“It doesn’t really take girls that long to pee.” His lips graze my ear when he speaks, and I can’t stop the shiver that runs down my spine. He notices and grins, his hazel eyes twinkling.
“Sure it does,” I say. I hate how breathless I sound, like he’s stolen all the air from my body. Our drinks now sit on the table, and I reach for my water, stick the straw in, and slurp down half of it. My throat feels as dry as the Sahara with him staring at me like that.
“Mmhmm,” he hums, and I swear his eyes flick down to my lips.
I feel like I’m in the same predicament as Elle—liking a guy I just met. It seems wrong to like someone so quickly, but I think sometimes there are people you meet and there’s just this immediate connection. Good or bad.
“Cheese fries and nachos,” the waitress announces loudly above the din in the bar. I have to admit both look delicious and my stomach rumbles. I’ve barely eaten anything all day. All I had was a muffin for breakfast, and I didn’t have time for lunch so I’m running on fumes. “I’ll be right back with some plates for you guys,” she says, speaking only to Bennett.
“Bring some napkins too,” he tells her, already picking up a nacho and shoving it in his mouth. I guess I should feel sorry for her, since he’s paying more attention to the nachos than her.
“Anything else?”
He lifts his empty beer glass. “Of course.” She curtsies.
I’m the only one that notices and I snort. She realizes what she’s done and her whole face turns as red as a tomato.
“Day made,” I whisper under my breath.
“What’s that?” Bennett asks, grabbing another nacho.
“Nothing,” I say quickly. I might’ve not liked the waitress checking him out, but I wouldn’t make fun of her for making a bluff. That just wasn’t me.
As my mom likes to say, I am nice to a fault.
I tell her it runs in the family.
“Here, have some food.” He shoves the plate with the cheese fries on it over to me. “They have the best food here, trust me.”
I pick up a fry and take a bite. “Mmm, you’re right.”
The waitress comes back with the plates, napkins, and Bennett’s second beer and quickly leaves the table.
I grab a plate and pile some cheese fries on it and pour out a little of the ranch.
“Have some nachos too,” Bennett says, forking over a bunch onto my plate. “You guys want some?” he asks Elle and Ryland.
“We’re good with these,” Ryland says, picking up a fry and popping it in his mouth.
“Cool, more for me.” Bennett shrugs and shovels more nachos into his mouth. “Eat.” He points at me.
I laugh. I hadn’t realized I was staring at him. I take a bite of the nachos and swear my stomach sighs with happiness. I really have to get better about taking the time to eat between classes. It’s hard when a class is on one side of campus and the next is all the way on the other. Since I’m an overachiever—according to my brothers, at least—I loaded up on as many classes as I could possibly take. I’m regretting that decision now.
“So,” Bennett begins, “how are you liking college life so far?”
I shrug. “It’s more adultier than I expected.”
He chuckles. “Adultier, is that even a word?”
“I just made it one.” I shrug, dipping a fry in ranch.
“How is it more adultier than you thought?” He takes a sip of beer to hide his smile.
“Well, for starters, I have to do my own laundry.”
He laughs. “Laundry?”
“I hate doing laundry,” I reason. “It’s just time consuming, and when I went yesterday, the room was full so I had to wait for someone to finish before I could even start. It took my whole afternoon. Luckily, I brought my laptop with me so I could work on my paper.”
“You already have homework?” He raises a brow.
I laugh. “Yes, this is college, you know? Oh, wait,” I whisper under my breath, “I bet you had one of your fuck bunnies do yours.”
His lips quirk up slightly on side. “Touché.”
Now it’s my turn to question him. “I’ve heard rumors, but I want to hear it straight from you. Why are you on campus? I don’t know much about hockey, but it seems odd that you’d be doing your rehabilitation with your college coach. Isn’t that what the coach on your professional team is for? And if not, surely they could’ve hired someone to get you back into shape? Frankly, I’m not buying what I’m hearing.”
Shutters come down over his eyes. “Whatever you’ve heard is true,” he says.
“Why don’t I believe you?”
“Believe me if you want or don’t want. It doesn’t matter to me.” He looks away and finishes his beer. He immediately signals for another.
I’ve struck a nerve, and now I’m desperate to uncover the truth.
One way or the other, Bennett will tell me.
Maybe not tonight, but someday.
“Fucking hell,” I curse and crumble up the magazine in the grocery store checkout line.
“You’re going to have pay for that,” the clerk informs me.
I give the pimple-faced teenager the middle finger salute.
I grab up all of the magazines showing Grace and me in the bar and throw them on the conveyer belt with my snacks and water. I came to the store to stock up on healthy things to eat and then ended up having this stupid magazine shoved in my face. It’s been a week since that night, and I hadn’t even given it any thought that a photo of us might end up in some gossip magazine. After all, we were there with two other people. But the photo, obviously taken on some punk asses phone, has Elle and Ryland cropped out. It’s zoomed in on Grace and me, and I’m leaning close to her just as she is to me. Her hair hides most of her face, but the angle from which the photo is taken makes it look like we’re kissing. There’s another photo too, smaller than the first that shows our faces clearly.
The headline reads: Is Bennett back to his old antics?
I grab one of the magazines off the conveyer belt and flip through until I find the article. More photos line the pages—this time, ones taken over the last few years in various bars and nightclubs, most of them showing me with a different woman.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I yell in the middle on the grocery store and slam the magazine in front of the checker so he can ring it up. I know I look like a psycho, but I’m beyond pissed that Grace of all people has been dragged into this mess. I know enough about her to know that she’s a good girl. The kind of girl you wouldn’t think twice about bringing home to your parents. And now the media has portrayed her as just another notch on my bedpost. It’s not okay with me.
The checker reluctantly gives me my total—I think he’s terrified of me after the performance I’ve put on—and I slide my card through the slot. My receipt prints, and I snatch it out his hands, shoving it into one of the plastic bags. I grab all my stuff and haul ass out of there to my car. I’m tempted to go back and buy every single one of those blasphemous magazines that are bound to line the other checkouts. But I know that’s only the tip of the iceberg. There are hundreds of thousands of those out in the world, all across the United States, and I can’t hunt down each and every one.
I might be crazy, but I’m not mad—there’s a difference, trust me.
I throw the groceries in my car and head back to campus, driving at speeds I shouldn’t. I’m so fucking mad, and I need to do something to release the tension.
I shouldn’t let this get to me. After all, it’s commonplace, the media spinning the truth, but the fact of the matter is, they’re usually right when it comes to me. This time they’re not and Grace has gotten dragged into this clusterfuck.
My phone rings and I curse. I press a button on my steering wheel, answering the call. “Hello?”
“What the fuck is this, Bennett?” Bernard yells over the phone. “I thought we talked about this? You need to clean up your image and all you’re doing is throwing it down the fucking t
oilet. How the fuck do you expect me to help you if you can’t even help yourself?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Dammit, Bernie, it’s different this time. We were at a bar with two other people. I didn’t even kiss her. Give me a break.”
“It sure as hell looks like you kissed her in this photo!” I hear something slam, and my gut says he’s thrown the magazine at the wall. “Luckily, these photos aren’t as incriminating as some of your others, but I’m done, Bennett. Clean up this mess, I’m not doing it this time. You’re not worth the headache.”
I wince. That was harsh. “I’ll fix this,” I say. “I have a plan.”
“Sure you do,” he says sarcastically, and the phone clicks off a second later.
I sigh and mutter to myself, “What the fuck am I going to do?”
Think, Bennett, think.
“Dammit,” I curse when my purse falls from my hands in my haste to grab my phone. I hadn’t been going to answer the call, but after someone’s third repeated attempt to reach me, I feared something bad happened.
I drop to the ground and pick up my bag and the lip gloss, pens, and other various items that had spilled out, shoving them back inside.
Breathless, I pick up the phone, seeing that it says DAD, and just before it stops ringing, I answer. “Hello? Dad? Is something wrong?”
“Yeah, yeah, something is wrong.” He sounds pissed and anyone that knows my dad knows he doesn’t get mad often. He’s the most carefree person on the planet. Protective, yes, but never angry.
“Is it Mom? Lincoln?” I worry, taking a seat on one of the benches dotting the picturesque campus.
“No, no,” he stutters, “this has to do with you.”
“With me?” I squeak. “What could I have possibly done?” My tone of voice grows slightly defensive.
“I’m standing in line to checkout at Wal-Mart and I look over, and what do you know, there’s my daughter on the cover of a magazine kissing some guy. I thought I was paying for you to go to college, not to do this,” he hisses.
“What are you talking about?” My brows furrow in confusion. “Dad, I’m sorry, but I think you’re mistaken.”
“I’m not mistaken,” he throws the word back. “It’s obviously you with some Bennett guy.”
“Bennett?” I question. “I know him but I certainly haven’t kissed him.” Not that I haven’t thought about it or anything.
“Some hockey player prick,” he rants. “Do you know what hockey players do, Grace? Huh, do you? They shove their stick in every puck they can find.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, fighting the urge to laugh—if I laugh, it’ll only make matters worse for me.
“Dad.” I sigh. “I didn’t kiss him, and even if I did, there’d be nothing wrong with that,” I say softly. “I’m grown up now. You have to realize that eventually. You’re not this hard on Dean or Lincoln.”
He’s quiet, and then in a small voice that breaks my heart, he says, “But, Gracie, you’re my little girl—my princess. I know you’re grown up now, but all I see is a little girl that still needs her daddy.”
I bite my lip. “Dad, I still need you. I’ll always need you. You just … have to take a step back and let me explore the world on my own. I’ll always come back.”
“I know.” He takes a deep breath. “I love you. We all miss you.”
“Love you too, Dad. Tell Mom and Linc I love them too.”
“I will.”
“Bye,” I say and hang up, just in time, too.
“Grace!”
I look up from my phone and see Bennett running toward me.
I wave and stay seated. He comes to a stop in front of me, and I glare at him. He winces. “You already know about the magazine, don’t you?”
“My dad just called and chewed me out,” I explain.
“Shit.” He sits down beside me. “I’m sorry.”
I shrug. “It’s okay.”
“I have a plan, though. One I need your help with.”
I give him a speculative look. “What could you possibly need my help for?”
He looks around at the various people strolling along campus. Several people look at us and whisper. I’m learning that Bennett draws attention wherever he goes.
“Come to my dorm. We can talk in private.”
“You’re staying in a dorm?”
He shrugs. “It was part of the deal.”
“If I go with you to your dorm aren’t people only going to talk more?” I argue.
“People will always talk, but I don’t want anyone overhearing what I have to say.”
I wrinkle my nose. “This sounds dangerous. You’re not going to cut me up into a million pieces in your bathtub, are you?”
He cracks a smile and holds up a finger. “One, I don’t have a bathtub.” He lifts another finger. “Two, I thought we’d established that I’m not a killer. What’s your obsession with that anyway?”
“Better safe than sorry,” I argue.
“True.” He stands. “So, my dorm?”
I sigh and look around. I know I should tell him no and head to the food court like I’d originally been doing before my dad called, but I know the curiosity will kill me if I don’t go.
“Sure.” I finally agree. “Lead the way.” I swish my arm through the air.
Bennett grins, pleased to have finally worn me down. “It’s this way.” He nods with his head to the right, shoving his hands into the pockets of his worn jeans. He’s probably loaded with money—at least, with my understanding of professional athletes—but he dresses like a bum. I’d love to get ahold of him and show him that there’s more in the world to wear than ripped jeans and old t-shirts that have been washed so many times they’re practically see-through. Although, those shirts give an excellent view of his muscular chest and stomach, so maybe I’m jumping the gun.
Bennett leads me up the steps of the dorm and swipes his keycard.
“Please tell me you have a single,” I whisper-hiss as I follow him to the elevator. He chuckles, his eyes twinkling, and I smack his arm. “That’s not why I was asking. Get your head out of the gutter. Pig,” I groan as we step into the elevator.
He laughs, shaking his head, and pushes the button for the fourth floor. “You’re amusing.”
“No, I’m not,” I argue.
“You’re different,” he amends.
I shrug. “You’re probably right.”
“Oh, I know I am. Most girls drop to their knees when they meet me, but not you.” My mouth pops open. He grins crookedly. “Yeah, they usually open their mouth just like that too.” He uses his index finger to push my jaw up and closed.
“You’re … you’re … Ugh.”
He laughs. “I didn’t say I asked them to do it. I was just being honest.”
The doors slide open to an empty hall and I follow Bennett to his room. He opens the door and lets me in first.
“Ew, it’s so plain,” I groan. I’ve spent the last two weeks making my dorm my home. Heck, even Elle’s side of the room is decorated. But Bennett has done nothing except put sheets on his bed. There’s not even a comforter or quilt. The walls are bare, the floors are bare, everything is just … blank. There’s no personality, nothing that says this is Bennett’s space except for the hockey gear piled at the foot of the bed on the floor. That’s it.
He chuckles and closes the door, pulling the chair at the provided desk out for me to sit on. “Sorry it’s not up to your standards, Princess.”
I cringe. When my dad calls me Princess it’s sweet, but Bennett says it like it’s a bad thing. “It’s just boring,” I explain. “Nothing in here is personal.”
“It’s only temporary,” he reasons, sitting on the edge of the bed across from me.
“Still,” I say, looking around. “I’d think you’d want it to feel homey. Now, what was it that we needed to talk about in private?”
“I need your help,” he starts.
“My help?” I laugh. “What could you poss
ibly need my help with?”
He bites his lip, and for a moment, he looks adorably boyish. “My manager is beyond pissed with me,” he explains, gesturing with his hands, “and he said that this time it’s up to me to fix it.”
“And how exactly am I supposed to do that?” My eyes narrow.
He raises his hands innocently in front of his chest, like he’s surrendering. “I want you to be my girlfriend.” I laugh. “My fake girlfriend.” He looks at me pleadingly with puppy dog eyes.
I glare at him, my mouth popping open. “Oh, my God, you’re serious?”
“As a heart attack.” He presses his hands together like he’s praying. “I need you.”
“Why me?” I ask, sitting on the edge of the rickety wooden chair. “You could’ve asked any girl on campus and I’m sure she would’ve jumped at the chance.”
“For starters, we’ve already been pictured together,” he reasons. “It’s the perfect setup. Secondly, you’re a good girl, Grace. That whole goody two-shoes vibe you have going on is exactly what I need.” I glare at him, conveying with my eyes that I’m about two seconds away from strangling him. “Fuck, Grace, I don’t mean it in a bad way. It’s cute that you’re so … girly.”
I roll my eyes. “Why should I help you?”
He appears thoughtful, pressing his lips together. “Because hockey means the world to me, and I’m going to lose it if you don’t do this. I have to prove to the media, to my manager, to my coach, to everyone that I’m not up to all my old antics.”
“And what do I get in exchange?” I tilt my head to the side.
He sits up straighter, brightening now that I’m contemplating this. “Anything you want. Money?”
I glare at him. “I don’t need your money.”
“Sorry,” he says sheepishly. “Whatever you want, name it, and it’s yours if you do this.”
I bite my lip. “I’ll have to think about it.” His shoulders sag. “About what you’ll owe me,” I amend.
He grins, his eyes lighting up. “You’ll do it?”
“Yes,” I say on a sigh, “but you better not make me regret this.”
The Game That Breaks Us Page 7
