Bex

“I still can’t believe you had dinner with Preston Parker,” Taylor shouts, her voice far too loud for those passing by us. “My ovaries would have exploded sitting next to him.”

“Would you keep it down?” I lower my voice to a more audible level, my feet moving faster to get away from any lingering ears. “I don’t think everyone heard you across campus.”

She fixes the strap of the gym bag slung over her shoulder, matching my pace. “Shit. Sorry, I wasn’t thinking. But this is kind of a big deal for you. After obsessing over his mom for like ever, how are you not as excited as I am about this? He talked to you. Preston sat next you.” She fans herself with her hand, with a dreamy look on her face. “I would die if he even breathed in the same airspace as me.”

“Okay, that’s a bit dramatic, even for you. Don’t you think?”

“He’s just a hockey player. Stop acting like a girl.”

“Must I remind you I am a girl,” she counters. “And he’s the hottest guy on campus. Preston is taking you to meet his mom. Hello, that’s major. Wake up, Bex. You have a date with Preston Parker this weekend. I’m so jealous right now I almost hate you.”

I nudge her in the arm with my elbow and laugh. “You’re not allowed to hate me over boys. It’s in the roommate agreement.”

Dodging my second elbow, she snorts. “Roommate agreement?”

“Yeah, it’s like our unspoken rules we both have to follow. No fighting over boys is one of them.”

I became friends with Taylor during freshman orientation. We were paired together, became fast friends, and even made the basketball team together. Sophomore year, we became roommates and have been inseparable ever since.

“But he’s Preston Parker.”

“Will you stop saying his name like he’s a big deal?”

She gives me a perplexed look. “He is a big deal, silly. Did you fall down and bump your head? Just because you have more of a crush on his mom than him doesn’t make him any less yummy. Hey, if you don’t want him, I’d be more than happy to be your substitute.”

On this campus, athletics reign supreme. Even my teammates and me are treated differently because of it. If anyone is deserving of godlike praise, it’s Preston Parker. There’s no debating that he’s the most athletically gifted player on the men’s ice hockey team. He’s broken most of the records set in previous years, putting other players to shame. My dad talks about him all the time. I never saw him so excited to coach a player until Preston.

“Does all your fangirling have a point?”

She scoffs. “Of course, it does. You have a shot with Preston. Take it, girl. This is your one chance. Girls like us don’t get these kinds of opportunities to date guys like him. They usually go for cheerleaders or sorority girls.”

“My dad has rules about his team. You know them well.”

“How can I forget? No talking to his players. No hanging out with his players. No dating his players.”

“Technically, I already broke one of them when I talked to Preston in the locker room.”

“Your dad broke his own rule by introducing you to his players. He shouldn’t have done that if he was going to be such a hard ass.”

She’s right. The pizza shop was the first time in all these years that my dad had allowed me to communicate more than a hello or goodbye. His team was always off-limits to me. And for good reason.

“It’s not just his rules,” I admit. “After what happened with Kellan, I had no interest in dating, let alone his players. I still don’t. Kellan left a lasting effect on my life, one I never want to repeat.”

She frowns. “Yeah. I still can’t believe you have to deal with everything that happened with him. It’s been four years.”

“Some mistakes can’t be undone.” I push back the tears that are fighting to escape.

I allowed Kellan to win for too long. He’s not allowed to keep controlling my life, when he’s no longer in it.

She touches my shoulder to comfort me. “I’m sorry, babe.”

I sigh at the thought of the boy who ruined my life in high school. The piece of shit who still somehow manages to fuck everything up for me.

“Kellan was—”

“An ass,” Taylor finishes for me.

Once we reach the parking garage, I remove my dad’s spare set of keys from my bag and click the remote to open his car. He’d called me after my last class and asked me to bring his wallet to the rink across campus. He must have been in a rush, because he left it in the center console, right where anyone can see it.

I retrieve my wallet and hold it up for her to see. “I have to run this over to my dad. It won’t take long. Do you want to tag along? We can grab something to eat from the cafeteria afterward.”

Her nose wrinkles in disgust. “No to cafeteria food. A definite hell yeah to sneaking a peek at the men’s ice hockey practice.”

“Awesome.” I shut the door and lock the car. “I was hoping I wouldn’t have to face the guys alone, especially not Preston.”

“Are you kidding me? As if you even had to ask.”

I chuckle. “Don’t act like this around the guys. Their egos are big enough.”

“Gotcha,” she says. “Don’t feed the players. Duly noted.”

I shake my head, entertained by her stupidity.

Five minutes later, we reach the ice rink on the other side of campus. Taylor glows with delight. She fixes her black hair with her fingers and adds a thin layer of pink gloss to her lips, smacking them together loudly.

Taylor turns to me. “How do I look?”

“Fine. Stop worrying about your appearance. A guy should like you on your worse day. Otherwise, he’s not worth your time.”

“I wish I could be more like you, Bex. You never care what anyone thinks of you.”

I shrug. “It’s simple. People will either like you the way you are or hate you for it. You know what my dad says about opinions and assholes.”

She laughs, as I pull open the door to where my dad holds practice. “I’ll try to find my inner Bex. Be like Bex,” she chants a few times under her breath, joking. “You’re the only girl I know who would show her face around a bunch of guys with a bloody lip and no makeup.”

I roll my eyes. “I haven’t worn makeup since my dad made me wipe it off my face my sophomore year in high school. Anyway, who cares if my lip is busted open? I wear it like a badge of honor. I wasn’t about to let Stacey Weaver get to the net.”

“Instead, you guarded her so hard, she ended up dropping bows on you like you’re in the UFC.”

A rumble of laughter shakes through me. “Drop bows? You sound like a lunatic.”

“What? Haven’t you ever seen a spinning back elbow? It’s pretty sweet. That’s basically what Stacy did to your face.”

“I hustled my ass off to become a starter this year. I wasn’t about to punk out, allow her to make the easy layup, and show Coach Vaughn I wasn’t starting material.”

“It was just a scrimmage. You can ease up a little bit. What if Preston tries to kiss you on Saturday and he tastes blood? That’s not sexy.”

“He’s a hockey player. I’m sure he’s used to the taste of blood in his mouth. And it’s not like I’m going to kiss him.”

Once we reach the outer edge of the ice, our conversation comes to a halt. Taylor’s eyes are as wide as her mouth, full on ogling the players. Her behavior is almost embarrassing. Almost. Because I’m doing the same thing after I spot Preston on the ice. He skates with such grace I can’t help but admire him in all of his glory.

A quick squabble ensues, where two players fight for possession of the puck. In a blur of blue jerseys, I don’t have a good view, but someone takes a shot on goal. It hits the post and bounces to the left of the net. One of Preston’s teammates passes the puck to him, and then he’s gone. He moves so quickly down the ice I have to blink to refocus. Damn, he’s fast. My dad wasn’t kidding about Preston. He’s talented.

I walk closer to the Plexiglas, stumbling over my high-top Chuck Taylors. Pressing my hand to the glass, I stare in awe as Preston scores for his team. I bite my lip, accidentally digging into the fresh cut from practice. A metallic taste fills my mouth. But I don’t care. All I can think about is Preston.

Watching him play for the first time is… memorable. Similar to how I felt the first time I saw Coach, Preston’s mom, standing next to Dante Fisher. Dante was my favorite basketball player growing up. I idolized him for years. Because I wanted to be like Dante. And Charlotte “Coach” Coachman—now Parker—was the first female sports agent.

People took her seriously. Coach was a force to be reckoned with in the sports world. I couldn’t believe it when I saw her on ESPN with a big grin on her face next to Dante. She’d just closed a massive deal for him. Most of all she gave me hope. I had wanted to be like her ever since. That was my dream—to become a sports agent.

“You should get that to your dad,” Taylor says, whipping me out of my Preston induced stupor.

“Right.” I make a beeline for my dad, who’s talking to a player in the box.

With his back to us, I catch a few glimpses of the scrimmage taking place, before he angles his body enough to see us behind him. Dad holds up his hand, suggesting I meet him on the other side.

Distracted by the players, I have to nudge Taylor to get her to follow me. She’s mesmerized by them. A few of them take note of us. One waves, though I can’t see his face. I return his gesture, hoping he wasn’t attached to one of the dicks I’d seen in the locker room.

My dad pushes open the door that leads to the ice, and I hand him the wallet.

He takes it from me with a closed mouth smile. “Thanks, honey. You’re a real lifesaver.” His gaze falls from me to Taylor. “Hey, I haven’t seen you in a while. How have you been, Taylor?”

“I’ve been around. Busy with school and basketball.”

“Still working on your jump shot?”

She bobs her head. “Yep. I got it down pat now.”

He winks at her, and then turns to me, studying my face. “How was practice? Looks like you got a nice shiner forming on your cheek… and your lip. What happened? You look like you went a few rounds with Hopkins.”

I laugh at his boxing joke. “Practice was fine. Could have been better. But at least I’ll have a cool battle scar.”

My dad inspects the gash, shaking his head. “I wish you’d be more careful. You can be so rough.”

“Basketball is a rough sport,” I shoot back. “I’m not some delicate flower, Dad. I can take a punch, or in this case, an elbow.”

“You were never delicate, that’s for sure.” He sighs, as if he regrets turning me into a tomboy.

Before my mother left us, she had me prancing around in floral dresses and ballet flats. Yuck. I never liked ballet or dresses. Track pants and T-shirts were more my speed. My dad was right to raise me the way he did. If my mom had stuck around, I would have been pretending to be someone I wasn’t to make her happy. And I would have hated every second of it.

“Are you staying until practice is over?”

I shrug. “I guess we can hang around a little while longer. Not like we have anything better to do.”

“That’s the spirit.” He slaps me on the back like I’m one of the guys. “I could use another set of eyes on the team. This game is going to be tough for us.”

“I wouldn’t miss it.”

“Me neither,” Taylor adds.

Dad forces a smile and slides his hands to his hip. Biting the inside of his cheek, he seems nervous. More anxious than I’ve seen him in a long time. Glancing at the ice, his gaze travels between various players, landing on no one in particular.

With the game a few days away, he’s on edge, even though he would never admit it. It’s the first home game of the season, and his first as the new head coach. NCAA announcers will talk about his role, whether they win or lose. And even more so if they lose.

I tap my dad on the shoulder. “Everything will work out. I have a good feeling about the game.”

Dad grins. “Me, too.”

We’re almost the same height, my dad maybe three inches taller, our eyes almost level to one another. I might have gotten my looks from my mom, but I have his height and athleticism. It wasn’t easy being five feet ten inches in high school. Kids picked on me. Most of the guys were shorter than me.

I learned to develop a thick skin because of it. Class pictures were interesting. Teachers forced me to stand at the back of the line with the boys, arranging us in order of height.

Dad blows the whistle around his neck, signaling for the guys to come over to the bench. “I have to get going, honey. Take a seat over there.” He points to the first row of seats. “I’ll meet you over there after we’re done. Maybe we can get dinner. If you want. Taylor, you can come, too.”

“Yeah, that sounds good, Dad.” I push my hand out to shoo him away, and then he’s gone, back to coaching his team.

I tug on Taylor’s arm to move her toward our seats.

“You have an admirer,” she informs me.

I glance over at the bench to see Preston staring at me. Hard. His gaze is intense, his deep blue eyes fixed on me. He winks. Why did he have to do that? I refuse to return his gesture, or even acknowledge him. Last night, I was rude and said whatever had come to mind. It was my way of keeping him at a distance.

A guy like Preston will be the death of me. I have no room in my life for players—both on and off the court. Or in Preston’s case, the ice. But I can’t help feeling something for him. He didn’t have to offer for me to meet his mom. Preston doesn’t owe me a damn thing. Maybe I can be a little bit nicer without breaking the rules.

“The way he’s looking at you is giving me chills,” Taylor says, entranced by Preston. “What I wouldn’t give to have someone look at me like that.”

She’s not wrong about him. When Preston looks at me, he undresses me with his eyes. My skin pricks with tiny bumps, which spread down my arms. He glares at me like a piece of meat. Like he’s a starved animal, and he wants to sink his teeth into me.

But there’s something else about his demeanor. I interest him. Other guys have given me the same look in the past. I’ve ignored them no problem. So, why can’t I do the same with Preston? Somehow, he has crawled under my skin, and I allow it. Even though I shouldn’t give him another thought.

He removes his helmet. His hair sticks up in little spikes, protruding up in different directions from the sweat. So many dirty thoughts run through my mind. I can’t stop them once they start.

He knows he has me. It’s not just his looks that hold my attention. Preston plays with such grace for someone his size. The way he moved his hips was like a dance routine I memorized with each glide of his skates.

Practice ends with my father telling the players to hit the showers, and me still drooling over Preston. Taylor does the same. She hasn’t stopped gawking at the Drake Donovan for the last five minutes. Tall and muscular, Drake has short dark hair and a body so big and toned he makes you want to climb him. Drake is worth looking at. But no one compares to Preston.

Damn him.

“Where do you want to eat?” Taylor rubs her stomach. “I worked up an appetite watching these hockey hotties.”

“I bet that’s not the only appetite you worked up,” I deadpan. “Don’t think I missed you obsessively watching Drake. I don’t blame you. I was doing the same to Preston.”

Her eyes widen, and she clears her throat, making a strange movement with her head to indicate someone is behind me. When I turn around, I come face-to-face with Preston. Here, I thought all of the players were in the locker room.

I have nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide.

A wicked smirk turns up the right side of his mouth. An adorable dimple creases his cheek.

Fucking hell.