“I’m a hockey player. Nobody’s out of my league.”
“Truth.” I chuckle. That was the first thing I taught Hunter when I took him under my wing at the start of the season. But even so, the brunette has the sexiest body I’ve ever seen. A woman like that can have anyone in this bar, and I’m not sure freshman Hunter makes the cut, even if he is wearing a Briar hockey jacket.
Across the room, the chick we’re admiring suddenly turns around. Just like that, my appreciation fizzles into disgust. “Oh hell no. Stay away from that one, kid. She’s toxic.”
“She doesn’t look toxic to me,” Hunter drawls.
Na?ve bastard. Luckily, I know better. Sabrina James is undeniably gorgeous, but I’d pour hot wax on my balls before I hooked up with her. Well, before I hooked up with her again.
Yup. Been there, done that, got the T-shirt.
Someone jostles me from behind, and I turn to find Tucker approaching. His black-and-silver jacket is soaking wet, and so is his hair.
“Je-sus. It’s coming down hard out there.” He does a full-body shake like a dog who’s just scampered out of a lake.
“Hey Fido, go dry off somewhere else,” I order as cold droplets splash my face and hit me in the eye.
Hunter doesn’t even notice that Tucker is dripping water all over our shoes. He’s too busy ogling Sabrina.
Tuck follows the freshman’s gaze. “Nice,” he remarks, then turns to grin at me. “I take it you already called dibs?”
I blanch. “Not a chance. That’s Sabrina, bro. She already busts my balls in class on a daily basis. I don’t need her busting them outside of school.”
Sabrina and I are both Poli Sci majors on the pre-law path, so we share way too many classes for my peace of mind. We both applied to Harvard Law too, which I’m not particularly happy about. The thought of spending two more years sitting in the same lecture halls as her makes suicide sound pretty appealing.
“Wait, that’s Sabrina?” Tucker says in surprise. “I see her around campus all the time, but I didn’t realize she’s the one you’re always bitching about.”
“One and the same.”
His southern drawl rears up. “Damn shame. She sure is fine to look at.”
“What’s the deal with you two?” Hunter pipes up. “She your ex?”
I recoil again. “Fuck no.”
“So I won’t be breaking the bro code if I make a move?”
“You want to make a move? Go nuts. But I’m warning you, that bitch will eat you alive.”
Sabrina’s head turns sharply toward us. She probably has some kind of internal radar that goes off every time someone calls her a bitch. I bet it goes off a lot.
As our gazes lock, she smirks at me, then flips up her middle finger before turning to talk to her friend.
Hunter groans. “Well, there goes that. She won’t give me the time of day now that she saw me with you. What’d you do to her, anyway?”
“Absolutely nothing,” I say darkly.
“Bullshit. A chick doesn’t murder a guy with her eyes like that unless he screwed up bad. Did you hook up with her?”
Tucker snorts. “What do you think, kid? I mean, look at her.”
“Looks can be deceiving,” I mutter.
My roommate cocks his head in challenge. “So you didn’t sleep with her?”
A sigh slides out. “No, I did. But it was a long time ago. I’m pretty sure hook-ups have expiration dates. Like after three years have gone by, it doesn’t count anymore.”
The guys laugh. “Let me guess,” Tucker says. “You didn’t call her afterward.”
“No,” I admit. “But in my defense, it’s hard to call a chick when one, she doesn’t give you her number, and two, when you don’t remember it happened.”
Hunter’s jaw falls open. “How could you not remember that?” He’s damn near salivating as he checks out Sabrina again.
“We were both wasted. Trust me, she didn’t remember much either.”
“So that’s why she hates you?” Hunter presses.
I wave a hand. “Naah. The beef started over something else. Which I’m not going to fucking talk about right now, because Jesus Christ, it’s Saturday night and we should be partying.”
Tucker chuckles. “I’m gonna grab a beer. You guys need a refill?”
“I’m good,” Hunter says.
As Tuck heads for the counter, I pull out my phone and check the time. It’s nine-thirty. I scroll through my contacts while Hunter starts talking hockey to me again. I think I still have Allie’s number from when she was planning Hannah’s birthday this spring. She’d sent about a hundred mass texts outlining every mundane detail of the party.
Yup, it’s still in my phone. I saved her contact info as Wellsy’s Blonde Friend. I should probably change that to Bondage Girl.
I type a quick message.
Me: U make it back to the dorm ok?
It’s a dumb question, because she left our place this morning, so of course she made it back. Still, I’m surprised when she answers right away.
Her: Yep. Here now.