by Elle Kennedy
“You’ll do fine,” I assure her. “I guarantee it.”
“Oooh, a guarantee? Not even a simple ol’ promise? You’ve got a lot of confidence in your mama, John.”
“Of course I do. Because my mama’s a rock star.”
“I really raised a charmer, huh?”
“Yup.” I grin as I balance the phone on my shoulder and slide out of the pickup.
“Okay, give me a quick rundown of what you’ve been up to,” she orders.
I make my way to the massive front steps of Briar’s hockey facility. “Not much,” I confess. “Hockey, school, friends—the usual.”
“Still no girlfriend?” There’s a teasing note in her voice.
“Nope.” I hesitate. “I did meet someone, though.”
“Oooh! Tell me everything!”
Laughing, I reach into my pocket for my student ID to unlock the front doors. Security is tight here. “Nothing to tell yet. But when I’ve got more details, you’ll be the first to know. Anyway, I gotta go. Walking into the rink.”
“All right, call me when you’ve got more time to chat. Love you, baby.”
“Love you too.”
I hang up and swipe my ID in the keypad, then barrel into the sleek, air-conditioned lobby where framed jerseys hang on the walls and colorful championship pennants stream down from the ceiling.
I wish I’d had more time to talk to Mom, but when it comes to Briar hockey, there’s no such thing as slacking. Coach Jensen runs a top-notch program that prides itself on excellence and hard work. Just because we’re sucking balls these days doesn’t mean those fundamentals have been lost.
In a brisk stride, I head for the locker rooms. I still have my phone in hand, and after a moment of hesitation, I give in to the urge to text Sabrina.
Me: Mornin, darlin. Give any thought to what we talked about? I’ve got a first date offer here with ur name written all over it…
Then I put my phone away and go to practice.
*
Sabrina
I’m already late to meet the girls, but when I fly outside after my evening tutorial, I know instantly that I’m about to be even later.
Beau Maxwell and a few of his buddies are congregating at the bottom of the steps, surrounded by half a dozen football groupies. From where I’m standing, it’s obvious that the boys are enjoying the attention. Although Briar is primarily a hockey college, the football players get plenty of limelight around here too.
“S!”
Beau breaks away from the group when he spots me on the steps. His blue eyes light up, which brings ugly scowls to the faces of the girls around him. They clearly don’t appreciate my poaching their quarterback slash potential hookup for the night, but I don’t particularly care. I haven’t spoken to Beau in weeks, and I can’t deny that I’m happy to see him.
I descend the stairs while he ascends them and we meet halfway for a hug. Strong, muscular arms wrap around me and swing me right off my feet. I laugh, ignoring the groupies who are murdering me with their eyes.
“Hey,” I say when he sets me back on my feet. “How’ve you been?”
“Not great, actually. Not great at all. My bed is cold and lonely without you in it.”
I can tell he’s joking because his pout is exaggerated. And even that silly expression doesn’t make him any less handsome. With his dark hair and chiseled features, Beau’s sexy as hell. We met at a party last spring where, within seconds, he sucked me in with his dimpled grin and easy-going charm. I think we fell into bed with each other about ten minutes after that, and he’s one of the rare guys I allowed myself to see more than once.
Except now we’re standing face to face, and he’s doing nothing for me. No tingles. No heat. No I want to hit that again. As gorgeous as Beau is, he’s not the one I want to be naked with these days.
That honor falls to John Tucker. AKA the sweetest, hottest, most patient guy on the planet. AKA the guy who asked me out via text this morning and who I still haven’t texted back.
“Seriously, baby, what did I do to deserve such punishment?” He clutches his heart with mock pain, and the scowly, fumy groupies get scowlier and fumier.
“Uh-huh. I’m sure your bed’s been miserably empty since I left it. I bet you’re living the sad, lonely life of a monk.”
“Not quite.” He winks. “But you could at least try to act like you miss boning down with all this—” He sweeps a hand in front of him from head to toe.
And yeah, “all this” is mighty appealing. I’m talking big chest, sculpted arms, long legs, and muscles to spare.
But Tucker has all those things too.
“I see your ego is still as massive as ever,” I say cheerfully.
Beau nods fervently. “It is. Not as big as my dick, of course—”
“Of course.”
“But I’m not complaining.”
“Other than your big dick and ego, how’s life? How’s Joanna?” I’d met Beau’s older sister Joanna at one of his parties, and watching the two of them bicker had been highly entertaining.
“She’s great. Still doing that show on Broadway and killing it.” He sighs. “She asks about you all the time.”
“She does?”
“Oh yeah. She thinks I’m an idiot for not making you my girlfriend.”
“Making me?” I echo dryly.
“I tried to tell her that I’m too much man for you, but Jo insists that you’re too much woman for me. She’s wrong, obviously.”
My lips twitch in humor. “Obviously. What else? How’s the season going?”
His laidback expression falters slightly. “Team’s lost two games already this season.”
Sympathy tugs at my chest. I know how important football is to him. “I’m sure you can still turn things around,” I assure him, though I have no idea if that’s even true.
Apparently it’s not. “Naah, we’re fucked,” he says glumly. “Two losses pretty much guarantees we won’t make the playoffs.”
Ah, crap. And it’s his last year at Briar too. “Hey, but at least you led the team to one championship during your time here,” I remind him. “That counts for something, right?”
“Sure.” But he doesn’t sound convinced of that. He clears his throat and offers a smile that lacks the luster from before. “Anyway, I’m glad I ran into you. I promised not to say anything about this, but I figured it’s cool to bring it up to you since you’re the other party.”
I wrinkle my forehead. “The other party of what?”
He grins broadly, and this time it does reach his eyes. “Tuck’s epic pursuit of you.”
Oh God.
“What are you talking about?” I squeak.
“Ha. Don’t play dumb, baby. It’s been like a week since he tracked me down at the gym, and I know the guy—no way did he go a week without tracking you down.”
Anxiety pricks my belly. Beau and I might have ended things on fantastic terms, but that doesn’t mean I feel comfortable discussing other guys with him.
As if he senses that, he softens his tone. “It’s all good, S. You don’t have to give me deets if you don’t want to.” He shrugs. “I just wanted to make sure you knew he was a decent guy.”
Wait, what?
“Wait, what?” I say aloud.
Beau laughs. “Tucker,” he clarifies, as if I don’t know who we’re talking about. “I know you have this vendetta against hockey players—”
“I do not!” I protest.
“You totally fucking do!” He’s laughing harder now. “Do you want me to list all the times I had to sit there and listen to you trash Di Laurentis? Actually, I wouldn’t even be able to list them. That’s how often you did it.”
“There may have been a couple of occasions,” I concede with a grumble.
“A couple, a hundred, same diff, right? But yeah, I’m not even gonna try to defend Dean—who’s fucking awesome, by the way. I know you won’t change your mind about him. But Tucker is legit cool. He’s one of the nicest du
des I’ve ever met.”
Same, I think wryly. Out loud I ask, “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I know you.” He reaches out and tweaks a strand of my hair. Behind us, an outraged gasp sounds from the groupies. “You’ve probably already thought of a million reasons not to give Tuck a shot. And if one of those reasons is that you’re really not into him, then great, don’t go out with him then. But if you are into him, don’t let this big brain of yours—” He gently taps my head “—talk you out of it, ’kay?”
“You should probably stop touching me. Your fans are getting upset.”
He snorts. “You really think me touching you is gonna stop one or two or all of them from sucking my dick tonight?”
I blanch. “Gross, Beau.”
“Truth, Sabrina.” He waggles his eyebrows. “I’m a god around here. I can do no wrong.”
Huh. Must be nice to live in a world where everything gets handed to you on a silver platter, where your mistakes mean nothing.
I keep my cynical thoughts to myself. “So what exactly did Tucker say to you?”
“That he’s into you.” Beau gives another shrug. “He wanted to know if our history was gonna pose a problem for him. I told him no.”
My jaw falls open. “So he pretty much asked you for permission to date me?”
“Permission?” Beau snorts loud enough to cause all his buddies to glance over at us. “Yeah, right. More like he announced that he wanted you, and that if I had a problem with it, too bad so sad.”
I fight the grin that’s trying to surface. For all his sweet words and aw shucks smiles, Tucker really is an alpha fucker. I don’t know why that thrills me so much, but it does.
“Anyway, don’t be stupid about this,” Beau says sternly. “Someone like Tuck might be good for you. He can keep you from studying yourself to death.”
“Oh!” I exclaim. “Before I forget—I got into Harvard!”
“For real?” His face breaks out in the biggest, broadest smile. “Congratu-fucking-lations!”
And then he hauls me into his arms again for a bear hug, while his gorgeous groupies glare bloody murder at me.
12
Sabrina
Hope’s Beemer is waiting for me in the parking lot. When I climb into the backseat, I find Hope and Carin singing along to some awful pop song, and I don’t feel guilty anymore for making them wait. Clearly they’ve been having a great time.
“So what’s this new place we’re going to?” I ask once the song ends.
“You’ll see,” Hope chirps from the driver’s seat.
My friends exchange amused glances, which immediately raises my suspicions.
“If it’s the weird hippie bar you took me to in Boston that served wheatgrass shots, I’m jumping out right now. Not even kidding.”
“You’ll like this place,” she assures me. “It has all your favorites.”
I don’t need to see their faces to know they’re both smirking at me. “I’m trusting you,” I warn. “Don’t break the friend code.”
Carin turns around. “Forget the friend code. What were you and Beau talking about?”
Leaning forward, I fill them in on the conversation I just had with Briar’s star quarterback.
“Shit, this boy is serious,” Hope exclaims.
“Beau or Tucker?”
“Tucker. Duh. He spoke to one of your exes and declared his intentions? Girl, this man is all in.”
“That’s weird, right? I mean, he’s actively pursuing me. It’s weird.” I direct this mostly toward Carin. Hope’s a romantic. She believes that everyone on The Bachelor is actually there to find love when the rest of the viewing public knows it’s all about nobodies seeking fame.
But Carin disappoints me. “It’s not weird—it’s awesome. I mean, I’ve had hookups. Met a guy’s eyes across the room or struck up a conversation, but I’ve never had someone pursue me.”
“Same,” Hope says, flicking a glance toward me in the rearview mirror. “D’Andre asked me out while I was walking on the treadmill. He said he’d never seen a girl look prettier sweaty than me.” She sighs dreamily. “I said yes immediately. If there was any chase at all, it lasted all of five minutes. I put out on the second date, remember?”
“How does it feel?” Carin stares at me as if I’m some fascinating new discovery she just smeared on a microscope slide.
“When Hope puts out? Well, she’s a good kisser, but the rest of her technique needs work.” The joke is lame, but I’m not ready to acknowledge that I feel like a giddy kid by Tucker’s steady, determined pursuit.
Hope holds up her middle finger. “I’m an awesome lay. My technique is perfect. If I were any better, D’Andre wouldn’t be able to get out of bed. As it is, I have to kick him out.”
“It’s true,” Carin confirms. “D’Andre always begs like a sad child when he has to leave in the morning.”
“Is that how it is with Tucker?” Hope teases.
“You really want to know how I feel about it?” I exhale a long, heavy breath, deciding to be honest with my friends—and with myself. “I feel silly and weak and I don’t like it. I should be immune to this. I mean, he’s just a guy. I’ve slept with lots of guys before and I’m sure there’ll be many in the future. So why am I all weak-kneed and fluttery around this one?”
“Why is feeling something for someone a weakness?” Hope chastises. “I know you don’t think I’m weak.”
“God no. But you’re…”
You’re rich and gorgeous and smart, and I have to work my ass off for everything.
Frustrated, I dig the knuckle of my thumb into my temple. “You’re more together than I am. I always feel like I’m one day away from disaster. The other night I had a dream that Professor Fromm walked into Boots & Chutes while I was on stage wearing nothing but glitter and a G-string. I woke up in a panic because I was fucking convinced there’d be an email on my computer informing me that my admission to Harvard was being rescinded.”
In front of me, Hope shakes her braids. “Honey, you said it yourself. Your schedule is terrible. The reason you’re so stressed out is because you only give yourself an hour or two a week to just relax.”
“She’s right,” Carin says. “And look, I think it’s awesome that you meet up with us once a week, but at this rate, you’re going to flame out before you even get to Harvard. That’s what your dream is telling you.”
“Briar’s full of super students. Law school isn’t going to be more competitive than what you’ve already faced.” Hope fixes me with a stern look in the mirror. “Slow down, B. Or at least slow down while you still can.”
“You don’t have to marry the guy,” Carin chimes in. “Going on a date or having great sex isn’t a commitment. He’s a student too, which means he has to study. He plays hockey, which means he’s got practices and games. If you were going to date anyone, it should be someone who’s got his own busy life, right?”
Hope raises one eyebrow. “He’s got a game tonight…”
I gape at her. “Are you stalking him? How do you know he has a game?”
“I looked up the team’s schedule on the Briar site.”
Carin nods enthusiastically.
“Who are you guys and where are my friends?” I demand. “You don’t even like hockey.”
“I like it,” Carin protests. “My dad throws a Stanley Cup party every year!”
I turn to Hope, who shrugs. “I neither like nor dislike it. And I have nothing against going to a game if it means watching my bestie finally have some fun.”
“Come on,” Carin urges. “We don’t have to stay for the whole thing. We’ll watch a bit of the game, and maybe afterward you can go up to Tucker and tell him how awesome he played and how sexy he looks in his uniform. In fact…” She waves a hand out the window. “Here we are.”
“This is where we’re eating dinner?” I stare at Briar’s multi-million-dollar hockey facility and all of the students streaming inside.
C
arin grins. “Yup. Love a good hot dog, don’t you?”
“D’Andre’s meeting us inside,” Hope adds.
I sigh. “So he was in on this diabolical plan of yours too?”
“Of course. He’s my partner in crime.” Hope kills the engine, and she and Carin unbuckle their seatbelts. “All right, let’s do this shit. Time’s a-wasting, B.”
I peer at the arena again, feeling oddly nervous. “I don’t know about this.”
“Aw come on,” Carin coaxes. “This place is full of your favorite things—athletes.”
I stick my tongue out at her, but she merely laughs.
“Hey, if you don’t want Tuck, then I’ll see if I can check beard off my bucket list.” She blinks innocently. “I mean, if you’re really not into this hot, built guy who gave you the best sex of your life, then you should totally be on board with me and Tuck hooking it up.”
The image of Carin’s petite body underneath Tucker’s big frame roils my stomach. “It’s Tucker. Not Tuck.” I flush when I hear the stiffness in my own voice.
Hope dissolves into a fit of giggles.
“God, if you could see the angry look on your face right now…” Carin giggles. “Honey, you’ve got it bad.”
Hope produces a flask from her purse. “If the game is terrible, we’ll just get super drunk while we watch a bunch of white boys skate around with knives on their feet.”
Her description of what she thinks hockey is makes me and Carin burst out in laughter. And as my friends hop out of the car, I find myself getting out and following them to the entrance of the arena.
They’re right about a lot of things. I do need a break, and maybe, just maybe, I need Tucker.
*
I don’t watch a lot of sports. Not because I don’t like them, but because I’ve never had time to get into one. I know a little bit about football because of Beau. And some baseball because that’s all Ray watches in the spring.
Hockey, not so much.
But I have to admit, watching Briar’s team play is more exciting than I thought it would be.
I’m squished between Hope and Carin, with D’Andre sitting on Hope’s other side. I don’t know if we have good seats or not. Carin says yes, but I would’ve preferred to be sitting right behind the home bench so I could stare at Tucker all night. Instead, I have to satisfy myself by watching him on the ice.
