Play the Game: A New Adult Hockey Romance (Golden Boys Hockey Book 1)

by Emma Tharp

  Yes, it is. But there’s no use arguing with him about it anymore. We’re done. The last six months of freedom from him have been incredibly liberating.

  “I need to run, or I’m going to be late for class. I’d appreciate it if you could leave my father out of this.”

  He bites his lips together. “See you around, Stella.”

  Hopefully not.

  “Goodbye, Hunter.”

  On my way to physiology, it strikes me how I’m not into refined, suffocating, and stuffy like my father. It’s impossible not to compare the way the birds fluttered in my belly during class next to the hot and brooding hockey player, but there’s nothing there at all with Hunter. The juxtaposition baffles me.

  After a long physiology lecture, I text Harper to see if she’s free to meet for coffee. I’m thrilled that she is. There’s also a missed call and message from my dad. I don’t bother checking it. I can’t deal with him today.

  The smell of coffee greets me as I walk into the café on campus. It’s packed with students, but Harper stands up and waves me over to a small table.

  “Hope a latte is okay,” she says as I approach the table.

  She knows it’s more than okay. It’s perfection. “Thank you. I owe you one.”

  “No problem. After last night, I figured you’d need it.” She gives me a sympathetic grin and points at the giant cinnamon roll sitting on the table. “This might help, too.”

  I could kiss her. My heart is full of gratitude. She was with me while I was ill last night, and made sure I made it home and to bed.

  “That looks amazing,” I say. “And it’s actually the first appetizing food item I’ve seen all day.”

  “How are you feeling?”

  I pull off a corner of the bun and shove it into my mouth. “It’s been a rough one. Not only because of my raging hangover, but also because the asshole hockey player from last night ended up sitting next to me in bio lab.”

  “No way.”

  “It’s true. The visceral reaction I had with him next to me was crazy. But his standoffish behavior was colder than ice. It’s like I wanted to crawl out of my skin the entire class.”

  She sips her latte with wide eyes. “Why don’t you ask to switch?”

  “I’d like to, but I don't think I can. Plus, the labs will count for fifty percent of my grade. What if this guy doesn’t pull his weight like my last lab partner? I'm freaking out."

  "Speaking of freaking out, your dad called the sorority house right before I left. Said you better call him right away."

  I slap the table with my palm. “I knew it. I ran into Hunter today in the quad.” Jerk. “He criticized me for partying and threatened that he’d tell Dad. Looks like the second he walked away from me, he did just that. I know what my father’s going to say. He’s going to lecture me about not taking college seriously, all thanks to the overbearing Hunter Michaelson.”

  Well, if that asshole thought he was going to control me, he had another thing coming. Tattling to my dad? Let’s see what good that will do if I don’t call my father back.

  I’ve officially run out of shits to give regarding their opinions of me. My poor mother. This is the existence she’s had, living under the thumb of a control freak. That would be my fate too if I ended up with someone like Hunter. No freaking way.

  Screw making Dad happy, and screw getting a new biology partner. I’m taking control of my life now—regardless of the huge fallout that’s sure to follow.

  Four

  Gavin

  Thoughts of pale green eyes and long blonde hair keep sneaking into my mind uninvited, threatening to derail an important hockey practice. My head is all over the fucking place. Why can’t I stop thinking about the girl from bio lab? My brain isn’t normally this weak. I don’t want to think about her, but there she is, all the damn time, winning against my internal struggle to get her out of my head.

  It’s probably the way her eyes always seemed to be on me, like she was looking through me somehow. And that’s the last thing I need.

  As I take another shot at the puck, all I can see is her blonde hair, the way it was piled on top of her head in class. Then the loose curls from when it was down at the party. I wonder how soft it would feel between my fingers, or what it would feel like curtaining my face as she hovers over me, kissing me. Her sweet scent like sunshine and summer hung in the air during the entire class, and what’s fucked up is that right now, if I think about it hard enough, I can smell it again.

  “What the crap was that?” Jett shouts. “Were you even looking where you were shooting?”

  Fuck. I cover up with, “Like you’re one to talk. That pass would’ve been stolen in a game to begin with!”

  Ugh. Damn that woman. Not only is thinking about her messing up my game, it’s a complete waste of time. A distraction I don’t want and that she doesn’t want to be.

  Coach Cohen calls out the backside pass play, and I'm relieved to think about something other than her.

  My skates drive hard into the ice as I press forward behind the net. My teammate, Jett, follows into the zone, and I time my attack to the goal. Jett passes me the puck and I pass it back to him as he comes down the side slot alley with enough time to pull his stick back, shoot, and score.

  "Good. Do it again from the other side," Coach Cohen calls out with a hard edge to his tone. He's more tense than normal today. It’s best to work hard and stay on his good side.

  Jett and I run the drill over and over until it’s second nature and we can attempt to do the same play during a game.

  After practice, I head toward the locker room. Coach Cohen calls my name.

  His expression is neutral as I skate up to him. "Hey, Coach."

  "Nice work today. You skated hard and nailed all the drills.”

  It’s important to maintain eye contact with the coach. Mom always drilled that into my head. “Thank you.”

  “Keep up the good work."

  “I will, sir."

  As I make my way toward the locker room, my chest swells with pride. I'm doing my job when the coach acknowledges me like that. It’s why I’m here, and I can’t do anything to mess it up.

  In the locker room, the guys are all talking about our upcoming game against UMass Amherst. It's not going to be easy. Their team is solid this year.

  "Did anyone else catch how uptight Coach seemed to be today?" Jett asks as he yanks the old tape off his stick.

  "Yeah." At least three of the guys chime in at the same time.

  "We need to get him back in the game. His wife passed away over seven years ago. Maybe if we get him laid, he'll loosen up," Miles says, then squirts his face off with water from his water bottle.

  This gets the guys laughing and I'm relieved that the dating stuff is off me for once and onto Coach.

  I take a quick shower and go back to my locker to get dressed.

  "Hey, want to go out for drinks?" Justin asks, sitting on the bench next to me.

  "Sure, I'll go out for one.” I run my towel through my hair. More than one or two drinks, and I start making bad decisions.

  “Great.” Justin raises his brows. “I’m hooking up tonight.”

  Good for him. I’m not. “I’ll be your wingman.”

  "You know you could have any girl you want."

  Just when I thought I was off the hook. "I'm good, bro. I'll leave the game up to you."

  Justin tugs on his shirt and shakes his head. "No, it's not a game. Just a distraction."

  "I can't afford any distractions."

  Justin stares off with a somber expression. "I can't afford not to have them."

  I'm not really sure what that means and it doesn't seem like the right time to ask. We finish changing and Justin drives us to the dive bar downtown with the best drink specials tonight.

  A half hour later and we're two beers in when a couple of girls come up to us.

  I tense up, but not Justin. He's so freaking suave. If I wanted a girl of my own, I would be taking
notes.

  One of the girls with thick dark hair and too much makeup is practically lying on me. Her name is Lexi. I don’t say much, but she fills in all the silences. She smells pretty good, and her body is warm and soft next to mine.

  “Want to come home with me?” Lexi asks.

  Another hour or two has gone by. I’ve lost track of time, but somewhere in my semi-drunk state, I know this isn’t a good idea. “No. I don’t think so.”

  Lexi licks my earlobe while caressing my sides. “Please. It’ll be fun.”

  There’s no doubt that it would probably be a good time. But still. “I don’t know.”

  From the corner of my eye, Justin gives me a thumbs-up and a nod. He has his arm slung around the blonde he's clearly leaving with tonight.

  It's been a while since I’ve hooked up with anyone and I had a good practice today. Maybe I deserve this small thing. It could also be what I need to get green eyes out of my head.

  “Sure. Let’s go,” I tell Lexi and put my arm over her shoulder like Justin’s doing with his date.

  We say goodbye to Justin and Lexi’s friend and cab it back to her sorority house. Lexi tries to grab my hand as we get out of the cab, but I yank it from her. I don't do hand-holding. I follow her inside and she leads me down the hall to her room.

  The second the door is closed, she grips my hair and she pulls my lips to hers. She tastes like vodka and cranberry, sharp and tart. Her tongue is probing and forceful and she moans into my mouth.

  "You're such a good kisser, Gavin," she pants.

  She tugs her shirt up over her head, revealing a pink lacy bra with her cleavage spilling over the top.

  Even drunk, I should be feeling something. Anything. But green eyes are all I want to see.

  Pinching my eyes closed, I tug her bra down, and squeeze her nipple between my fingers. I try to envision someone else in my hands. But when she lets out an exaggerated, heavy sigh, I'm pulled out of my fantasy.

  Lexi's hand travels down to my junk. She palms it and rubs it up and down, trying to bring it to life. I knew this was a bad idea. It doesn't matter what she does; I'm not going to get hard for her.

  It isn’t her I want.

  I step away and put both of my hands up as if in surrender. "I can’t do this. Sorry."

  "Wait." Her voice is thick with rejection. "Please stay. I'll do whatever you want."

  Before she can say another pleading word, I take off out of her room and back down the hall.

  A dim light in the living room casts a soft glow through the room as I walk through. Before I make it to the door, someone clears their throat.

  As I glance up, my breath gets stuck in my chest like someone has checked me into the boards. Every ounce of oxygen leaves the room when my eyes land on her pale greens.

  I didn’t know she lives here and belongs to this sorority.

  Shit.

  Her lips are pressed tight together in a scowl. She’s disgusted. I’ve disgusted her. Her gaze holds so much contempt, it sends a chill up my spine.

  I hate the way she looks at me, but what's worse is I hate how those eyes get to me.

  What I loathe is how I wish with every fiber of my being that I had gone home with her tonight instead of Lexi.

  Five

  Stella

  Last night was so messed up. After seeing twenty-one leave my sorority house, I could barely sleep.

  Who knows which of my sorority sisters he hooked up with, but it doesn't matter who.

  I'm jealous.

  Now I can't get the way he looked at me right before he walked out the door to clear from my mind. When we locked eyes, he just stood there, feet rooted in place. His expression was impossible to read, but he seemed surprised to see me. Like he wanted to say something, but he never opened his mouth.

  The strange exchange threw me off kilter and had my brain misfiring. Even though he had just left someone else's room, the sparks between us were red-hot.

  That's what makes this morning so difficult. I reach campus early and sit in bio lab, waiting for my professor to get here. I have to switch lab partners. Nothing productive will come of this semester if I'm forced to be next to him.

  There's no one in the lab and as the minutes tick by I can't stop tapping my foot or checking my watch. Maybe forty-five minutes early was a bit much, but I have to take care of business.

  A couple of students trickle in, but still no sign of the professor. Finally, fifteen minutes before the start of the lab, Mr. Talbot walks in the door.

  I pull in a deep breath and square my shoulders as I stride up to him.

  "Good morning," I say and try not to stare at the ink stain on the pocket of his white shirt.

  "Hello." Mr. Talbot pushes his thick-rimmed glasses up his face as he observes me, wearing a neutral expression.

  Instead of looking into his eyes, I stare at my fingers as I tap them on his desk. "Sir, I know this may seem unorthodox, but I was hoping to switch lab partners."

  He slides his scruffy, unkempt eyebrows together. "Why would you want to do that?"

  "It's just that last semester my lab partner and I didn't work well together and I'm afraid that might be the case this semester."

  "How could you know that? I haven't even given you your assignment."

  My hands begin to shake so I stop tapping the desk and put them behind the back. "I know, but I have a feeling."

  Wow. Did I just say that? What a loser.

  "I'm sorry. It seems you have no other choice. This is college. You're an adult. I'm sure you can work it out." With that, he turns and starts rifling through his briefcase.

  Damn. Damn. Damn. That was not how I saw this conversation going down. I just made myself sound like a whiny teenager.

  I hang my head and recoil back to my seat.

  I could call my father—he is the dean—but I've been ignoring his calls. All he'll want to do is lecture me about partying and not taking college seriously and not calling him back. Telling him I want to stir up trouble by switching lab partners is out of the question.

  It seems that today is not my day because even though I pray to the universe that twenty-one doesn’t show up, he waltzes in the door a minute before the lab is to begin.

  The second he sits down next to me, his intoxicating scent fills my lungs. It's rain and thunder and it swirls around me like a storm filling the air right before the sky opens up. I'm acutely aware of how hard my heart is beating, and I'm lightheaded. It probably would have helped if I could've gone to sleep last night instead of dreaming about twenty-one's hands all over one of my sorority sisters.

  "Here you go," twenty-one says.

  I almost gasp in surprise at the sound of his voice. He holds out a piece of paper for me. When I take it from his hand, my fingertip grazes his, sending a bolt of lightning through me. It raises the hair on my arms and nape.

  My eyes snap to his dark navy depths and a knowing look passes between us. He felt it too.

  If a brush of the hands feels this good, what would it be like to have his fingertips glide along my skin? All of my nerve endings stir and tangle.

  Why is my body betraying me? Stupid hormones or pheromones or whatever the hell is going on. It needs to stop.

  I turn my attention back to the professor, who is explaining the form twenty-one just gave me. It’s a list of possible lab projects that will need to be carried out with our partner.

  Great.

  As much as I want to pay attention to the professor, I'm preoccupied with the tension between twenty-one and me.

  How am I going to do this all semester?

  His eyes are on me; I can feel them on every inch of my skin. Why did I wear my hair up today? It's filling me with vulnerability. He has the perfect view of the curve of my neck, and every detail of my face. Next time, I'll wear my hair down.

  It's really hard to fake nonchalance. I never knew how hard until right now.

  I tap my pen on the desk but then I realize how annoying it is, so I
stick the thing in my mouth. It tastes disgusting, but isn't that what people do when they're acting normal and not like they’re in heat?

  The tension-filled minutes drag by, and when class is finally over, my muscles are taut and achy.

  Even though I would rather not, I turn my attention to Twenty-one. "It looks like we need to exchange numbers so we can figure out when we can work on this."

  Will there always be two lines between his brows from constant scowling?

  "I don't know,” he says. “We could do it now."

  "Why don't you want to give me your phone number? We’ll need to stay in touch for this project. Don't worry, I won't blow up your phone. This is for lab."

  He pinches his eyes shut for a moment as if he’s in pain and holds out his hand. “Give me your phone.”

  I give it to him and he types in his number, then he hands it back to me. The screen reads Gavin.

  Finally, I know his name.

  "I'll send you a text so you have my information," I say.

  He nods, and walks away without saying another word.

  It's hard not to watch Gavin leave the room. His joggers don't leave much to the imagination. He has a firm ass, and long, toned, and athletic legs. I can only imagine what he looks like naked.

  I mentally scold myself and shake my head. These dirty thoughts are unproductive.

  Why do I have a feeling that this guy is going to ruin me?

  Six

  Gavin

  "Fuck off, asshole," I shout at a player from Amherst who just checked me from behind.

  He doesn't say anything, just skates away and flips me off.

  I probably deserve it. I've been goading him the entire game. It has been the perfect release. We seem to be out almost every shift together, and he's taking my heat. A little shove here and a push there, along with some shit-talking. I need this. Anything to get my mind off of Stella. It has been two days since I've seen her, and it seems she's always in the forefront of my mind.

  Why did I have to go home with her sorority sister? I didn’t know they were friends and lived together when I said yes to Lexi. It wasn’t worth it and I couldn’t get into it at all. I hated the look on Stella's face that night when I was leaving. Then during lab, the tension in the air between us was stupid.