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Dallas leveled his icy-blue gaze in my direction. It might have melted the panties off girls, but it held less persuasive power with me.
Had I known the wager would be this easy to win, I would have gotten more creative. Three minutes into the game, the Bulldogs’ goalie failed to block Ward’s slapshot straight through the five-hole. Like he was asleep at the stick or something. Then everything went to shit for them. In the first period alone, they took several weak penalties, including tripping, slashing, spearing, and one for too many men on the ice—because apparently, in addition to forgetting how to skate, they’d also forgotten how to count.
Cheers erupted from the crowd as the buzzer sounded and the scoreboard changed. Much to my dismay, the bright red letters now read four-nothing, Falcons. Being the away team always sucked, but it was especially bad when we were getting our asses handed to us like this.
And beside the net, Chase Carter—left winger for the Falcons—did a celebratory fist pump and glided over to the home bench to high-five his teammates and gloat like he always did. Irritation rippled through me. “I hate him,” I muttered. Amelia nodded. “Me too. He’s the worst.” I didn’t have a strong emotional reaction to many players, good or bad, but Carter was the exception. He was the definition of obnoxious. Cockiness in a crimson jersey.
Why had I come? Because I thought Luke would change his mind? Or because I thought he’d realize he made a mistake? I was the one who’d made a mistake. Starting with him.
“You know what they say: the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else.” I adjusted my black skirt, which rode up every two seconds. It belonged to Noelle and was about three inches too short for my liking. “Zara, it just happened.” “Exactly.” Noelle nodded emphatically, her aquamarine eyes serious. “Beat him to the punch.”
“When was the last time you two did it, anyway?” It had been longer than I cared to admit. He’d been busy with training and classes, and I’d been juggling a heavy course load. I’d told myself it was a slump, but the truth was, sex had become more of a chore than anything. Thinking back, I couldn’t remember the last time we’d actually done it. Maybe after the party at Paul’s parents’ lake house in August? That was over a month ago, but that was normal, wasn’t it? Couples had ups and downs. Even if some of the downs lasted a while. “I don’t know,” I lied. Heat filled my cheeks. “Awhile.”
From what I’d heard, it was no surprise he couldn’t keep track of his conquests. “God, no. I meant because everyone from Callingwood hates you.” “Is that so?” The facade cracked, and he broke out into a full, smug grin, not even trying to hide his enjoyment.
Neither of them knew who Chase was and, lacking the proper context, had probably fallen under the spell of his good looks. Rumor had it most women did. Actually, the word on the street was that women fell under the spell of more than just his looks. Namely, his mythical, magical penis. According to legend, he seduced a beautiful adjunct professor in his freshman year, and she was so distraught when he ended things that she transferred to a college on the West Coast. Then he slept his way through the BU spirit squad and half of the women’s hockey team before working his way over to the rest of
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She followed Zara, leaving me standing at the bar with Chase, Mr. Wannabe Air Traffic Controller. Traitors. Then again, I could have left. It wasn’t like he had a gun to my head. So I guess that made me a traitor too. Chase turned to me, midnight eyes tracing my face. “You really do look familiar. You go to Callingwood? What’s your name again?” “I give out that information on a need-to-know basis, and you definitely don’t need to know.”
He was trying to hit on me, and my poor ego was so bruised that I almost liked the attention. Almost. Plus, it would really piss off Luke if he knew, which was what he deserved right now. But flirting with Chase would be akin to committing treachery against my brother and our friends. And hooking up with him was definitely out of the question…right? Despite that, though, I was newly single, not dead, and he was hot. It didn’t hurt that his black T-shirt hung perfectly off his broad shoulders, its short sleeves showcasing his buff arms. Arms that could probably pick me up and slam me against a
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“Is it a highly controlled airspace, or what?” I glowered at him. “You’re such an asshole.” “Tell me, what’s the landing strip like?” His broad shoulders shook with laughter. “Pretty sure your aircraft is too small to find out.” I gave myself a mental high-five for thinking on my toes. He gave me a crooked smile, like he could tell how proud I was of my comeback. “Not bad.” He took a step closer, lowering his voice as it took on a husky quality. “But it’s definitely an Airbus.”
Between the gossip and the way he carried himself, though, maybe he wasn’t. Without his hockey gear, he had the most perfect V-shaped torso, but as for what that lead to… God help me, now I was actually thinking about what he was packing. Had I lost my mind? This was Chase Carter. Impressive body aside, I hated him. It was basically a requirement. The rivalry between our schools ran thicker than blood.
“You seem a little flustered,” Chase said. “More like repulsed.” But if I was being honest, it was a bit of both. It was unsettling how my mind and body were at such odds when it came to him. Clearly, I was rebounding. And a little drunk. He took a sip of his beer, sizing me up. “I hope you’re not a gambler. You have a terrible poker face.” Irritation rippled through me, mingled with sudden self-consciousness. Heat surged to my cheeks. I hoped the lighting was dim enough to hide it. “I think you’re the one who’s getting flustered.” He cocked an eyebrow. “Maybe a little.”
“Oh, nothing. Just the usual obnoxious Falcon trash talk.” I waved her off. “Is that who he was?” Noelle asked, craning her neck as she watched him disappear into the crowd. She was on the periphery of the hockey world, only mildly aware of its most basic inner workings, and what she did know was solely due to her friendship with me. “Yup.” I drained the last of my drink. “The enemy.” “Hot enemy.” Zara nodded. “I would climb him like a tree, B.” “No,” I said. “He’s a jerk.”
Hands shaking, I tapped the notification and bit my bottom lip while the page loaded: The Sideline Moving on so soon? Which newly single member of the Bulldogs was spotted getting cozy with a new flame at the afterparty tonight? Wonder what his ex thinks about getting 86’d and replaced in the span of a weekend. My heart roared in my ears as I clutched my phone. Eighty-six was Luke’s number. Not that I needed the hint; he was the only Bulldog who was newly single. He was with someone else already. Didn’t even miss a beat.
Five minutes later, I was on the dance floor with the girls when my phone vibrated. Luke: It’s not what it sounds like. Which meant it was exactly what it sounded like. Two could play at that game. But first, I was getting another drink.
But the only interesting thing that had happened since we arrived was meeting that feisty blond chick from their school. That didn’t pan out, but I had other options. It was time to call it. I was too sober for this scene.
Before I could open my mouth to say anything further, a soft, warm hand landed on my other forearm. “There you are.” The voice was sugar sweet. I glanced to my left, discovering my failed pickup attempt from earlier. Long, honey-colored hair, a smattering of freckles along her nose, and eyes that were this crazy hazel-green that I couldn’t even begin to describe. Callingwood. Our eyes locked and she tilted her head. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” She tucked a lock of caramel blond hair behind her ear and gave me a familiar smile, like we knew each other well. Like we hadn’t just met.
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Both very attractive, objectively speaking, but Callingwood was by far the hottest. “Sure.” I kept my attention fixed on her. “I appreciate the introduction, but I still don’t know your name.”
I liked the challenge. I was dysfunctional that way.
“I don’t know why she’s being so mysterious. Her name is Bailey.” Bailey. It didn’t ring a bell. I couldn’t put my finger on why she looked familiar, though, and it was driving me crazy. “Do you have a last name, Bailey? Or are you a one-name wonder like Rihanna?” Bailey looked away, taking a sip of her drink. “James.” Like Derek James, D-man for the Bulldogs? Holy shit. That was why she said she hated me. There was no shortage of bad blood there. “Is Derek your brother?” “Yup,” she said, popping the P.
Talk about a plot twist. Derek was a fairly average-looking dude; even a little gangly. But his sister was a fucking dime. Athletic but curvy, with enough to grab on to. Tall too—in her heels, she wasn’t much shorter than me.
“It’s Luke’s loss.” Luke…Luke. Then it clicked. Bailey was Morrison’s girlfriend. Or ex-girlfriend, it would seem. That was why she looked so familiar. I’d probably seen her in the stands before. But she was cheering for the wrong side. “He’s an idiot, right?” Noelle chimed in, nudging me. “Definitely,” I agreed. On both parts, actually—it being his loss and his status as a total fucking idiot. Luke Morrison was the worst kind of hockey player; one who took cheap shots and refused to answer for them later.
I returned my attention to Bailey, who was batting her lashes, waiting for me to speak. She was fucking gorgeous—in the way that told me she’d still be gorgeous the morning after. Not that it mattered; I didn’t do sleepovers.
Bailey grabbed me by the hand and turned, threading her way through the crowd as I trailed behind. We squeezed through a group of people clustered in front of the bar. She stood up on her tiptoes and leaned over the counter, looking for the bartender. Her miniskirt rode up, revealing her long legs, defined calves, and did I mention legs for days? I was a leg man, and hers were fucking phenomenal. They’d look incredible over my shoulders. She was hot as hell. Unfortunately, after seeing how unsteady she was walking over to the bar, I had a feeling she was drunk as hell too.
“Does your offer still stand?” I wished I could say yes. I really, really did. “That depends,” I said, studying her. “How drunk are you?” I had a few hard limits—like taking advantage of drunk girls. And I had a feeling she was well past the point of tipsy.
“Should I go break it up so they can leave with you?” Bailey glanced over and paused, brow crinkling. “No…I don’t want to ruin their night.” She hiccupped. “I’ll get an Uber.” In other words, she’d rather ruin my night than Zara and Noelle’s, because there was no way I’d let her leave by herself. I’d be surprised if she even made it home. “You can’t leave here alone.” “Sure I can,” she said, grabbing her purse off the bar. “Watch me.” I shook my head. “I’ll come with you.” “Because you want to get me into bed?” She gave me a coy smile and tripped over her own feet. I caught her elbow,
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Noelle shot her a questioning look, gesturing as if to say “what gives?” Bailey waved her off and gave her a thumbs-up, which seemed to pacify her. “They’re okay with you leaving with me?” I asked. “Oh, I told them who you are,” she said. “If anything happens to me, they’ll know who did it.” Drunk logic for sure, but whatever worked.
Either way, I had to catch her three times before we managed to exit the club, one of which was a close call after some drunken idiot plowed into her.
Bailey bit her bottom lip and lingered by the door, hesitating like she was suddenly having second thoughts about leaving with me. But letting her go back into the club in her state was far riskier; she’d be a sitting duck for any creep who came along.
Ironically, this was the outcome I’d been angling for earlier—going home with her—only minus the fun I’d hoped to have after. But now that I thought about it, the optics of this situation weren’t great. Taking Derek James’s sister home when she was drunk off her ass would look pretty incriminating, even if my intentions were good.
Which means Morrison dumped her on her birthday. No wonder she was so drunk. Nice touch, dickbag. Not that I was surprised.
“We need to get you home.” I pulled out my phone to order a ride. “What’s your address?” “I’m in the brownstones on—” Bailey stopped short, putting a hand over her mouth. Turning, she gagged and proceeded to throw up in the row of tall green hedges beside her. I pocketed my phone, debating whether I should try to help her somehow or just stay out of her way. Before I could intervene, she straightened, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “It’s 303 Park Lane,” she finished, staggering slightly. “Near south campus.” Based on the way she was teetering from side to side like we were on a
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The instant she sat, she leaned over the side and retched again. Sympathy hit me; I’d been there before, and it sucked. “Here.” I shifted closer and gathered up her long blond hair, holding it out of the way. She whimpered something that sounded like “thank you,” but it was hard to tell for sure because it was interrupted by her gagging.
“Are you—” I paused while she dry-heaved. “Are you okay?” Usually, I was the recipient of that question. Things had gotten dire when I was the chaperone. “I think so,” Bailey mumbled, pulling herself upright with my help. Once I was convinced she had her bearings, I let her go, and she immediately stumbled.
“Do you want me to call your brother?” Her eyes widened. “No. He would freak if he saw me like this. Especially with you.” Good point.
“Come on,” I said, steering her by the arm and changing directions. My place was five minutes away. It was the only option. At least until she stopped throwing up. But then what? I couldn’t put her in a rideshare in this condition. Escorting her to her place on campus at this time of night wasn’t viable either, especially after crushing Callingwood in tonight’s game. There would be angry, drunken Bulldogs fans prowling campus, and I needed my limbs in working condition. “Come on where?” “You asked me to go home with you. So that’s what we’re doing. We’re going to my place.” Bailey frowned.
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Another night would be a different story. I wasn’t sure what it said about me, but even after seeing her vomit a night’s worth of drinks curbside, I would totally hit it. From on top, from behind, you name it.
“Am I not pretty enough for you? You seemed to think so earlier.” “You’re very pretty,” I said, fighting a smile. “And I didn’t say never. I said not tonight. Not while you’re in this condition. When we hook up—if we hook up—you’ll want to remember it.” “Hmm. You are really hot.” Bailey sighed dreamily and ran her hands up and down my torso, probing the muscles beneath my shirt. My cock perked up in response. But sadly, his services wouldn’t be needed this evening.
“Do you always lack a filter, or is this the booze talking?” She tilted her head back and laughed. “I have no idea.” After a moment, her expression turned serious, inquisitive. With limpid eyes fixed on mine, probing, she asked, “Are you as good as everyone says?” I shrugged. “You’ve seen me play.” “That’s not what I mean.” She dropped her voice to a stage whisper. “I meant in bed.” She sure knew how to stroke a guy’s ego. Too bad it was the only thing getting stroked tonight. “Ah. I guess you’ll have to find that out for yourself another time.”
you can’t sleep in that.” I nodded at her outfit. It was damp from the rain, and like my shoes, her white tank top had fallen victim to the blue vomit splash incident. She was a hot mess. Literally. “I don’t have anything else to wear, though.” Bailey frowned.
Pulling open the top drawer, I grabbed a well-worn red Falcons tee and handed it to her. Sure, I had other shirts. But giving her this felt like a taste of retribution against that dick Morrison. “Here,” I said. “You can change in the bathroom. Washcloths are under the sink if you need one. And mouthwash.”
“Are you going to sleep in the bed too?” She looked awfully scandalized for someone who’d asked if she could sit on my face twenty minutes ago. “Well, yeah. The other bedrooms belong to Dallas—who’s probably in there with Shiv—and Tyler. And, for reasons I won’t get into, I wouldn’t touch that with a ten-foot pole. And I don’t fit on our couch.” I gestured to myself with one hand, waving an open palm from my head down, as if to illustrate my height. “But you can sleep there if you want. I’ll warn you, though, it’s not comfortable.”
“I can assure you; I’m not going to try anything.” “Okay.” She yawned, rubbing her eyes. “I trust you. I don’t know why, but I do.” “I’ll go grab you a water.”
If I could get back to sleep, maybe I’d wake up later and realize all of this had been a bad dream. What time was it, anyway? I cracked one eye open to discover I was hiding beneath a dark gray duvet, not white like mine…and it smelled like cologne. Really delicious cologne. Where the hell was I?
Carter. I threw off the covers and let out a gasp. I was wearing a crimson Falcons T-shirt. The uniform of the enemy.
It didn’t scream fraternity guy like I’d expected. Actually, it was nicer than Luke’s bedroom. But I wasn’t the first girl, nor would I be the last, to wake up here.
“Good morning, sleeping beauty.” Chase appeared in the doorway and leaned against the frame, clutching a black mug in his hands. He was freshly showered and wearing fitted gray joggers and a white V-neck T-shirt, with his dark hair still damp. And damn, did he look hot—like an athletic wear model or something equally appealing.
He nodded at my shirt. “Red suits you.” I pulled myself upright, yanking the covers up to my chin. I was in a T-shirt and underwear. His T-shirt wasn’t that long on me, either. No pants. Not even shorts. Did that mean we had sex? Oh, no. No, no, no.
