“That was Cam Hardy,” she says, and I stop walking. “The entire Brooks University campus knows he’s got mad skills below the belt.” She giggles. “And above.”
I throw my arm out, stopping her too. “That was Cam Hardy? As in star player of the Wolves hockey team Cam Hardy?” My mouth hangs open. “For real?”
She shrugs lightly, still beaming. “For realsies.”
“And why did you choose him?” I narrow my eyes. “You know jocks aren’t my thing … well, anymore.”
“Because I knew he’d be a good man for the job. From what I’ve heard, he’s never been in an actual relationship. And even though he sleeps around, the women he’s with always claim he takes care of them, if you know what I mean. Oh, and they say he’s nice. By the glow in your cheeks—damn, girl—those rumors must be true.” She winks. “And besides school, you don’t leave home. A guy who moves on before your body stops tingling from him rocking your world? He’s perfect.”
“I’m not always home. I mean, I’m out tonight, aren’t I?”
“Yeah, only because your mother forced you to hang out with me.” She shakes her head. “Thank the Lord she did. You needed this.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I mutter and start walking toward the sidewalk. “Come on. I’m ready to go home.”
Even as I walk, my legs are still shaky from sex with who could be the world’s hottest dude from Alabama. The picture of him in his bed as I was leaving creeps into my mind. His messy brown hair and boyish grin flash through my brain once more. And I can’t help but smile because Tessa is right. I did need this.
2
Cam
“Dude is such a hard-ass,” Brody groans, glancing at me. “I miss Coach.”
“Same,” Link agrees.
“He is our coach now,” I remind them.
“Well, we miss our real coach.” Brody rolls his eyes. “You know what we meant, Hardy.”
“The coach who showed up drunk to practice half the time, you mean? The same guy who was forced to resign because he was cheating on his wife with students?” I shake my head. “Yeah, what’s not to miss?”
“At least he was fucking pleasant,” Brody says, jerking his thumb toward the dude who took our old coach’s place. “This guy is a dick. He acts like he has a stick the size of Texas shoved up his ass.”
“He was probably pleasant because he was getting blowies under his desk,” I point out. “I’d be fucking pleasant too if I was old as fuck and went to work and got blow jobs from hot young women.”
As if on cue, our new coach continues to look at his clipboard as he speaks. “You all were an embarrassment at our opening game. A damn disgrace. Makes me second-guess taking this job to begin with.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” I mutter to the boys. Agreeing with them because we won the game he’s saying embarrassed him. “He is a dick. Maybe he needs a good blow job too.” I try to fight my grin. “Hell, Link, why don’t you volunteer that pretty mouth of yours?”
“Fuck off,” Link grumbles.
“You boys have something you’d like to share with the team?” Coach’s eyes look up at the three of us as he pulls his reading glasses off. “I’d love to hear what three brains like yours have to bring to the table.”
“No, Coach,” Link mutters.
“Nope, me neither,” Brody says, shifting around nervously. “Nothing at all.”
“Ah.” Coach smirks, his eyes finding mine. “So, it was Mr. Cam Hardy who had something he needed to say, was it?” He doesn’t hide his glare. “Go on, Mr. Hardy. I can’t wait to hear this.”
“No, sir, not me.” I look around awkwardly. “Only thing I bring to the table is myself.”
“Truth,” Brody agrees. “I can testify to that.”
The new coach has hated me since he arrived here a few weeks ago. He isn’t exactly nice to any of the guys. But me? My very fucking presence seems to bother him.
“Good job, Hardy. Your sense of humor has earned all of you a prize.” Angry, dark eyes burrow into my own. “Suicides. Now. For the entire team.”
As we all skate toward the line, my teammates sulk, shooting me glares.
“How many?” Link says, keeping his voice low.
“As many as I say,” Coach growls. “As many as it takes to sweat the smart-ass right out of Cam Hardy.”
“Yes, sir,” we all yell before skating toward the line.
“Good job, asshole.” Trevor, another teammate, pouts. “I fucking hate suicides.”
“You’ll be all right. You were slow as fuck at the game,” I point out. “What doesn’t kill ya makes you stronger, Trev. Remember that. I’m basically doing you a favor. No thanks needed.”
“Fuck that.” He shakes his head. “Last time he made us do these, I puked all over the ice.”
“Yeah, I remember.” I grimace. “You had eaten a lot that day, my friend. Fucking nasty.”
Barren LaConte was offered this position here at Brooks University to coach the Wolves after our prior coach was fired. He came all the way to Georgia from New England. I’ve heard nothing but good things about him, and it’s clear the man knows his shit when it comes to the game. But still, he’s an asshole.
As he tells us to start our suicides, I don’t miss his scowl at me in particular. Dude has it out for me, and I have no idea why. Someday soon, Coach LaConte will learn to respect me as a player. One day, every practice won’t be a living hell.
I fucking hope so anyway.
But for now, he does hate me. And truthfully, I’m not all that fond of him either.
Addison
I yawn, pulling into the campus parking lot at nearly six at night. These late classes are taxing after an already-long day. And yet they are necessary if I want to graduate and become a registered nurse a little early. Transferring to a new college my junior year hasn’t exactly made this goal easy, but I have faith I can do it.
When I had Isla, I had so many incredible women surrounding me in the hospital. And I knew right then that I wanted to become an RN. Eventually, I’d like to possibly go on to become a midwife. But only when Isla is a bit older. The training and schooling for midwifery are intense. And right now, I don’t want to be away from her that much.
Taking a swig from the giant iced coffee in my hand, I try to suck it down as fast as I can while I still have a few minutes before I need to walk inside. I’m running on four hours of sleep. And as I look in the rearview mirror at myself, I see I’m starting to look exactly how I feel. Like ass.
I see some guys walking out of the arena in the next parking lot over, and there’s no denying one of them is none other than Cam Hardy. His walk is noteworthy. The way he carries himself is hard to miss.
In an extremely rare occurrence, I went out to a party a few weekends ago, and somehow, Tessa convinced me I needed a palate cleanser. Which sounds … so gross. Nonetheless, insert Cam Hardy, and, voilà, my palate was officially cleansed. And while I’m not going to say it was my brightest moment, he was hot. His filthy words and the way he gripped the back of my neck—it was exactly what I needed. And something tells me he got what he wanted. So, I call that a win-win.