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He curses. “Christ, it makes me sick to say this to you, sweetheart. You think I like seeing that hurt look on your face? Rips me apart, AJ. But I want you to be prepared for when it happens.” Dad lets out a resigned breath. “Mark my words. You won’t be able to count on him. Better wrap your head around that now, before it’s too late.”
Allie’s spending the night and I can’t wait to fuck my girlfriend. Really fuck her. I’m talking three straight hours of balls-deep heaven instead of the hurried trips to the bone zone we’ve been taking all week.
The worst thing about hope, though? More often than not, it leads to disappointment.
Hockey players always say they’re okay, even when they’re bleeding from their ears and spitting their broken teeth at your feet.
Joe Hayes answers the door with the biggest, meanest scowl I’ve ever seen on another human male. “You’ve got to be kidding me! She sent you over to check on me?”
He balks. “What are you doing?” “Getting comfortable.” I raise a brow. “Didn’t I mention? I’m spending the night.” “Like hell you are!” His outrage makes
Because I will do anything that woman asks.
I’d sell my soul to the devil himself if Allie told me to do it.
Every time we shout at the screen or cheer for a goal, we glance at each other warily afterward, as if remembering who we’re with.
Between the second and third period I put down my beer and say, “I love your daughter, sir.” And he says, “I know you do, pretty boy.” I don’t know if that’s acceptance, or if it’s a ‘yeah you love her but I still hate you.’ I decide to treat it as the former.
“You ain’t half bad either, pretty boy,” he says, and then he walks out of the room.
