“You’re still staring.”
I sigh heavily. “I just can’t figure her out.”
“I don’t think she wants you to, man.” Mitch pats my shoulder. “Just let her be. We can’t be overprotective forever.”
“Yeah,” I say distractedly because I don’t mean it.
Her parents are counting on me to protect her. They made it clear that it was the reason they wanted her moving in here. I don’t think they’d enjoy knowing that I’m the one she needs protecting from.
Chapter Eight
Rocky
“I love your name.”
“Thank you.” I smile up at Brian.
“I mean, when you first told me what it was, I almost didn’t believe you, and you’re so gorgeous, I wasn’t sure it fit, but it does.”
“Thanks.” I frown. “I guess?”
“It’s a compliment.” He chuckles lightly, reaching for my hand. “So what are your plans for the rest of the night?”
“I don’t really have any.”
“Hm. You live here, right?”
“Yep.” My face warms as his thumb draws circles along mine.
“Why don’t you show me your room?”
“Um.” I pull my hand from his and look around. “I don’t think it’s a good night for that. There’s a lot of people and a lot of noise.”
“Which is why going to your room would be better.”
“For what exactly?” I ask in a near whisper, meeting his blue eyes.
“For this.” He leans in and kisses me.
It’s a soft kiss, his lips tentative on mine until I open my mouth for his tongue to slide in. I reach out and grab his hair as the kiss deepens, and suddenly the music stops, the lights turn on, people groan and complain all around us, and we pull away.
“That was . . . ”
“Party’s over,” Maverick yells. “Unless your name is Colson or Rocky, kindly get the fuck out of our house.”
My eyes widen.
“I guess I better get going.” Brian steps into me again, crowding the stool I’m sitting on.
“Yeah, I guess so.” I swallow.
“We still on for that date?”
“Yep.” I smile.
“Friday at six?”
“Can we make it seven?” I scrunch my nose. “We’re playing a scrimmage on Friday and those always run late.”
“Seven-thirty then.”
“Perfect.”
He kisses me again.
“Out,” Maverick yells. “Out, out, out. GET THE FUCK OUT.”
We pull away quickly. I look over at Maverick, wide-eyed. He’s staring right at me with a furious expression on his face. What the hell is wrong with him?
“He obviously isn’t getting laid tonight,” Brian comments.
“Apparently not.” I keep looking at Maverick, who’s still watching me. “See you Friday then.”
“See you Friday.” Brian walks away.
I stay where I am for another two seconds before walking to my room. I gather my things quickly and shower. The guys let me have the master suite since it’s the only one with a bathroom and they thought it would be weird if we all shared one. When they said that, I laughed it off and told them they were crazy, but I’m so glad they thought of that because they weren’t wrong. After I’m dressed in my pajamas—an oversized UNC soccer shirt and cotton shorts—I exit the bathroom, turn off the lights, and sigh into my pillow. The exhaustion of the day finally catching up and sinking into my bones as I shut my eyes.
Chapter Nine
Maverick
Colson pushes his shoulder into mine as we fight for the puck. I nudge him harder and continue to stick-handle it and shoot it toward the goal. Russell easily blocks it and hits it back in our direction. This time, Colson gets in front of me and takes it, handling it to the back of the line where I meet him so we can start over.
“So.” He exhales heavily. “That party was something before you cut it short.”
“That party was lit.” Reagan turns around and nods. “Gina says she wants you to throw one every week.”
“Fat chance.” I scowl underneath my helmet. “Unless Gina and her sorority sisters are going to help clean up the mess you left behind.”
“We were guests,” Reagan says.
I roll my eyes. My mother would definitely agree with him. Even when my brothers and I were little, she always made us pick up all of our toys after our friends left, despite their mothers wanting them to help us. Mom always said, if you invite people over, they’re supposed to be taking a break, not contributing to your chores. This is why I opt to go to parties instead of hosting them myself. Colson and I were up till four in the morning making sure the house was picked up.
“You should’ve asked Rocky to help you,” Reagan adds. “But according to Brian, she wasn’t very happy about the party, to begin with.”
I set my jaw and choose not to respond. My first instinct is to scream, “Fuck Brian,” and that would be completely fucked up, especially since Brian is the nice guy on the team. The one breaking up fights at bars and encouraging us when we’re losing games. I stand by what I said to Rocky. He’s not her type, but that may not be a bad thing. Her type kind of sucks. They’ve all been nice enough, but they haven’t treated her the way she deserves to be treated. Maybe Brian can change that.