Ollie stills for a moment, and I wait for him to raise his hands and begin talking, but instead, he turns and walks out the door.
Damn him.
Damn him for looking so good. And damn him for doing what I asked.
It takes a full five minutes before I give up on summoning my courage and hop over to my bed.
I can admit when I need help—as long as it’s not from Ollie—so I pick up my phone and pull up my contacts.
Fallon: On a scale of 1-10, how squeamish are you?
Within thirty seconds, I have my answer.
Liza: -5. Why? What did the boneheads do now?
Fallon: It’s not them. It’s me.
Liza: If you punched Blue in the face, I’ll do your laundry for a week. And if you kicked him in the balls, I’ll do it until you graduate.
Fallon: Haha, not today, but I did step on glass and I’m a solid 167 on the squeamish scale, so…
Liza: I’ll be there in a minute.
Fifteen minutes later, I’m glass-free, all bandaged up, and in awe of my new roommate. Liza DeWalt could teach me a thing or two about being a badass, and I’m a willing student, though I’ll definitely leave the first aid to her capable hands.
She said she’d be happy to return the supplies to Ollie, but I’d rather do it so I can gloat. I may not be as brave as I’d like when it comes to bodily fluids, but I’m resourceful, and that’s got to count for something.
Unfortunately, Ollie’s not in his room, or at least, he’s not answering when I knock. Maybe that’s for the best. The less Ollie and I see of each other, the easier it’s going to be to live in this house.
After dropping the little caddy of medical supplies by his door, I make my way back into the kitchen in search of breakfast. I was hungry when I first woke up, but now I’m starving. I’m prepared to brave the floor this time, thanks to my slides, but I’m unprepared for what I see waiting for me on the counter.
It’s a breakfast tray complete with a stack of waffles, a mug of warm syrup, a cup of coffee, and an empty plate with a post-it that reads “no blueberries, because you hate them and I ate them (again)”. There’s even a flower in a vase. Well, it’s a paper flower in an empty beer can, but my heart defrosts just a little at the sight.
Immediately, I steel myself. Ollie Jablonski may be charming. He may be sweet. He may be a-fucking-dorable sometimes, but that doesn’t mean I like him. My fate where Ollie is concerned was sealed two years ago when I saw him across the room at a party that I begged my brother to let me tag along to.
Our eyes connected. We exchanged flirty glances.
When he found me on the dance floor, our bodies moved together.
We didn’t make any promises. We didn’t even exchange names. When I found an empty bedroom, I figured we could have some fun. I went back to the dance floor to search for him, but he was gone. It took me a few minutes to track him down, but when I did, I found him with his pants around his ankles and some girl’s mouth superglued to his dick.
Ollie Jablonski is a player, and that’s something I need to remember.
But even I have to admit that he makes a damn good breakfast.
11
Ollie
I’m not officially the captain of the hockey team—no one is since Coach won’t let us vote until the end of next week—but my ass is still sitting in an uncomfortable wooden chair at a conference room in the library on a Tuesday afternoon. Every year, the athletic programs and student organizations at Bainbridge host charity events to benefit a worthy cause. Last year’s big school-wide fundraiser was a bachelor auction. This year’s theme is yet to be decided, and that’s what I’m here for.
To be fair, it’s not just me. I’m at the table with about twenty other college students, most of whom are engaged in a heated debate between the merits of a masquerade ball and a silent auction.
In my opinion, they both suck.
The rest of the guys are at the dining hall right now, eating lunch and hanging out. Except for Dutton and Blue, of course. Our new center is an antisocial asshole, and his best friend is loyal to a fault. Things have actually gotten worse since the party, which is hard to believe. Dutton’s been in an even surlier mood than before, andBlue is as cheerful as ever, which just grates on my damn nerves.
When he found out Fallon cut her foot on the glass that scattered all over the kitchen floor, he sent her flowers. Real ones, not the paper kind I hastily made and stuck in a beer can.
