Her eyes travel to Preston, who skates past us. He didn’t seem to notice either of us, and that’s probably for the best, considering the look on Bex’s face. She’s watched the team play dozens of times, but that was before she stumbled into a very shirtless Preston Parker in the locker room. Now, her perspective on the game and Preston is different. I can see it written all over her face.
From what I can tell, they’re having a scrimmage. One team wears navy jerseys, the other red. A quick squabble ensues where two players fight for possession of the puck. Drake Donovan is the goalie. I probably know every detail of his dick better than him. Most of the girls on campus have seen it at least once. And now, I can’t stop thinking about him or his junk as I watch him defend the net.
He moves so fast, dressed in all that padding and gear. A wall of a man, Drake hulks over every player on the ice. He must be close to seven feet tall, muscles bulging from every place imaginable. Even under his uniform, I can see how well he fills out every speck of fabric attached to his toned body.
From the first time I saw him on campus, my mouth was salivating, begging for a taste. Until I found out he’s a total manwhore. He’s so ridiculously good-looking, with short, dark hair that brushes his forehead, blue eyes that pop against his tanned skin, and tattoos that cover his forearms like artwork carefully designed for his perfect body. I try not to glance in his direction, but he makes it hard not to sneak a peek.
A blur of colored jerseys skates past us before someone takes a shot on the goal that hits the post and bounces to the left of the net. Drake attempts to capture it with his stick, but a red jersey player is faster.
I’m still staring at Drake when Bex presses her hand to the Plexiglas, stumbling over her sneakers.
“We better get out of here before we slobber on ourselves and trip in a puddle of our drool.
She makes a beeline for her dad, who’s talking to a player in the box. As we pass, a few of the players glance in our direction. One waves to us, though I can’t see his face. Bex returns his gesture. I stand there, stunned, like some idiot drunk on hot men.
Coach Bryant pushes open the door that leads to the ice, and Bex hands him the wallet.
Smiling, he takes it from her. “Thanks, honey. You’re a real lifesaver.” His gaze falls from Bex to me. “Hey, I haven’t seen you in a while. How have you been, Taylor?”
I roll my shoulders. “I’ve been around. Busy with school and basketball.”
“Still working on your jump shot?”
I bob my head. “Yep. I got it down pat now.”
He winks at me and then turns to Bex, his gaze intense as he sees her busted lip. “How was practice? You have a nice shiner forming on your cheek and lip. What happened? You look like you went a few rounds with Hopkins.”
I love his reference to Bernard Hopkins, a legendary boxer from Philly. My dad was on the All-Marine Boxing Team back in his day, so I don’t fight like a girl.
Bex laughs at his joke. “Practice was fine. It could have been better. But at least I’ll have a cool battle scar.”
He inspects her face, shaking his head. “I wish you’d be more careful. You can be so rough.”
“Basketball is a rough sport,” she counters. “I’m not some delicate flower, Dad. I can take a punch, or in this case, an elbow.”
Ain’t that the truth?
He sighs. “You were never delicate, that’s for sure. Are you staying until practice is over?”
She shrugs. “I guess we can hang around a little while longer. Not like we have anything better to do.”
Speak for yourself, Bex.
“That’s the spirit.” He slaps Bex on the back like she’s one of his players. “I could use another set of eyes on the team. This game will be tough for us.”
“I wouldn’t miss it.”
“Me neither,” I add.
He angles his body toward the ice, biting his cheek as if nervous about his first game as the head coach.
Bex seems to note the quick change in her dad’s behavior and taps him on the shoulder. “Everything will work out. I have a good feeling about the game.”
He grins. “Me, too.”
Like me, Bex is tall. She’s maybe three inches shorter than her dad, and their eyes are nearly level. I assume she inherited her blonde hair and blue eyes from her mom, but she has his height and athleticism.
We’re both five feet ten inches. Our height makes dating much harder. A lot of guys look at us as if we’re less feminine because of our size.
