“Aw, you guys got me a present for my first practice,” Austin jokes, sauntering toward me like he owns the place. “Hey, baby girl. I’m Greg––”
“Careful, Austin,” Depp warns him. A grin teases his lips as he holds my gaze but keeps addressing the new guy. “That’s Baby Thorne.”
Austin turns to Depp. “Baby Thorne?”
“Yeah. As in Colt’s little sister,” Graves explains. I’m not sure how he knows me. We’ve never been formally introduced. Maybe he was at the Taylor House not so long ago?
“Although, she obviously got the good looks in the family,” he continues.
I laugh as Austin steps closer to me, his buddies flanking his sides. “I think I’ve seen you around a time or two,” he notes, analyzing me a little more carefully. “You ever come to the Taylor House?”
“Last time she came, Burrows beat her fine ass at Beer Pong,” Graves interjects, confirming my suspicion. He scratches his dark jaw already sporting a five-o’clock shadow and looks me up and down again. “Although, if you’re looking for someone to teach you the ropes and show you how to actually beat the bastard, I’d be happy to––”
I roll my eyes. “I’m good, thanks.”
“Maybe you can cheer me on while I defend your honor myself,” Austin suggests. “I could take down Burrows.”
“Again, I think I’m good,” I repeat, more amused than annoyed by their boldness. Growing up around hockey players has taught me a few things.
One. They hang out in packs.
Two. They’re cocky as shit.
Three. They’re always looking to hook up.
And four. They’re flirty little buggers.
That’s for sure.
With a dark chuckle, Graves suggests, “Or maybe you and I can––”
“Graves!” Colt barks, standing in the doorframe of Coach’s office with his arms crossed and a warning in his eyes.
Graves raises his hands into the air as if to prove his innocence and takes a step away from me like I have Don’t Touch tattooed across my forehead. “Hey, man. I didn’t touch her.”
“Good. ‘Cause I doubt Sally would appreciate you hitting on my little sister,” Colt warns.
“Sally and Graves broke up––again––last week,” Depp informs my older brother. He turns to me and lifts his chin. “But what’s up, Baby Thorne? Is there a reason you’re hanging out in our locker room?”
“She’s here because she’ll be shadowing Russ for the season,” Coach Sanderson informs them. Raising his voice, he adds, “I have an announcement! Everyone in the showers, get your asses in here!”
The pipes groan in protest as the showers shut off, and the rest of the team files into the locker room. Most have towels wrapped around their waists, but as the room becomes more crowded with half-naked bodies, I’m blocked from view. A few of the stragglers slide off their towels and start getting dressed by their lockers, oblivious to the fact a girl is standing less than ten feet away.
When a sliver of space forms between the mass of bodies, a few birthday suits come into view, and I gulp, dropping my gaze to the ground.
Yup.
That was most definitely a penis.
Or four.
“All right, guys.” Coach’s booming voice bounces off the walls, demanding everyone’s attention, including mine. Thank goodness. I do my best to ignore the tan, wet skin on full display in my periphery––although it’s freaking difficult––and stare at Coach Sanderson instead.
“You did well at practice today. I think we’re gonna have a good year. As always, we have some shit to take care of, and some wrinkles to smooth out, but I know if we put in the work, we’re gonna make it to the playoffs.”
The team cheers, spreading their enthusiasm like wildfire. And just like that, it doesn’t matter that I'm here anymore. They have their eyes on the prize, and there isn’t a single distraction––including a woman––who will keep them from getting it. I grin and clap my hands while Sanderson waits a solid three seconds, then quiets the team down.
He continues. “I know I introduced the rest of the new members before practice, but I want to make one final introduction.” He clears his throat and motions for me to step forward. Depp and Graves had managed to sandwich me between them when the rest of the team ambled in from the shower. I squeeze myself out from between them and head toward my brother and Sanderson at the front of the room.
Once I’m by his side, Coach announces, “This is Blakely Thorne. She’ll be shadowing Russ throughout the season. Don’t give her any shit, all right?”
The guys laugh, each and every one of their focuses shifting from Coach to me. If I hadn't been raised with three older brothers, I might be intimidated by the amount of testosterone wafting throughout the room, but I’m used to it.
In fact, I thrive in it. It’s familiar. Comfortable, even. Which is weird but true. I’m used to being one of the guys. Once they realize I’m not like other girls they’ve met––and I have no intention of jumping into bed with any of them––they’ll stop looking at me like I’m a piece of meat, and we’ll get along just fine. But until then, I’ll have to put up with the snide remarks and flirtatious comments. Thankfully, I have thick skin. Well, unless Theo’s involved. But I digress.
Wiggling my fingers in a small wave, I say, “Hey, guys! Thanks for having me.”
Tukani, one of the goalies, says something in a low voice to his buddy, and the guy chuckles, his gaze flicking over me from head to toe. His mouth curves up on the side.
My eyes hurt from keeping them in place when all they want to do is roll like a damn bowling ball at Tukani’s attention, but I stay strong. When a shadow from the entrance to the rink comes into view, I’m grateful for the distraction.
That is, until I recognize who it belongs to.
Theo stops short, realizing he’s interrupted one of Coach’s speeches and squeezes the back of his neck.
“Sorry, Coach. I was taking a few extra laps.”
“Taylor,” Sanderson acknowledges. “I was just introducing the newest member of our staff.” He motions to me with a quick wave of his hand. “Blakely will be shadowing Russ during the season.”
I haven’t seen Theo since his party. I’ve been avoiding him––and what happened––at all costs. But now, he’s less than ten feet away, and the reminder of our kiss hits me square in the chest.
I still can’t believe it happened. But the memory’s richer than any fantasy I’ve ever whipped up, and boy have I whipped up a few doozies over the years. If I close my eyes, I’m pretty sure I can still taste the bastard. Feel the way he grabbed my waist. The way he took what he wanted without giving a damn about the consequences. The way he felt in my hand when I reached down and––
I snap myself out of it, digging my nails into my fisted palms. But I’m too much of a coward to meet his gaze. Instead, my attention bounces around Theo’s face while attempting to look indifferent in his presence when it couldn’t be further from the truth.
How the hell does a guy look this attractive? It isn’t fair.