For as long as I can remember, he’s felt this need to protect me from his players as well as all jocks. He tries his best to keep me away from them, though it hasn’t worked. He claims so many of them don’t respect women the way they should. My whole life, I’ve been forbidden to even look at any man on his team.
But there was that one time I didn’t listen. And now, I have Isla Rose.
In that situation, my dad was right. Isla’s dad is the equivalent of a flaming pile of dog shit. But had I listened to my father and not given Nick a chance, I wouldn’t be the mom to the world’s coolest kid. So, in a way, my biggest mistake ended up being my greatest blessing.
That being said, I don’t want any more children for a long, long, long time. Which is why I had a seven-year IUD put in after having Isla. It’s also why I went back for three extra checks at my gynecologist’s office to make sure it had been placed correctly and would not result in a pregnancy. I wouldn’t change being a mom for the world. But I know I’m not ready for another baby.
Thoughts continue to run through my brain. I wonder if he really does remember me. Or if he’s thought about that night at all.
I shake my head at myself. Of course he hasn’t thought about that night. I mean, even if he really did recognize me, it’s not like he’s going to chase me down and want round two. Not like that would be a bad thing as long as it was quick and easy. And feelingless. What could one more measly, mind-blowing, toe-curling, tummy-swirling orgasm hurt?
Ah, other than the fact that I suppose, more often than not, one turns to two, which turns to three, which turns to ten, and before you know it, you’re humping like freaking rabbits, needing each other to breathe.
No. Pass. All set.
I’m sure we will be running into each other. There’s no doubt about that. Hell, since I was a kid, I’ve always attended my dad’s games. My mom and I sit in our designated seats, and I eat mountains of popcorn and sneak some of her soda.
But even if we do see each other at games, the good thing about a guy like Cam Hardy is, he’ll never be desperate enough to seek me out for another hookup. Which is perfect because I don’t have time for any men in my life. Even if all he is, is a fuckboy.
4
Cam
“So, let me get this straight,” Layla says, picking up the massive burger she just ordered. “Last night at practice, you found out that the chick you had banged and are obsessed with is the coach’s daughter? Like, your new coach, who hates you?”
“I am not obsessed with her, asshole,” I grunt, taking a sip of my Coke. “She’s hot. She was pushy and cold. I found her, like, charming or some shit. But I am sure as fuck not obsessed. This guy doesn’t get obsessed. My talent is not falling for women.”
The corner of her mouth turns up. “You sure about that?”
“Do I look like the type of dude who doodles hearts and shit on my notebook?” I toss a fry at her. “Fuck no. Never will be either. But do I wish I could get naked and roll around with her again?” I nod. “Of course I do. That doesn’t mean I’m stalking her or some shit, Lay-Lay.”
She wipes her mouth. “She must be your karma.” Her eyes widen. “The question is … is she good karma or bad karma?”
“Hell if I know.” I sigh, leaning back in my chair. “But if her daddy finds out what we did, then she definitely ain’t going to be good karma. Because he’ll probably murder me.”
“Would you hang out with her again?” She raises an eyebrow curiously. “Knowing he could find out and would be pissed? Making him hate you more than you already claim he does.”
“Fuck yes,” I say quickly. “Like I said … she’s hot. And even though he’d make my life on the team hell—more than he already does—I’m thinking with my dick on this one. And my dick wants another go with her.”
“Typical male,” she mutters. “Always using the penis before the brain.”
The door to the restaurant pushes open, and Brody and Link stroll in.
As they pile into our booth, Link shoots me a glare. “Oh yeah, I see how it is. Don’t worry; we didn’t want to join.”
“For real, asshole. Some friend you are.” Brody shakes his head.
“Y’all weren’t even home when I left.” I hold my hands up. “What am I supposed to do, just assume you’re hungry when I am?”
“I’m always hungry. You ought to know that by now, ya dick,” Brody says.
“Wow, you two are acting like little bitches.” Layla laughs. “Here I always thought, females were the more annoying species. I might have just been proven wrong.”
Link, Brody, and I met our freshman year here at Brooks and instantly became brothers. Brody is one of the best defensemen I’ve ever gotten to play with. Not only is he slightly insane, but he’s also built like a brick house. One that not many hockey players want a piece of. And Link is Brooks’s winger. He’s stupid talented and crazy fast, like me. The three of us moved into an apartment off campus this year. Last year, as freshmen, we had to stay in a dorm. It wasn’t terrible, but I’m definitely enjoying the hell out of the new place more. And a few other teammates—Hunter Thompson, Cade Huff, and Watson Gentry—moved into the apartment right next to ours.
The waitress comes over and takes their orders. Thank God, too, because I didn’t want to listen to them whine any longer.
“Halloween is next week,” Link says, smirking. “Please tell me we can throw a party so that we can see all the sexy costumes.”
“Nah,” I say, shaking my head. “Last party, our place got wrecked. Let Hunter and the boys have it at their place. He fucking lives for that shit. Then, they can clean up the mess.”
Pulling his phone out, Brody nods toward Link and me. “Good thinking. I’ll message him.”
“Did you guys see the email earlier from Coach about this trunk-or-treat shit? He wants us to help at it. Isn’t that Halloween night?” Link says, seemingly annoyed. “I fucking hate kids.”
I pull my phone out and open the email. “Shit. That sucks dick. I don’t want to do that shit.”
Brody pouts. “Well, good-bye to the party then. We’ll be too busy babysitting or whatever the fuck this is.”
“Says it’s at four in the afternoon till six thirty. Party won’t get started till much, much later,” Link assures him. “Won’t fuck up the party plan.”
“What the fuck even is a trunk-or-treat?” I look at Layla. “You must have heard of this nonsense. Is it when you bring a big trunk full of candy?”
“I know the swim team is participating in it. That’s all I know.” She scowls. “Why would I know what it is? Do I look like I have kids?” She holds her phone up. “Let’s find out.”
Skimming over whatever the hell pops up on Google, she sighs. “Basically, you deck out the trunk of your car—or in all of your cases, the bed of your truck—with some theme, and you hand out candy.”
“I’m sure as hell not bringing my truck,” Link scoffs. “Those little bastards might scratch the paint or leave their fingerprints on it. I just waxed it last weekend.”