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

by Eden Finley

He takes off, mumbling something like who knew petulance could be a turn-on. “It’s a talent!” I call after him.

“Hey.” Dad’s relaxed expression instantly switches to suspicion. “Hey. I wanted to let you know we’re back, and we bought lunch if you want it.” “Yeah, thanks.” “You know …” He eyes me. “Because you’ve been at the rink all morning and then studying hard.” Holy shit my dad cannot say the word “studying” ever again. If he knew how hard we’d been studying, he’d probably explode.

Not shockingly, this isn’t the first time I’ve had to hide after sex. It is the first time I’ve feared the actual consequences of being found.

“It’s not that far to the ground. Maybe you can shimmy down one of the pillars.” “Do I look like a shimmying kind of guy?”

“No, but you do look like someone who’s gotten themselves out of this type of situation before.” Kole’s having way too much fun with this. “You’re going to film it, aren’t you?” “I’m making a collage. Top ten walks of shame from my room.” He slaps my shoulder. “You could take out top spot, but it has to be impressive.” “I’m starting to forget why I like you.”

I don’t anticipate Rhys being out the front of our house when I get home, though. His entire face lights up when he sees me climbing out of the car. “Don’t say one fucking word,” I grumble. “Let me go see Charlotte, and my lips are sealed.” I think about that. “Tell you what. You can go see her from three p.m. until five—” “Yes!” “If,” I continue, “you help me with my math class.”

“I’ve heard sex works up your appetite,” Rhys mumbles. I turn. “Who are you talking to about sex?” He shrugs. “Guys at school.” “If they tell you they’ve done it, they’re lying. You’re thirteen.” “When did you first …” Mother of fuck, we are so not ready for this conversation, right? Also, do I lie here or tell the truth? “I’m a virgin.” Lying it is!

hands and cocks an eyebrow at me. “Fine, I was sixteen. And I know this is totally contradictory, but you can’t until you’re eighteen.” Rhys laughs. “I think you’re getting the hang of this parenting thing.” I shudder. “Eww, dude. I’m not and never will be your parent.”

“Mr. Dalton, can I have a word with you?” Professor Fuckstain asks. His name is Eckstein, but that’s hard to remember. Fuckstain suits him more. And his personality. It’s a shame because he’s pretty hot for someone in his thirties.

He’s pissing me off, and I want to tell him to get fucked so bad, but I need this class. Look at me being all mature and responsible.

“How is he?” I ask, like I haven’t heard everything. “Unfortunately, he’s still an asshole, so I think he’ll be fine,” Beck says. Asher flips Beck the bird as the trainer leaves. “That’s a flippant attitude for someone on concussion watch,”

“Do you want me to switch out with you so you’re not babysitting him all night?” “Nope.” I somehow pull off a casual tone. “We’ve covered some stuff on brain injuries in class.” “Have you met Asher? He’s a handful.” “You’re talking as if I’m not right here,” Asher complains. I ignore him. “I’ll keep him in line.”

If I thought he was painful to deal with on a regular basis, I clearly underestimated injured Asher.

“Concussion protocol.” “Screw concussion protocol.” “There you go with your winning maturity again,

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re impossible to like?” “Daily, actually. I’ve been waiting for you to catch on.”

“So tell me more nothing. What’s your favorite color?” “You’ve got to be kidding me.” “Mine’s gold.” “That’s not a color.” “Technically, it is.” “Fine. Mine’s black like my soul.” I laugh. “Uh-huh. Totally big and scary and empty.” “What was it you called me? An emotionless trash can?”

“Well, we can’t all have sunshine radiating out of our asses.” “So that’s why you’re obsessed with my ass?”

Even use my brain to think all the things with the smart stuff. So much brainage. Braining?

For all I know, it’s someone from his classes and is looking for notes. No need to jump to— “Oh, yeah. I did. Sorry, I’ve been pretty busy.” —conclusions. Okay. Not class related. Still not going to look up. It’s not my business. None at all. Nope. My gaze flickers upward. Damn it. A tall, good-looking, hipster type wearing an unbuttoned flannel shirt stands there smiling down at Kole. I growl. Wait … I growl? I clear my throat, and Kole’s eyes meet mine. “I, uh, made a mistake.” I scribble out the correct answer on my sheet and then wave my hand. “Carry on.”

Of course his name is Tray. That’s a douche name. Like Chet. Or Brad.

“You can go out with whoever you want.” As long as their name starts with A and ends in sher. Ugh, shut up, brain.

“I was … not good-looking in high school. Think braces, acne, and then of course, my giant reading glasses I had to wear during class. No one wanted to date me.” “Your glasses are sexy as fuck.” “The face underneath them wasn’t.” I gently push him off me so I can look him in the eye when I say, “I don’t believe it. You’re all …” I screw up my face. “I was going to say beautiful, but—” “Eww, gag.” I laugh. “Right? But I mean, you’re drop-dead gorgeous.” “I am now.” “Wow. And you’re so modest about it too.”

“We’ll do the Asher special. Everything in the pan with a jar of sauce on top. Start chopping.”

“Thank you,” he says as he leans against the sink. I hand over his drink. “Don’t thank me. I was worried if I left and you went full meltdown mode, you’d never come back from that. Then who would suck my dick? Totally selfish move on my part.”

“It was really cool of you to hang out. Just having someone here made it not seem so bad.” “Asher … is that … sincerity I hear?” He shoves me. “Don’t get used to it.”

options. Simms is next to me, blabbering on and on about my fluke shot. I don’t take my eyes off the back of Kole’s head as I say, “It wasn’t a fluke. It’s all talent.” Simms scoffs. “If you say so. I think it could win play of the year and best blooper. The way you tripped on your own stick and landed on the ice …” “It takes a lot of talent to look that stupid,”

“Eh. I guess you’re all right,” Kole says. My head turns so fast I see stars. “What did you just say? I don’t think I heard you correctly.”

“Get your asses up, you’re late!” Dad. Asher obviously recognizes the voice too, because he jolts upright, and his head smacks straight into my nose. “Shit!” Pain shoots across my face, and my vision swims as water floods my eyes. “What the hell?”

“Ah, come on. It’s just a bit red.” His smile is wide and so pretty. I forgive him instantly.

“Unless we can find somewhere else to do it, you’re going to have to admire this ass from afar.” Can’t say that’s a tragedy.

“What the hell happened to your nose?” he asks instead. “Allergies?” Not that I actually have any of those, and December definitely lacks pollen in the air.

We actually enjoy each other’s company. Not that Asher makes it easy sometimes.

want to punch things, pace … scream. Instead of doing any of that, my eyes well up. What in the fuck is this shit? I wipe the few drops away, but that only makes more flow.

Dry, you stupid tears. Dry.

“Get out of my head,” I grumble. “Maybe you should become a shrink instead of an MD.” “Nah, why listen to people whining all day when I have you for that?”

“I’ve been an emotional wreck ever since. You’re welcome.” More tears come. “Jesus H. Christ, how much water can your eyes have?”

They finally part, and Asher sniffs before swiping at his eyes. “Okay, I’m done with this shit.” “It suits you, little brother.” “Fuck off, West.” Aww, even the insult is missing his usual aggression.

Uh-oh. No … Nope. That … that sounds suspiciously like feelings.

“You want my brutally honest advice?” “Always.” “You’re both fucked.”

I probably scared him off with all the sobbing. Tears are a sex repellent. This is why you should never show emotion.

“Is this because of all the emotional shit? Because I can totally go back to being an asshole. You’re a … twatwaffle.” I wince. Okay, maybe I can’t be an asshole to him.

“Why you’re ending this?” His hazel eyes widen. “Wait, what? Is that what I said? All I said was you’re welcome to go get sex from someone else if you’re missing it because I’ve been too busy.” I step forward. “Is that what I said? I believe my words were I miss you.” “You can’t,” he blurts. “I can’t miss you?” I move even closer, and he stumbles, his back hitting the side of the cubbies. “It’s … against the rules.” His words hold no conviction, which I find interesting. “Total casual hookup violation.”

“I’m serious, Asher. This whole kissing when we’re not studying and sharing a bed after sex … it … it blurs lines.” Holy shit. Holy. Shit.

“Is Mr. It’s Impossible to Fall For You Because You’re A Stupid Jock catching feelings?”

I sing. “I think you like me.” I add a little dance in there too. “You really like me.” “I don’t like you so much right now,” he mutters. “It was the crying, wasn’t it? You have, like, a tear fetish, and the tears of your partners really gets you off.”

“Dude, I thought you were smart. You’re stupid if you have feelings for me.” Kole sighs and folds his arms. “Are you done yet?”

“Dating you would be detrimental for my health.”

“You don’t have time for anything serious with a fuckboy. You do realize we’ve been spending most of our free time with each other already? Well, until you caught the feels and decided you needed to avoid me. Not cool, yo.”

“Ha, you can’t come up with an excuse. Buckle up, big guy. A date with Asher Dalton is like a date with—” “A pushy, insistent jerk whose head is so big it’s surprising he doesn’t fall over when he walks?”

He relents. “Fine. Take me to your date place.” Yesss. Okay, date mode. “Hmm, which McDonald’s do you think is more romantic? The one in Colchester or South Burlington?”