1
Dakota
He’s ridiculous.
I’m getting back from my morning run when I spot him. The apartment complex is just starting to wake up. It’s the last week of the spring semester, and between finals and the nightly end-of-year parties, everyone is exhausted and ready for summer break. Me included.
I slow my run to a jog as I cut through the parking lot of my apartment. It’s hard to tear my eyes away from him, but I do as I navigate around cars and people. I pass a couple of fellow Valley U students heading out to their cars; backpacks slung over their shoulders, coffee in hand, eyes still bleary.
“Morning,” I chirp and receive mumbled greetings back.
At the sidewalk in front of my building, I let my gaze return to the walk of shame in progress from his first-floor apartment.
Johnny Maverick is shirtless, athletic shorts hanging low on trim hips, tattoos covering his chest and arms. Ridiculous, but undeniably hot.
The girls, because yes, there are two of them, cling to him like their rumpled dresses from last night hug their curves—one blonde, the other black, both stunning.
I bite back a smile at the three of them. Since he scored a hat trick in the final game of the Frozen Four, Maverick has been the center of attention at Valley U, and by the look on his face, he’s very much enjoying it.
I hang back as he says goodbye to his guests.
“Call us later?” the blonde asks after she kisses him on the cheek.
He says something I don’t catch, and the girls walk hand in hand away from his front door. His gaze lifts as he stares after them. When he spots me watching him, a sheepish grin pulls at his lips.
“Good morning, Kota,” he says, sounding far more awake than the people I tried to offer the same sentiment to in the parking lot.
I laugh. Yeah, I’ll bet he’s having a good morning. I wait until his guests are out of earshot. “Have fun last night?”
“Always. Missed you, though. I was looking for you.”
I ignore that remark. I see how much he missed me. Hey, I’m not blaming him. Johnny and I have a complicated relationship. Complicated but easily summed up as he hits on me, and I turn him down. Because clearly, he isn’t that serious.
“You’re up early,” he says, and his gaze rakes over my sweaty body. “Out for a run?”
I nod, feeling the sweat pool at my lower back. Despite having just rolled out of bed, he looks as handsome as always. His dark hair is messy, but his hazel eyes are bright, and his smile playful.
His French bulldog, Charli, races out of his apartment and circles my feet.
I lean down to stroke her soft fur and scratch behind her ears. “Hey, pretty girl. Did you have to avert your eyes all night long?”
Mav chuckles and runs a hand through his hair. The movement makes his abs contract and his bicep pop.
I scoop her up to distract myself from checking out her owner. She’s small but heavy. Her coat is white with splotches of black. She’s adorable. Charli licks my face, and I laugh and hand her over to her owner. Up this close, I can smell him, or rather the girls he was with.
“You smell like sex and vanilla.”
“Vanilla.” He snaps his fingers. “I was trying to place the smell all night. She smelled like vanilla!”
“Which one?” I glance back at the parking lot, but they’ve already disappeared from view.
“Blonde.”
“Does Blondie have a name?”
He squints one eye and smirks. “Do you really care if she does?”
“Good point.” I’m still standing close, and Charli rests a paw on my arm, looking for attention, which I absolutely give to her.
“Maybe you should let Charli stay with me when you’re entertaining.”
“Or maybe we cut the other girls, and you could stay at my place and keep us both company.”
I roll my eyes. See what I mean? Not serious. “I can’t believe any line that comes out of your mouth actually works.”
“I don’t usually have to run lines. I mean, look at me. All this could be yours.” He grins as if he knows how absurd he sounds.
“At least shower off the last girl… I’m sorry, girls, before you hit on me.”
He smiles at me, which always makes me feel a little off balance. Not just because he’s totally hot. Maverick has this way about him that, despite all reasoning, he makes people feel important and seen. Or he does me, anyway.
Our attention is drawn upstairs as the apartment door above his opens, and my best friend and roommate, Reagan, and her boyfriend Adam tumble out. Arms around her waist, Adam walks her backward toward our apartment across the breezeway. He presses her against it, devouring her mouth.
“I gotta go,” he says but keeps kissing her. Mav and I are frozen, staring at them. The air crackles with the chemistry between them. A flight of stairs separates us, but I can feel how desperate they are for each other.
“Just ten more minutes.” Reagan opens our door, and they disappear into it, slamming the door behind them.
Mav’s deep chuckle sounds beside me. “Want to come in for a few minutes?”
“Not really,” I mumble but follow him.
“What is it with everyone this week? They’re…” I pause, searching for words.
Mav drops Charli in the living room and continues into the kitchen. “Fucking like the world is ending?”
“Yeah, that.” I scan his living area for evidence from last night. I don’t want to sit anywhere that he had sex in the past twenty-four hours.
“It’s the end of an era. People are graduating, moving on…” He holds out a Powerade and a bottle of water. I take the first, and he motions toward the couch.
“I think I’d rather sit outside.”
He cackles like he knows what I’m thinking. If he did, he’d be repulsed with himself and not smiling like a guy… well, like a guy who just had a threesome. To be clear, I’m not anti-threesomes. I’m not really anti-anything when it comes to sex. I’m just so over all of it right now. All of my friends are deliriously in love, and I feel like I’m the last single person. I might not be ready for my own happily ever after, but can’t a girl find a decent guy to date?
The last few guys I’ve met think foreplay is sexting, and dating is meeting up when it’s convenient for them to get drunk and then go back to their place.
“How far did you run this morning?” he asks, holding the door open for me.
I push past him and sit on the second step leading up to my apartment. He falls into the narrow space beside me.
“Just two miles. I have a tour at the Hall of Fame this morning. Some hockey guy named Toby Russo.”
“Oh, right. Coach is salivating over that kid.”
“Not you?”
He takes a long drink from the bottle in his hands and then leans forward so that his elbows rest on his thighs. “He’ll be an asset wherever he goes, but something about him rubs me the wrong way.”
“You’ve met him?”
“Yeah, he was at the Frozen Four. He came up to me after our first game and gave me some tips.”
I snort. “He gave you tips? Seriously?” Maverick is one of the best college hockey players. I’m not just saying that because we’re friends, there’s a list.