look, shiny things” and “I want to nap.” Then there’s the screaming in my head like “Why are you doing this to me? Please don’t make me think with the thinks. Braining is too hard.”

“All of it. Sometimes I wonder if my brain is an actual brain or if maybe it’s, like, an avocado.”

“Thanks for helping, but I don’t know how much good it’ll do. Do you think if I take a puck to the head repeatedly, I could get information to stick that way?” “Uh, no. I highly don’t recommend you try that.” I slump.

“Things with Simms aren’t any better?” “Yeah. He came over for a sleepover, and we braided each other’s hair and sang Carly Rae Jepsen. Fun times.”

“You’re not going to win if you guys can’t gel.” “I know that, but he’s a dick.” “Oh, and you’re a pure ray of sunshine?” “Exactly.” Kole pats my shoulder. “Keep thinking that, buddy.”

“I know I probably shouldn’t say this …” Katey starts, “but that Asher Dalton is hot as fuck. I mean, his brother is more my taste, because his authoritative tone does things to my lady bits—” I cringe. She doesn’t stop. “But there’s something about the badass big-dick energy Asher’s radiating that makes me want to break my look-and-don’t-touch rule.”

“You want me to invite them for a sleepover and try to get them to sing kumbaya? There’s no way that’ll happen. If you haven’t noticed, I have no pull with any of the players.”

“I don’t know what else to do with those two.” Even Beck’s looking at me now, and for some reason, the three of them thinking I can fix this, fix Asher, sends a jolt of anger through me. “What happened to not taking on another pet project?” I ask Dad. His lips quirk. “Blood pressure, kid.” “Yeah, because talking to Asher never sent anyone’s blood pressure sky-high. I have to go.”

“So you agree with my dad and Coach Dalton?” I finally ask Beck. “That those two need to get along? Obviously. They’re being a pair of … ah, unprofessional players, out there.” “I’m not on the team. You can say dickheads if you want to.” Beck points at me. “I’m trying to be responsible and shit, but yes, that. That’s exactly what they’re being.”

Asher snorts. “If I get drunk with him, we will really get into a fight. Why do you care, anyway?” “We’re friends.” “You shouldn’t be friends with someone like me.” “You asked.” “Yeah, but I’m the idiot. You’re the one who’s supposed to make the right choices.”

Beck watches me with what I think is concern etched across his face. “Come on, kids, join the hockey camp with the coach who locks kids in a room together.” “It’s fine,” I say. “I did this. You were just … there.” “Does that make me an accessory to kidnapping? Oh, shit, is this kidnapping?” “It’s … a training exercise. They have water in there. Dad’s private bathroom. It’ll be … fine.” I hope.

“This better work. Because if they kill each other, your dad will kill me, and then my boyfriend will dig me up and kill me again for leaving him.”

“Do you know how to pick a lock?” I ask. “Who doesn’t? Let me pull my lock-picking kit out of my ass.” “I’d offer to help with that, but I don’t want to get punched in the face again.”

“Are you always so …” “The most annoyingly arrogant fuckboy in a fifty-mile radius at any one time? Yes. I polish my crown daily. Next question.”

“Why are you like that?” I look up at the roof and mutter, “I’m going to kick Kole’s ass.” I throw myself in the seat next to Simms. “Do you want the excuse of always having to live up to my NHL star brother or the poor orphan card? I can play either.” “I want the truth.” Eww. “What if we beat the shit out of each other...

“Then why don’t we talk, which is what they obviously want us to do?” “Because that sounds like a healthy way to deal with conflict.” Simms ...

“Why are you like this? I’ve never met someone more …” “Incorrigible, frustrating—” “So emotionally unavailable I have to question if you’re a sociopath.” “Ooh, sociopath. That’s actually a new one. No one’s ever called me that before.” I force a smile. “I think I like it.”