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“How long has your left knee been giving you trouble?” I release his left foot, lifting my chin to peer up at him. He doesn’t miss a beat. “It doesn’t.” Right. “Are you playing this weekend?” “Of course.”
“Why?”
“How did you pass your preseason screening?” I whisper.
“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” “You’re a mess.”
“I’m fine, Vi.”
“You’re lucky you got assigned to me,”
“Why’s that?” “Because anyone else would tell Christina and Coach Ward to bench you.”
“This tension between us is too weird.”
“We have to work together all semester. Can we call a truce? Be friends, maybe?” Friends? That’s cute. “You and I both know we can’t be friends.”
“Why not?” “Why do you think?”
“Are you seriously trying to play the victim? After everything you did?”
“Can’t have hurt too bad considering how quickly you found someone else. How is Jay these days, anyway?” Violet stiffens, indignation stretching across her pretty face. “Were you keeping tabs on me or something?”
“I know everything that happens on campus.”
She still smells the same, spicy cinnamon and sweet vanilla, which has always reminded me of a cinnamon roll with frosting. It is, unfortunately, every bit as appealing now as it was back then.
“He asked me out, and I was single. Is that some sort of crime, now?” “You were single for all of two seconds.” “Not that I have to explain myself to you, but that was a rebound. It didn’t mean anything.”
“I bet.”
“You have the balls to complain that I moved on too soon when you’re the one who broke us in the first place?” she hisses.
I’m well aware of the starring role I played in the failure of our relationship, but she played a part, too. Her tone turns skate-edge sharp. “You ditched out on Easter dinner with my family.”
“Why the hell are you even here?” I deflect, because I can’t really defend what I did. “You could have chosen from like, twenty other varsity teams to work with other than the team.”
“Don’t flatter yourself. It wasn’t my call.”
“I never would have chosen to inflict your presence upon myself, especially not for an entire semester.” “That makes two of us.”
“This is what I mean about being friends, Violet. It’ll never work.” “Fine.”
read and re-read his last message, jaw clenched tight enough to grind my molars into dust. Thanks to his six-figure income, I didn’t qualify for student aid or government loans. I was denied private loans because I have insufficient personal credit history and lack a cosigner. And as a Div I athlete with a demanding STEM major, holding down a part-time job is literally impossible. Otherwise, I would tell him to shove his phone plan up his ass.
“That Violet chick is hot, huh?”
“Don’t even think about it,”
“What? Why not?” Marcus gives me an easy smile, clearly under the impression that I’m joking. I look down, re-tying my bow. “This information doesn’t leave this locker room, but Violet is my ex.” “You hit that? Nice, Richards.”
“I did not ‘hit that.’ We dated for a long time. Which means Violet is off-fucking-limits.”
“And if that little tidbit about our history gets back to Coach or Christina, you’ll be shitting out your teeth for a week.”
“inappropriate behavior.”
“She’s a dime, huh?”
“Right? She can rehab me any day.”
“Yeah, I think I pulled my groin,” Ryder adds. “Might need her to check it out.” Several of the guys laugh, while a few others murmur or nod in agreement.
“Shut the fuck up.”
They would have no idea what to do with someone like her. Beneath that deceptively innocent exterior, those big doe eyes and tight little body, Violet is a dirty talking goddess. She’s also kinky. I’m talking, we-had-a-safe word, kind of kinky.
Her voice in my ear, begging me not to
stop. Begging for me to give it to her harder. Begging for permission to come.
“Listen, fuckers.” All eyes in the room fall to me. “All any of you need to know is that Violet is one hundred percent out-of-bounds. If any of you even think about touching her, it’ll be a career-ending move. Because I will end you. Immediately.”
“Chill, Richards. I’m kidding.”
“I’m not.”
Preston is perfect, both on paper and in-person. He comes from a nice family and he’s the kind of guy who's destined to get married and have a nice family of his own someday, replete with a big white wedding, white picket fence, a couple of kids, and the whole nine yards. My ten-year plans include the same things, so it’s a logical match. Everything I want. Or should want, at least. So why don’t I?
Suddenly, I realize what’s holding me back: I’m broken. Utterly broken. I have a six-foot-something, undeniably gorgeous—not to mention, nice—guy standing at my door, and all I can think of is the jerk who’s sitting with his friends and groupies back at Overtime.
I want those goddamn butterflies—and only Mr. Wrong has ever given them to me.
But broken people break things, and I leave behind a path of destruction in my wake.
“My shoulder was killing me all weekend, and I can’t afford a repeat of what happened last year. I need all the ice time I can get. Chicago’s assistant general manager has me under a fucking microscope.”
Why the hell should I help you? We’re not friends. Remember?”
“Because I need you, and you know it.”
“Please.”
“Why would I do anything for you when you clearly can’t be bothered to put in the work behind the scenes at home?” Violet asks, still hugging the balance disk to her body. “I’ve been icing my shoulder.”
“Which is only one of several things you should be doing.”
“If you want my help, you’re going to have to commit to sticking to your rehab exercises for t...
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