“Other than the fact I cannot stand you? You’re a freshman.”
“You’re four months older than me.” His eyebrows pinch together, frustrated, because God forbid a woman not immediately fall to her knees in his presence.
“You’re. A. Freshman,” I repeat.
He’d never believe any woman not being interested in him. Partially because he is very attractive, but mainly because he’s overconfident as hell. He looks more like a stereotypical rockstar than a basketball player. Tall, black hair, piercing blue eyes and pale skin with complicated and detailed tattoos decorating his arms and back. Sighing, I down the rest of my drink. “I don’t like people who are younger than me.”
“Careful, Princess.” He smothers a laugh with his hand and my eyes narrow. “Your daddy issues are showing.”
“The only issue I have is you.” I want to strangle him, but knowing Mason, he’d probably assume it was foreplay. “But speaking of daddies, how is Director Skinner?”
As arrogant as my arch-nemesis is, he does have one weakness: his dad. Nobody knows that his dad is head of athletics at Maple Hills and he wants to keep it that way, which is why he uses his mom’s maiden name. You’d think both having issues with our dads would help us bond, but Mason and I have never gotten along and it isn’t one of those friendships that will develop over time. I can safely say, I will be patiently waiting for his downfall forever.
“Nice to know I’m the topic of yours and Ryan’s pillow talk.” His signature smirk sinks into a scowl instantly and he reaches for the nearest liquor bottle. “I’m moving into Ry’s room; did he tell you? I won’t even change the code so you know how to get in.”
This kid does not know when to quit. “Aren’t you cute. But seriously, Mason, can you give your dad my number? He’s hot—” He’s not. “—and I want to be handed a position on the basketball team.”
“Oh fuck off, Aurora,” he grunts, slamming the bottle back on the counter and stalking off toward the garden.
“Careful, Princess!” I shout after him. “Your daddy issues are showing.”
Arms wrap around my waist from behind and I’m preparing to start throwing punches until I hear a deep voice I’m very familiar with. “I’m not bailing you out of jail if you kill him.”
“He told me I have daddy issues.” Ryan looks confused as I turn in his arms to face him, like he’s not quite sure where this conversation is going. “It’s only okay when I say it.”
He nods, finally understanding. “Gotcha. What did you say to piss him off?”
“I asked him for his dad’s number so I could be given a spot on the basketball team.”
“Rory . . .” He drags out the “ry,” so I know I’m in trouble. “You know that’s supposed to be a secret. He’s a sensitive little bean beneath that broody bad boy act.”
It isn’t my fault that Mason has a bad relationship with his dad. It doesn’t exactly make him special and I never said the word nepotism. “Well, if it was a secret, why did you tell me?”
Ryan leans down and kisses my forehead tenderly. “Because I know you hate him and I was trying to get into your pants.”
“Hmm,” I muse. “I would have let you in anyway.”
I would let Ryan Rothwell into my pants any day of the week. I have let Ryan Rothwell into my pants many days of the week, in fact. Ryan’s a great guy, which is probably why I’m choosing to face Emilia’s wrath for the sake of seeing him one last time.
My expectations for men are so low they’re in the pits of hell, but Ryan is one of the good ones and our friends-with-benefits situation over the past couple of months has been fun.
He has a bit of a reputation for string-free fun and I firmly believe he should be awarded by the college for his services to women’s happiness during his four years here.
They should erect a statue in his honor.
Maybe I’ll ask Mason’s dad about it.
His finger nudges under my chin, tilting my head up and dragging me from my thoughts. “I’m going to miss you, Roberts.”
A response is stuck in my throat. Something like “I’ll miss you too” or even a simple “thanks” would be enough, but the words won’t come out. I hate that a few affectionate words, a simple gesture of friendship, a sign that the times we’ve spent together meant something to him, is enough to make me spiral.
My and Ryan’s relationship has always been purely physical. Not that he hasn’t tried to make me stay over after hooking up, but hearing he’ll miss me feels good, even if he does have a dozen other women to tell that to.
He sighs, almost like he can hear my racing thoughts, and pulls me into a hug, sinking his face into my hair. “I’m gonna be jealous of the guy who gets to hear what happens in your head when you have that look on your face. Bring him to a game so I can launch a ball at his head.”
“I don’t think either of us needs to worry about that happening.”
He laughs into my hair, still not letting go. “I’m just the stop gap. I’m the guy you fuck right before you meet the love of your life.”
“Statistically, that’s going to happen if you fuck everyone.”
“Trust me, Roberts. I should start a moneyback guarantee scheme. You’ll get your happy ending.”
“God, Ryan. Don’t make me emotional when I’m about to head to a hockey party. You know being sad makes me horny.”
He laughs as we reluctantly untangle and take a step back. “If you say being sad makes you horny two more times, Mason will appear like Beetlejuice.”
I roll my eyes as I search out my nemesis, finding him inconveniencing someone else across the room, out of earshot. “Can you take him with you? I can’t deal with him without you.”
He tucks my hair behind my ear. “You told me you want to change this summer. Maybe you’ll come back from camp and be able to tolerate him. You’ll be more experienced with dealing with children.”
“I said I wanted to change, to grow out of all my toxic self-sabotaging habits. I did not say I would change enough to stop hating Mason.”
“Maybe you should switch out some of those contemporary romance choices for self-help books.”
My eyes narrow. “You complete one English degree and you think you’re qualified to start handing out book recs?”
“You’re right, Roberts. Let me just stay in my lane.”
The goodbye is hanging in the air, but I can’t quite force myself to say it. “You’ll let me know how the draft goes, right?”
Kissing my forehead one last time, Ryan nods. “You bet. Stay out of trouble.”
“Don’t I always?”
“Literally never,” he laughs, “that’s the problem.”
Emilia meets me as I step out of my Uber, sporting the unimpressed scowl I know and love, but I lose her the second we walk through the door of the hockey house and past what appear to be life-size cardboard cut-outs of the hockey team.
We don’t tend to visit these parties despite their campus-wide reputation, due to Emilia’s preference for events that end before midnight and my preference for basketball, but JJ, one of her friends from the LGBTQIA+ society, is heading up north to play hockey professionally and she promised to say bye.
So, naturally, I agreed to tag along because I’m a great friend, but also because she promised me a veggie pizza on the way home later. I am slightly worried that being late is going to mess with her willingness to buy me pizza.
Despite the hordes of people, it feels oddly homely for a college house occupied by hockey players. There are pictures in frames on the walls featuring a group of guys and two girls, couch cushions that don’t look like they’re harboring enough germs to start a biological war and, unless my eyes deceive me, someone has dusted in here.