“Because we have an idea and we’re not taking no for an answer,” Ian says.
“Okay,” I say, laughing. “What is it that you need from me? Are you in dire need of Wolf merch? Or do I need to visit Gran and Grandad and sneak off with his cinnamon roll recipe? Honestly, I think he’d give it to me if I asked. I’m pretty sure I’m his favorite.”
“No recipes, please,” Booker says. “I’ll leave all the baking toGrandad. And you don’t need to send me any Bainbridge gear. I have tons.”
“Ok, then what do you need from me? Should I make you some business cards? Perhaps a Slides presentation? Because those are pretty much my talents.”
“You also have excellent handwriting,” Ian pipes up.
“Thanks,” I say, smiling. “So, are there invitations you need me to address? Oh myGod?—"
“No,” Booker cuts in. “No invitations. At least not yet. And the favor is easy. All we need you to do is get on a plane in a few weeks and fly out to Vegas.”
“Are you eloping?”I ask, mostly because picking on my brother is too much fun to resist.
“No,” Booker answers. “No one is getting married. But I am playing in my first AHL preseason game, and I want you there to see it. Mom and Em will still be in Paris for a competition, so it would mean a lot if you could be there.”
“Absolutely,” I answer without hesitation. “Just send me the details and I’ll book a flight. What’s the date?”
“It’s the first weekend in October. And I know you have nothing else important happening then, so…”
Now it’s Booker’s turn to tease me, so I flip him off. “Wait, your first game is the same night as my twenty-first birthday?”
“Technically, my game is on the second, but when we go out for drinks afterward, you can legally order when midnight strikes.”
“How thoughtful of your team to coordinate the schedule so we can toast my twenty-first,” I joke.
“I know, right?” Booker laughs.
We chat for a few more minutes, but I don’t keep them on the phone long because they have such little time left to spend together. And I need to walk across campus to make it to my marketing class.
As I head in the direction of the McLaren building, I can’t help but smile. I’m going to see my brother in lessthan two weeks. My birthday is right around the corner and twenty-one feels like undeniable proof of adulthood. Sophomore year started out a little rough, but things are looking up. I have a great house to live in, some wonderful friends in the hockey girls, and a trip to Vegas in the near future. I can’t complain. And if I happen to revisit a certain fantasy starring one of my roommates every time I lay my head down to sleep, well, so be it.
It could be worse, right?
It turns out things can definitely get worse, or at least, more awkward. It’s been a few days since Ollie and I shared a grilled cheese sandwich after which I couldn’t stop myself from dashing off to my room to take care of the aching need between my thighs because being that close to Ollie—and catching a glimpse of him taking care of his own needs—was more than my resistance could handle.
We all have busy schedules, so even though I share this house with nine other people, I don’t see all of my roommates daily. Mickey and I eat breakfast around the same time, and Liza and I have a psych class together twice a week. Blue’s usually around in the early afternoon, and Dutton only socializes when he’s forced to. The freshmen keep to themselves a lot, unless someone’s making food, and even though Ollie and I usually get home around the same time in the afternoon, I haven’t seen him lately.
But that’s because I’ve been avoiding him.
It’s hard to look at his handsome face without picturing him on his bed, mouthing my name. His eyes were closed, so I know he didn’t see me, but I’ve intentionally made myself scarce because looking at him eye-to-eye would be awkward.
Probably not as awkward as staring straight as his dick, though.
Because that’s what I’m doing right now, and trust me, it’s pretty damn uncomfortable.
Let me back up and explain.
I came home for lunch a little while ago, and I figured I’d take advantage of the gorgeous weather and get some sun by the pool. I threw on my bikini, grabbed a bowl of pretzels, a beach towel, and my phone, and sauntered out here ready to enjoy the afternoon.
And then I saw Ollie.
He was swimming under water when I spotted him, but I’d recognize his muscular form and blond hair anywhere. Yes, I live in a house of hockey hunks, but he’s the hunkiest by far.
I froze with indecision. I could be a coward and run back into the house before he spotted me, or I could be brave and ogle him in his swim trunks.
Ogling was definitely in the lead until I realized I’d also have to talk to him. Would I be able to do that without blurting out the fact that I saw more than I was supposed to when I knocked on his bedroom door a few days ago?
