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“Ask me if you can kiss me.” His eyes grow heavy-lidded. “Can I kiss you?” “No,” I reply. “I’m not interested.” He barks out a laugh. “Ha. See, I just did that to make you laugh.” “What’s your obsession with making people laugh?” “Not people. Only you. You’re scary otherwise.”
As I bend toward the nightstand for my phone, Ryder tortures me by kissing my neck, his face buried in my skin. I shiver at how good it feels. “Let me just tell her—” I halt when I notice the screen. CASE: Want to hang out tonight? “Forget it,” I say a little too fast. “It’s not her.” Ryder doesn’t miss the change in my tone. “Yeah? Who is it, then?” “Someone else.”
“Hmmm. Should we tell him?” “Don’t be an ass.” Sighing, I put the phone aside. “No, maybe we should.” His voice is silky. A rasp of provocation. “Let’s tell him all about how you’re in my lap—” He tugs me back onto said lap, then captures my surprised squeak with another blistering kiss. He lifts his lips slightly, his breath tickling me. “Let’s tell him how much you like having my tongue in your mouth.”
“I can’t believe you just walk around with this thing in your pants,” I say, feeling a bit dizzy. In a good way.
“Oh shit. I don’t know if I have condoms.” He peers at me, pensive. “Can I use one from your box of five hundred?” “Fuck off.” I start to laugh. He grins. “Do you really not have a condom?” “No, I do. Just wanted to bring attention to your bulk condom purchases.” “I told you, it wasn’t—” He silences me with a kiss.
“Is that how you make yourself come when you’re alone?” I nod. “Just the clit? No fingers?” “Not usually.” “What if I came over and helped you sometime? Fucked you with my fingers while you rubbed your clit.” “What about…” It’s getting difficult to breathe. “Why not your dick?” “That too. I’ll give you any part of me you want. If it gets you off, it’s yours.”
I’m pretty sure I just had the best sex of my entire life.
I’m pretty sure I just had the best sex of my entire life.
“Just thinking about this Team USA thing,” she admits. Her fingertips play with my knuckles. “My dad offered to speak to the head coach on my behalf.” “I assume you said no.” I feel her body tense. “Obviously.”
She relaxes a moment later. “Sorry. That sounded harsh. It’s just…” Her sigh warms my chest. “That nepotism comment you made a while ago is constantly in the back of my mind now. It eats at me.” A pang of guilt tugs at me. “I’m sorry. I should never have said that.”
“I also hate that I’m in this position in the first place. I hate wondering whether Brad Fairlee is purposely denying me the opportunity. People keep telling me what a good coach he is. Impartial. I want to believe he gave me that criticism because he genuinely wants me to improve my game and not because he’s trying to keep me off the team.” My forehead creases. “Why would he do that?” “I have history with his daughter. We were best friends growing up.”
“Did you get in a fight or something?” I ask. “You could say that. She got involved with my brother senior year, even after I warned her that Wyatt was never going to commit. He didn’t want a girlfriend. Still doesn’t, three years later. But Emma did that delusional girl thing where they pretend they’re okay with no strings.
“Emma called me under the guise she wanted to patch up our friendship. And because of our history, I agreed to hear her out. But I was running a kid’s hockey camp that week and wasn’t done till later in the day. I guess I mentioned on the phone that it was only Dad and me at the house, although I don’t remember how it came up. I told her to come by later if she still wanted to talk.” Gigi laughs in amazement. “Instead, this girl shows up at my house when I’m at camp and sneaks in using the spare key. Then she gets naked, drapes herself on my parents’ bed, and tries to seduce my dad when he
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“No. I…” She guiltily avoids my questioning gaze. “I didn’t want Case to see my car on your street.” Something jolts through me. Not quite jealousy. But annoying all the same. “Right. Because this is our dirty little secret,” I drawl. Although to be fair, keeping this on the down low is probably a good idea. Our first game is this weekend. Everyone’s heads need to be on it, and that includes Colson. “No,” she corrects, “because the last time he did, he stormed into your house uninvited.”
Afterward, we sneak downstairs and creep toward the front hall. And just when I think I’ve successfully dodged a bullet, Shane steps out of the kitchen. Fuck. His dark eyes take in Gigi’s disheveled hair. My boxers. The scratch marks on my chest. And his lips twitch in humor. “Late night?” he inquires. Her cheeks are visibly red even in the darkness of the hall. “You didn’t see this,” she begs softly. “Please.” Shane appears as if he’s about to make a joke, but I give him a hard look, and he offers an assurance instead. “I saw nothing.”
“There are so many reasons this is bad idea,” he tells me. “I know.” “Colson will murder you.” “He can try.” “Beck seemed into her too.” “Nah. He backed off that.” “Got it. So you swept right in and scooped her up.” Shane rolls his eyes. “That’s not how it went down.”
After the first few days of radio silence, I started to get pissed. Because, come on, I don’t even deserve a Hey, how are ya? after a literal sex marathon? But then the relief started trickling in, because…the truth is, I didn’t know what to say to him either.
nod. “I’ll see what I can do. I’m sure he can hook us up.” “Must be nice,” Ryder drawls. I bristle. Really? First time we’ve spoken in a week, and that’s what he comes up with? I narrow my eyes at him. “Would you rather I didn’t use my connections for the charity auction that we’re all forced to plan?” That shuts him up.
From the corner of my eye, I notice Ryder is on his phone. Texting, I think. Which activates a jolt of suspicion. It suddenly occurs to me that maybe the reason he hasn’t contacted me all week isn’t because, like me, he was overwhelmed by how mind-blowing the sex was. Maybe he’s sleeping with other people. The notion weakens my pulse, and not in a good way. For some reason, the thought of him in bed with another girl makes me feel— My phone buzzes in my purse. I wait a few seconds, trying to remain nonchalant, then fish it out of my bag. My breath promptly gets stuck in my lungs. RYDER: I
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“It’s great to catch up. I’m glad you called.” I realize it’s Shane. Who for some reason has decided to take a phone call right in front of Study Room B. Ryder looks amused. I like it when he smiles. I like it more when he’s licking my pussy until I can’t see straight.
Now I hear a soft curse on the other side of the wall. Shane knows we’re in here, I realize. Maybe he knew the entire time and the phone call was meant as a cover. Either way, I’m too turned on to care that he’s standing out there. That he can likely hear every soft whimper exiting my throat. What Ryder is doing to me feels too incredible.
Shane’s voice addresses the closed door. “Better come now, Gisele. They’re starting to talk.” Ryder chuckles against my thighs. I should be embarrassed. Mortified that not only is Shane listening to everything, he’s invested in my impending orgasm.
“Holy shit, we were totally hearing sex noises coming from the European history stacks. Did you see anybody?” “No. Oh my God.” I pretend to twist around in search of the sex culprit. “Who do you think it was?” I force myself not to look Ryder for fear of giving us away. “I’m guessing Shane,” Cami replies, “’cause he’s been gone quite a while.” As if on cue, Shane returns to the table with such nonchalance that I’d be questioning his absence if I didn’t know better.
“Dude, were you banging someone down there?” Demaine asks, looking kind of impressed. “We heard sex noises,” Cami accuses. “Oh. No.” Shane settles into his chair, avoiding everyone’s eyes. “I was, um, watching porn.” “In the library?” Whitney sounds horrified. “Yeah, but, uh, I wasn’t doing anything,” Shane says. He’s a terrible liar. And I feel guilty now because they have no idea what he’s really lying about. “Someone sent me a clip and I just… I was stupid. I opened it and there was this girl moaning on it. You know,” he finishes feebly, shrugging. “Porn stuff.”
Although he laughs, a flicker of guilt crosses his expression. “Yeah. About that, actually. I didn’t get a chance to give this to you before.” He reaches into his pocket. “I got distracted.” I grin because I know exactly what the “distraction” was. “Anyway. Here.” An amazed laugh sputters out of my mouth when he holds out a crumpled daisy. It must have been crammed in his jacket pocket this whole time. It’s not in great shape, this poor flower. “Oh my God. You’re bringing me apology flowers again? Can’t you ever apologize without all the pageantry?” He smirks at me. “It’s not an apology
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“I promise you, if Jake thinks you’re good, my dad thinks it too. You just need to find a way to make him overlook what happened at Worlds. He has a thing about fighting.” She quiets for a moment. “I don’t know how much you know about his past, but one of the reasons his foundation works with so many domestic abuse charities is because he was a victim of it.”
“You smile too much,” I accuse. “Oh no. Arrest me, officer.” I roll my eyes. “I think the real issue is—you don’t smile enough.” “It makes my face hurt.” “But you’re hot when you smile. And it makes you look more approachable.” I blanch. “Baby, I don’t want people approaching me. That sounds awful.” Her mouth falls open in awe. “Did you just call me baby?” “Did I?” I didn’t even notice. “You did.”
“So, this thing we’re doing,” Gigi starts. A chuckle slips out. “What?” she says defensively. “Nothing, I was just waiting for it. I called you baby. This was bound to happen.” “Waiting for what?” “For the what-are-we talk. I swear it’s encoded into chick DNA. Always need to know where they stand.”
Then I get serious again because I know she’ll take us right back here if I don’t. “Look. I don’t do feelings.” “Ohhh. He doesn’t do feelings,” she says sarcastically. “Gosh, Ryder. You’re so cool and tough.”
But she surprises me. When she twists around, her eyes are on fire. She licks a bead of sweat off her lips and says, “Use me.”
I guess he’s not thrilled about Briar’s performance this season. Although he did tell Owen he enjoyed my goal.” “Owen?” “McKay,” Ryder supplies. “He’s the guy in the pros I was telling you about.” My jaw drops. I tear my gaze from the windshield to gawk at him. “Are you serious? You’ve been busting my chops about my famous dad and his famous friends, and meanwhile you’re best buds with Owen McKay?” McKay is one of the hottest players in the NHL right now. “Who’s friends with superstars now? Can you introduce me?” He narrows his eyes.
Ryder exhales in resignation. “The butterfly gardens?” I beam at him. He sighs. “If I told you, you wouldn’t have come,” I protest. “Well, obviously. I thought it was going to be something cooler.” “What’s cooler than butterflies?”
I croak out a laugh. “Fine. What’s your favorite position?” “Anything that lets me be inside you is going to be my favorite position.” Yeah, I’m in trouble.
He clicks the laptop, and the header slide comes on. PORN ADDICTION AND YOU Someone hoots loudly. “The fuck is this?” Trager demands. “I was not born yesterday,” Jensen begins. “Sex is a thing. Porn is a thing. It’s available on every phone. I get it. I can’t say I think it’s healthy, because, you know, go find a real woman. Or man,” he throws out. “Or both. Whatever you’re into. I don’t see how watching porn for hours on end is good for you, but as long as it’s in the privacy of your bedroom, fine. Go nuts.” “Pun intended,” someone says. “Pun not intended. I don’t make puns. To summarize—in
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Curled up beside me, Gigi watches as I open the messages app. She suddenly stiffens as if someone poked her with a cattle prod. “What?” I say in concern. “Nothing.” “Gisele.” She won’t look at me, so I pry her chin up to see her face. Hurt and anger crease her pretty features. “What’s wrong?” After a drawn-out moment, during which the hostility in her eyes only intensifies, she finally taps the screen and mutters, “If you don’t want a woman to know you’re lying to her, maybe don’t flash the lies right in her face.”
I look at my phone, trying to understand what— Then I burst out laughing. “You think this is funny?” she snaps.
“It’s my group chat,” I croak. I can’t stop laughing. “Your group chat.” Her tone hasn’t given an inch. Hard as stone. “The Eastwood group chat,” I clarify. “All the guys are on it. And that’s our standard message before a game.” I click on the thread and show it to her. “See?” She scrolls through the dozen identical messages.
“Patrick—the one we call the Kansas Kid—has this pathetic habit of falling in love after knowing a chick for, like, ten seconds. And once he falls, he does this love bombing thing with romantic messages and flowers—”
“Anyway, last year, it was the first round of the playoffs and not a single person expected us to pull out a win. We were playing the number one team in the conference—they were on a twenty-game winning streak at that point. So an hour before the game, Patrick accidentally sends a message meant for his new true love to our team chat. Goes without saying that we all ragged him mercilessly for it.” “But you won the game,” she guesses. “Yup.” “Hockey players and their superstitions.”
“Please,” she says to Larsen. “Just keep this between us.” “Fine.” “Will.” “I said fine.” His mistrustful gaze shifts from Gigi to me. “It won’t leave this bathroom,” he promises. But I don’t have a good feeling about it.
When we reconvene in the clearing, Colson’s already constructed a pit using a bunch of hefty stones. “Nice,” I say, impressed. “Thanks. I’m a pro at this. My family goes camping a lot. And not fake camping, like G’s family. They’re all like, we’re roughing it and then rent a mansion in Lake Tahoe. Nope. My family needs to be sleeping on literal rocks, or my dad says it doesn’t count.” I can’t fight my laughter. Then it fades when I realize by “G’s family,” he’s referring to the Grahams. Meaning he’s likely spent a lot of time with them. Gigi brought him around her family. And here I am,
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“You set that up nicely,” he says, nodding. “You’ve done this before?” I nod back. “Scouts? Camping?” “Hiding,” I say wryly.
“I lived in this one foster home growing up where the dad got violent with his wife a lot. Sometimes it got pretty bad, so whenever that happened, I’d grab a tent and take my little foster sister and brother out to the woods behind the house. Some nights it was cold, so we’d start a fire to keep warm. Most of the time it was more smoke than flames, though. We knew how to start it, but not how to maintain it.”
Why do you guys do that thought experiment thing?”
“Wait, I think I remember this. It was right before the playoffs and Eastwood had to forfeit. They said everyone had the stomach flu.” “That was a lie. We were literally all being interrogated about the whereabouts of this chick.”
But suddenly we didn’t have phones to entertain us, so we started asking these questions like would you rather, or what would you do if, and it sort of became a thing we do now before games. Once a superstition sticks, it’s there forever.”
“What’s the other superstition?” “One time he accidentally texted ‘I’m aching for you’ to our group chat.” I snort. “So that’s a thing now too.” “Wait, that’s what I always see you guys texting before a game?” Colson’s jaw drops as he glares at me. “This is why we keep losing! Because the whole team isn’t doing it.”
GISELE: I think I left my necklace at your house. Can I come over and look for it? I grin at the phone. This chick is the best.
RYDER: Hey. Are you able to get away from the girls? I’ve got something to show you. ME: Is it your dick? RYDER: Of course, but we’ll do that later. I’m in Portland. ME: I thought you weren’t arriving till tomorrow! RYDER: I came up early.
“Wait, you’re in the hotel?” My heart skips a beat. “Right now?” “Yeah. Did you pack a dress by any chance?” “Yes…” I say suspiciously. “Go put it on. And be quick. We don’t want to miss it.”
