They all played on the same NHL team for a while, and when they retired, they decided to start a foundation—a hockey training program that subsidizes the costs for kids who otherwise wouldn’t be able to play competitively. Hockey is expensive and time-consuming.
When I enter, Liam, one of the Butterson twins and Maverick’s older cousin, is chilling in a gaming chair, one earbud dangling loose, messing around with a set of metal rings—I think it’s some kind of brainteaser, or a sex toy, who knows? He lives a few blocks over with his twin brother, Lane, but he spends a lot of time with Quinn, which explains why he’s here. BJ, otherwise known as Randy Ballistic Jr., is passed out in the lounger, one hand cupping his junk.
Quinn is sitting on the couch, playing a video game, with some blonde girl I’ve never seen before all up in his space. He’s on the rebound and taking the breakup particularly hard, from what I’ve witnessed. The girl’s wearing a pair of tiny shorts and a crop top. Based on the way her nipples are saluting everyone, she’s not wearing a bra. A broken necklace of purple hickies decorates her throat. She glances up from her phone, and her mouth drops open. “Oh em gee! Kody Bowman! You are so flipping hot.”
Quinn pauses the game and gives her a look that would bury most people. “Could you be less chill?”
“Geez. It’s just an observation.” She makes this face like she can’t believe he’d get upset about the comment.
“You were all over me less than half an hour ago. Give it a few hours before you go after my roommate.” It half sounds like he’s joking, half not.
Liam makes a noise, as if he’s waiting for shit to go down.
“So, you guys do share, then?” The blonde twists the end of her ponytail around her finger. When we all just stare at her, she tacks on, “And you’re hot too, Quinn, just . . . different hot.”
Quinn rolls his eyes and tosses aside the controller. “I gotta roll out. Enjoy my friends.” He stalks across the room, brushes by me, grumbling about bad choices, and slams his way outside.
I can already predict where he’s headed: the garage. There’s a gym out there with a punching bag, which we’ve had to replace more than once because Quinn uses it a lot. He’s a good guy with a big temper, which he tries to control with nonharmful outlets.
The blonde sits there, eyes wide, and repeats, “It wasn’t an insult.”
“It kinda was, though,” Liam says.
I don’t stick around to hear her flawed defense. Instead, I head upstairs. I want to shower again before my next class because I had practice, and I don’t like the showers at the arena. Technically there’s nothing wrong with the facilities, but I have issues with public showers and bathrooms and their questionable cleanliness. I have issues with a lot of things, actually.
I unlock my door—it’s always locked unless I’m in my room. I might like my housemates, but I don’t necessarily trust anyone they bring back here not to go snooping around—see the girl downstairs for details. My dad taught me that one.
I have two hours before my next class, so before the shower, the first thing I do is sit at my computer desk and open the bottom drawer of my filing cabinet. I lift the false bottom and sift through the contents until my fingers close around a stack of old photos.
I freeze at the sound of a soft knock on my door.
I don’t even have a chance to say anything, such as fuck off and leave me alone, before the knob turns, and I instantly regret not locking it. A blonde head appears. Obviously this girl is clueless. Or desperate. Or both.
I drop the photos and close the filing cabinet on an annoyed sigh. Turning the key, I slip it out of the lock and toss it in the top drawer of my desk, sliding a few miscellaneous items over it before I close that too.
I spin in my chair as she steps inside and shuts the door behind her. She scans the room, taking in my personal space. I don’t like people I don’t know in my room. I don’t like people much period.
The list of humans I tolerate and who tolerate me on a regular basis is fairly short.
“Wow. Your room is really clean.” She lets go of the doorknob and crosses over to my bed. Taking a seat on the edge, she smooths her hand over my comforter. “Is this a king?”
“What’re you doing in here?”
She lifts a shoulder and lets it fall, gaze shifting from the hockey posters on my wall to the raw canvas I never bothered to have framed, and back to me. “I was curious.”
“About?” I bite, even though it’s essentially pointless.
“You.”
I remain silent, because that’s not really an answer.
She crosses her legs. They’re long and toned, and mostly bare because her shorts cover very little. Her top leaves the vast majority of her tanned stomach exposed. There’s nothing particularly unique or compelling about her features. I guess she would be considered attractive in the general sense of the word. But her desperation is unappealing.
She drags a single finger along the neckline of her top purposely drawing attention to her cleavage. Compared to Lavender’s, it’s pretty unimpressive. Which is something I hate myself for thinking.
She gives me what I imagine is supposed to be a coy look. “Can I tell you something?”
“Seems like that’s your plan.”
Her laugh is high-pitched and nervous, her bravado faltering. “I wasn’t really interested in Quinn.”
“Probably shouldn’t have hooked up with him then, huh?” What’s with this girl?
She licks her lips. “I really came here for you.”
“Is that right?” I don’t feel like entertaining this after what happened with Lavender.
She nods. “I don’t have class until five.”
It doesn’t take a genius to see where she’s going with this. “You were just with my roommate.”
“He said I could have fun with his friends, though, and I’d like to have some fun with you.”
Her persistence isn’t a turn-on. Not for me. Liam isn’t interested in the bunnies, so if she propositioned him, I’m pretty sure he said no. BJ might bang her, even if she’s been with more than one of us, but she’d have to wake him up, and he sleeps like the dead.
“You realize that would basically make you the house bunny.”
She bites her lip. “I kind of figured that would be the case. And I don’t mind, so long as I get to fuck you.”
I’d like to say this kind of behavior is uncommon. But it’s not. And unfortunately, Quinn, who is not very discerning as of late, has made a habit of picking up exactly this kind of girl.
“Are you high?”
“No.” She laughs. “Do I look high?”
It’s my turn to shrug. “Not particularly, but it’s always a possibility.”
“I know exactly what I’m doing.”
I run my hands down my thighs, noting the dried streak of Lavender’s blood still staining my skin. Driving her home was a reckless mistake. I should know better than to think I have control when it comes to her. All I want is to get her out of my head. “I don’t have condoms.”
She stands and digs into her pocket, tossing a few foil packets on my bedspread. “I came prepared.”