Home > Broken Hearts (Campus Nights #3)(2)

Broken Hearts (Campus Nights #3)(2)
Author: Rebecca Jenshak

Happy. I think. I look to Layla since she’s the one who screamed. She doesn’t look happy.

“He fell asleep.” She recoils in horror.

It takes me a second to realize she means me. I’m the he in that statement. Fuck. Did I?

They all look to me. I’m still freeballing it. I find my boxers and slip them on, then grab my jeans. I’m hopping around, trying to force them over my thighs as Maverick helps a now crying Layla find her T-shirt and tries to calm her down.

“I’m sorry,” I offer. “I drank too much.”

“Am I that ugly that he fell asleep?” she asks Maverick. His arms wrap around her back, and she buries her face in his chest. Mav gives me what the fuck eyes over her shoulder.

I move closer. “No. It isn’t you. I fall asleep all the time.”

“That’s true,” Jordan says. “Yeah. He passes out every single time we watch game film.”

“You’re comparing me to some boring game film?” She sobs harder. I’m not the only one who drank too much. Layla is drunk girl, ugly crying.

I’m speechless, but Jordan is quick with his words. “No way. You’re awesome. You’re gorgeous and fun. Rhett’s the boring one.”

I’d like to object, but if she needs to believe it’s all on me, then I’m okay with that. Dammit. Did I really fall asleep while hooking up? Or almost hooking up? Or getting ready to hook up? I’ll be honest; I have no idea where that was going. I was either getting the best massage of my life or the worst blow job.

She peeks out from under Maverick’s arm to glance at Jordan. “You think I’m gorgeous?”

He nods. “Absolutely.”

Mav eases the girl in my room toward the door. “Jordie, why don’t you take Layla outside. Maybe the fresh air will help.”

She goes willingly, snuggling into Jordan’s side.

I run a hand through my hair and then give my face a few smacks to wake me the fuck up.

“Dude, seriously?” Mav asks, finally erupting into laughter that has him bending at the waist. “How does that happen?”

“I was tired and hungry.” I lift one shoulder and shrug. Now that I’m clearly not having sex, I need food. “Taco run?”



“I feel bad. Should I text her?” I ask, unwrapping my fourth taco.

“Nah, I took care of it,” Jordan says, leaning back in the booth and lifting his glass. “The only thing she’s going to remember about today is that she got the best orgasm of her life. You’re welcome.”

“Thank you, I guess.” I can cross Layla off my list of potential hookups. “I’m bad at being single.”

“It isn’t something you can be bad at. Well, unless you fall asleep while a chick goes down on you.” Jordan smirks.

“She was all over the place,” I protest. “My dick was getting very little of the attention.”

Jordan pauses with a taco up to his mouth. “Still. You were naked with a girl. A hot girl.”

“Have you successfully hooked up with anyone since Carrie?” Mav asks.

“Define successfully.”

His dark brows raise. “If I have to tell you what success means, then I don’t think you’ve been doing it right.”

“You need a sure thing,” Jordan says. “And maybe an energy drink.”

“We can stop on the way back to the apartment,” Liam offers.

If these guys are trying to help, I really am in trouble. None of these guys are in a position to dole out advice.

“Nah, I don’t want to go back to the apartment. Can you drop me at the rink?”

“Is that a good idea?” Liam asks. “You’ve been drinking since this morning.”

Last night, technically.

“I’m good,” I say. Whatever alcohol was in my system flushed itself out when Layla burst into tears with my flaccid penis hanging out.

Liam takes me to the arena when we’re done eating.

“I’m gonna drop off Mav, then Jordan and I will come back,” Liam says.

“We will?” his roommate asks, not looking pumped about the idea.

“Fun’s over, buddy,” he says. “We need to get to work.”

Jordan drops his gaze and nods. He had a rough game last night, and we can’t afford for anyone to be in a slump going into the semifinals.

“Later.” I lift a hand as they pull away from the curb.

I shower and change at the rink. The figure skaters have the ice for another fifteen minutes, according to the schedule. With nothing to do, I sit back, close my eyes, and wait. At least no one here will care if I fall asleep.









The chill of the ice nips at my skin as I skate around the rink. I pull my headband snugly over my ears and come to a stop in front of my friend Josie.

“We’re going over to Olivia and Kate’s house to watch Dance Star, and then we’re going to hit up The Hideout for dinner. I bet the hockey team is there celebrating their big win. Are you coming?”

The rest of the team has finished practicing and exits the ice, and she steps off behind them. When she realizes I haven’t followed, she glances back for an answer.

“No. I think I’ll stay for a little while longer.”

An amused smile pulls up the corners of my friend’s mouth, and she frees her long, blue hair from the ponytail. “Does Coach know you’re staying?”

“I’m fine.” I check my heart rate on my watch. “I just want to work on the spin at the end of my short program.”

“A girl can’t live on skating alone.” She combs through her hair with her fingers.

“There’s half of a sandwich and some mini pretzels in my bag.”

“I was talking about boys and alcohol. In excess. Come on, we have three weeks to prepare for the Desert Cup, and your spin is already perfect.”

“See you in the morning,” I call over my shoulder as I push off and glide away.

By the time I make it around the oval-shaped rink, she’s left with the rest of the team. Finally, I’m all alone.

I leave out my earbuds and enjoy the sound of my skates moving along the ice. Closing my eyes briefly, I let all my senses absorb this moment. Even the echo throughout the arena as people go in and out of doors is a welcome sound.

College is a hard place to find any solitude. And ice time is difficult to come by. I’m soaking it up and really appreciating it when I realize I’m not completely alone.

Rhett Rauthruss, one of the Valley U hockey players, sits in the first row near the tunnel to the boy’s locker room. Leaned back and slumped down in the seat, he’s dressed in a gray T-shirt and black athletic pants instead of the full pads and gear the hockey team usually wears. One skate crossed over the other, eyes closed. The rest of the team is nowhere in sight. I skate around twice more before I stop in front of him.

His dark blond hair falls over one side of his face, and his chest lifts with deep, even breaths. I grab the hockey stick resting near his feet and poke him with it.

Nothing. Maybe he’s dead.

“Are you alive?” I ask.

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