Hunter takes a hasty sip of beer.
“And you suck at reading plays sometimes. When Eastwood’s D-man made that sweet pass that led to a breakaway? You should’ve anticipated who he was going to pass to, but you totally misread him.”
“I was watching the puck the whole time,” he protests.
“Forget the puck. Watch the player, dude. Pay attention to who he’s looking at, where his teammates are moving. Read who he’s targeting and then intercept that pass.”
Hunter goes quiet. When he speaks again, he sounds grudgingly impressed. “You know a lot about this stuff, huh?”
I shrug. I know I have a reputation for not being as serious about hockey as my teammates, and maybe there’s some truth to that, but that doesn’t mean I don’t understand the mechanics and nuances of the game.
Hockey has been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. I grew up playing it. Lacrosse too, but that was mostly a way to pass time in the spring until hockey started up again. Both my dad and older brother played hockey at Harvard. I could’ve too, but I chose Briar instead. I’m always following in their footsteps, and I guess I just wanted to be different or some shit.
Don’t get me wrong, I don’t play hockey only because they did. I love the game. It just doesn’t give me the same thrill that Garrett and Logan seem to experience every time they’re on the ice.
Truthfully, I have more fun during practice. I enjoy the drills and the scrimmages, the opportunity to get better and help my teammates get better. I’m not interested in going pro after I graduate, which pleases my family to no end, because Heyward-Di Laurentises don’t become professional athletes. They become lawyers. Next fall I’ll be attending Harvard Law like every other member of my family. I’m cool with that, and I have no doubt I’ll be good at it. The Di Laurentis charm I inherited from my dad pretty much guarantees I’ll be winning over judges left and right.
“What else am I doing wrong?” Hunter sounds more curious than pissed.
I grin at him. “Tell you what, how about some one-on-one sessions this week? I’ll see if Coach will sign off on extra ice time.”
“Seriously? I would really appreciate that, actually. Thanks—”
I interrupt him. “But only if you agree to quit talking about hockey for the rest of the night.” I gesture to the packed bar. “Look around. It’s a hot girl banquet in here. Pick the one you like and feast, idiot.”
Hunter laughs, but his dark eyes gleam as he takes in the view. Several chicks respond to his attention with DTF smiles, but rather than wave them over, he glances at me—or rather, at my neck—and snorts. “Actually, maybe you should introduce me to the wildcat you hooked up with last night. Ms. Hickey seems like fun.”
I stiffen. No way am I letting this kid anywhere near Allie. He might be young, but he’s well on his way to becoming an even bigger player than I am.
Then again, maybe it’s Hunter I should be worrying about. After last night’s performance, Allie Hayes proved that she’s fully capable of leaving her mark on a man. Jesus. That girl can fuck.
Damn, and now my dick is semi-hard. It’s been doing that all day, chubbing out every time I think about Allie. It was the hottest hook-up I’ve had in a long while. Hell, my wrists are still sore from being tied to the bed, but it’s the kind of sore that just makes me want to do it again.
Tapping the same ass more than once isn’t usually my style, but right now my dick is aching to bury itself in Allie’s naughty pussy again.
“Sorry, Superstar. Not happening,” I tell him. “Find your own wildcat.”
“Fine.” Grinning, he gives the room another scan. “Oh yeah. I think I know who I’m going home with tonight.”
I follow his gaze to the long wooden counter, where a tall brunette has her back turned to us as she leans forward to order a drink. She’s in a short black skirt and high heels, with long brown hair falling down her back in waves. The male bartender is damn near drooling, his hungry eyes peering down her shirt, which tells me she must have a great rack. All I can see is her ass, though, and it’s pretty fantastic.
Normally I’d be all over the brunette, but I’m not in the mood to score tonight. My mind keeps drifting back to Allie. And Allie’s pussy. And her tits. Man, her tits were incredible. A perfect handful, with pale pink nipples that went harder than icicles when I sucked on them.
I sigh and do some strategic rearranging in my crotchal region. I’ve gotta quit thinking about last night, for chrissake. God knows Allie is doing her best to forget it.
“What do you think?” Hunter asks me.
I shift my gaze away from the brunette. “She might be a little out of your league.”
“I’m a hockey player. Nobody’s out of my league.”
“Truth.” I chuckle. That was the first thing I taught Hunter when I took him under my wing at the start of the season. But even so, the brunette has the sexiest body I’ve ever seen. A woman like that can have anyone in this bar, and I’m not sure freshman Hunter makes the cut, even if he is wearing a Briar hockey jacket.
Across the room, the chick we’re admiring suddenly turns around. Just like that, my appreciation fizzles into disgust. “Oh hell no. Stay away from that one, kid. She’s toxic.”
“She doesn’t look toxic to me,” Hunter drawls.
Naïve bastard. Luckily, I know better. Sabrina James is undeniably gorgeous, but I’d pour hot wax on my balls before I hooked up with her. Well, before I hooked up with her again.
Yup. Been there, done that, got the T-shirt.
Someone jostles me from behind, and I turn to find Tucker approaching. His black-and-silver jacket is soaking wet, and so is his hair.
“Je-sus. It’s coming down hard out there.” He does a full-body shake like a dog who’s just scampered out of a lake.
“Hey Fido, go dry off somewhere else,” I order as cold droplets splash my face and hit me in the eye.
Hunter doesn’t even notice that Tucker is dripping water all over our shoes. He’s too busy ogling Sabrina.
Tuck follows the freshman’s gaze. “Nice,” he remarks, then turns to grin at me. “I take it you already called dibs?”
I blanch. “Not a chance. That’s Sabrina, bro. She already busts my balls in class on a daily basis. I don’t need her busting them outside of school.”
Sabrina and I are both Poli Sci majors on the pre-law path, so we share way too many classes for my peace of mind. We both applied to Harvard Law too, which I’m not particularly happy about. The thought of spending two more years sitting in the same lecture halls as her makes suicide sound pretty appealing.
“Wait, that’s Sabrina?” Tucker says in surprise. “I see her around campus all the time, but I didn’t realize she’s the one you’re always bitching about.”
“One and the same.”
His southern drawl rears up. “Damn shame. She sure is fine to look at.”
“What’s the deal with you two?” Hunter pipes up. “She your ex?”
I recoil again. “Fuck no.”
“So I won’t be breaking the bro code if I make a move?”
“You want to make a move? Go nuts. But I’m warning you, that bitch will eat you alive.”
Sabrina’s head turns sharply toward us. She probably has some kind of internal radar that goes off every time someone calls her a bitch. I bet it goes off a lot.
As our gazes lock, she smirks at me, then flips up her middle finger before turning to talk to her friend.
Hunter groans. “Well, there goes that. She won’t give me the time of day now that she saw me with you. What’d you do to her, anyway?”
“Absolutely nothing,” I say darkly.
“Bullshit. A chick doesn’t murder a guy with her eyes like that unless he screwed up bad. Did you hook up with her?”
Tucker snorts. “What do you think, kid? I mean, look at her.”
“Looks can be deceiving,” I mutter.
My roommate cocks his head in challenge. “So you didn’t sleep with her?”
A sigh slides out. “No, I did. But it was a long time ago. I’m pretty sure hook-ups have expiration dates. Like after three years have gone by, it doesn’t count anymore.”
The guys laugh. “Let me guess,” Tucker says. “You didn’t call her afterward.”
“No,” I admit. “But in my defense, it’s hard to call a chick when one, she doesn’t give you her number, and two, when you don’t remember it happened.”
Hunter’s jaw falls open. “How could you not remember that?” He’s damn near salivating as he checks out Sabrina again.
“We were both wasted. Trust me, she didn’t remember much either.”
“So that’s why she hates you?” Hunter presses.
I wave a hand. “Naah. The beef started over something else. Which I’m not going to fucking talk about right now, because Jesus Christ, it’s Saturday night and we should be partying.”
Tucker chuckles. “I’m gonna grab a beer. You guys need a refill?”
“I’m good,” Hunter says.
As Tuck heads for the counter, I pull out my phone and check the time. It’s nine-thirty. I scroll through my contacts while Hunter starts talking hockey to me again. I think I still have Allie’s number from when she was planning Hannah’s birthday this spring. She’d sent about a hundred mass texts outlining every mundane detail of the party.