Page 37
Story: From Now On (Holt Hockey #3)
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
HUNTER
A distant door slams. “Eve! You home?”
I roll on my back and rub at my eyes. Beside me, Eve stirs.
“Eve?” a voice—Harlow’s—calls again.
Eve yawns, covering her mouth with one hand. “Yeah! One sec,” she shouts.
She rolls toward me, tucking both hands under her cheek. “We fell asleep.”
“Yeah,” I say, scrubbing my face with one palm.
Not surprising. I just came harder than I ever have in my life.
When I suggested going bareback to Jemma, it was because some high school buddies were talking about how much better sex felt without a condom. Honestly, I’m not sure I noticed much of a difference. It felt good, but it always did.
With Eve, it was incomparable. Not just physically, although feeling her pussy without a latex barrier had me worried I wasn’t going to last one stroke, but because of the level of intimacy she trusted me with.
She smiles. “You wore me out.”
I chuckle. “You wore me out. I haven’t napped since I was a little kid. Everyone else would pass out on the way home after away games, and I’d be awake with the coaches.”
“Sean would sleep?”
It’s the first time Eve has mentioned my brother since she found out he existed. And I appreciate the way she does it, letting me reminisce about Sean without having to talk about his struggles.
“Yeah, he could fall asleep whenever, wherever. I was always jealous of that.”
She smiles again. “Do you want to stay for dinner?”
“I’m supposed to get burritos with Conor and Aidan at…” I crane my neck to see the clock on her dresser. “Five minutes ago. I should go.”
That explains why my phone keeps buzzing. Surprised it didn’t wake me up before Harlow did.
I sit up, running my hands through my hair.
“Shit.” Eve sits up too.
I glance over at her, alarmed.
“I didn’t finish your hair.”
I laugh, relieved. “I didn’t mind.”
“You can’t leave it like that. Get dressed. It won’t take long.”
“Uh-huh.” This is basically exactly how my last haircut—which ended with us back in her bed—started.
Eve’s busy pulling clothes on, so I stretch and stand too.
“I’m making pasta,” Harlow shouts. “Want some?”
“Yes, please!” Eve calls back.
I walk over to the pile of my clothes. I pull on my pants, then reach down to pick up my shirt. Beneath it, Eve’s sketchbook is lying open on the floor.
I stare at it. “What’s this?”
“What’s what—oh.” She stops next to me, rolling the waistband of her sweatpants. “I told you that you were my type.”
She’s acting casual, but her cheeks are pink. She’s embarrassed.
I’m…stunned.
I reach down to pick up the sketchbook, studying it more closely.
The resemblance is uncanny. Every detail of the interior of my car is exact. It’s like I’m staring at a photo of myself driving.
“I know we weren’t…anything, so maybe it’s weird. But, in my defense, it was draw you or draw the highway, so?—”
“I love it, Eve. Can I keep it?”
A wrinkle appears between her eyes. “Um, sure.”
I swipe a hand through my hair so I can keep staring at it. Aside from a silly caricature at a state fair, no one has ever drawn me before.
It feels a lot more intimate than snapping a photograph. I trace the pencil strokes that created this likeness to me, feeling honored. Art is an important part of Eve’s world. Her taking the time to sketch me—to include me in that part in some way—feels special.
“Sit,” she tells me, nodding toward her desk chair. “I have to fix your hair.”
That distracts me from the drawing.
“ Fix it?”
I haven’t looked in the mirror since she started cutting earlier. I won’t be mad if she snipped a section too short, but I will have to figure out a time to see a barber before the team dinner on Saturday night.
She smirks. “Finish it. The front just needs a trim.”
I release a subtle sigh of relief.
Not subtle enough, because Eve smacks my shoulder before picking up the comb and scissors again. “I didn’t mess up your hair!”
“I didn’t say you did. But I really don’t have time, Eve, I’ve got to go.”
Conor and Aidan will understand my tardiness. If they don’t, I’ll remind them how often they’ve gotten “delayed” in the past few months. But I’m normally on time, so they’re probably worried—and hungry.
“It won’t take long,” she tells me, picking up the towel that got knocked to the floor during sex and tucking it back into my T-shirt.
“It’s already taken an hour.”
She blushes, and it’s beautiful. “Don’t distract me this time.”
“You sat in my lap,” I remind her, taking a seat. I leave the drawing propped on my knee, so I can keep looking at it.
Eve rolls her eyes before she starts snipping again. I stay silent and still, both so I can’t be accused of distracting and so I end up with an even cut.
A few minutes later, she steps back and tilts her head. Then nods. “Okay, you’re good.” She picks the makeup mirror off her desk and hands it to me.
My haircut looks the same, just an inch shorter. Perfectly straight and even.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Eve smiles before walking over to the bed and grabbing my Holt Hockey hoodie. I think she’s making sure I don’t forget it, but she yanks it over her head instead.
It never occurred to me that having a girl wear my clothes would be sexy. In high school, varsity players on the football team were each assigned a cheerleader. The tradition was they’d wear their player’s jersey at school on game days. Even though I was dating one of them, I always thought the tradition was a little weird. Maybe because that was when things with Sean were getting really bad and everything else seemed superficial in comparison.
But Eve? Wearing my sweatshirt? It affects me a hell of a lot more than her lip-biting.
“I was wearing that,” I say as she saunters back toward me.
“Sorry,” she says, not sounding remorseful at all.
I shake my head before grasping the hoodie’s drawstrings and pulling her in for a kiss. “That’s my favorite sweatshirt. It still has the fleece lining.”
She smiles. “I noticed. It smells like you too. I really like it.”
I realize I’m never going to see this sweatshirt again—unless Eve is wearing it. But I play along. “If I let you keep it, what are you going to give me?”
“What do you want?” Eve whispers.
“I want?—”
“Eve?”
We both startle at the sound of Harlow’s voice. It’s close—coming directly from the other side of the door.
Eve reaches for the door handle. “Yeah?”
“Everything okay? You usually—oh.” The door swings open.
“Hey, Harlow,” I say.
She smiles. Glances at Eve, focusing on the sweatshirt she’s wearing. Her smile widens. “Hey, guys. Sorry to interrupt. There wasn’t a sock on the doorknob.”
Eve snorts.
She also flushes a brilliant shade of red.
“I’ll text you later,” I tell Eve.
I give her a quick peck—no tongue because Harlow is still standing and beaming at us—and smile when I feel her lips curve up against mine.
“See ya, Harlow,” I say before heading down the hallway toward the front door.
“Bye, Hunter,” she calls after me.
Before I’m out of earshot, I hear Harlow tell Eve, “Nice sweatshirt.”
Conor and Aidan are—predictably—pissed.
I jogged the whole way home from Eve’s, and neither of them appears to appreciate the effort.
To be fair, I’m twenty-five minutes late.
“ Finally ,” Hart grumbles.
“My stomach ate itself half an hour ago,” Phillips informs me.
“Sorry. I got distracted.”
Aidan squints at me. “There’s something different about you.”
I nod. “Eve cut my hair.”
“No, that’s not it. It’s…” He snaps his fingers. “You lost your punctuality.”
Conor laughs.
“You’re an asshole,” I say. “I take back my apology. And I’m sitting shotgun.”
Aidan grumbles about the lack of foot room in the back seat the whole walk to Conor’s car.
“So, where were you?” he asks as he reverses out of our driveway.
“At Eve’s. Getting a haircut.” Among other things.
Conor scowls. “Are you kidding me? We could have picked you up there, and I could have seen Harlow.”
“And my knees wouldn’t be under my chin right now,” Aidan pipes in with from the back.
“I didn’t think of that. I fell asleep and lost track of time.”
“You fell asleep during sex?” Aidan sounds horrified.
“No,” I correct quickly. “It was after.”
“How long after? That doesn’t say much about your stamina, Morgan.”
“My stamina? I’m not—my stamina is fine.”
Aidan whistles. “ Fine ? Yikes.”
Conor is silently shaking with laughter in the driver’s seat.
“I can’t believe I’m explaining this to you, but it was after the third round, okay? My stamina is fucking fantastic.”
“Speaking of, where’s your grad school thingy?”
“ Speaking of ? How is that a speaking of?” I question.
“I don’t know. We were just talking about you and I thought of it. You never stuck anything on the fridge.”
I shake my head, torn between exasperation and amusement. I spend a lot of time in that state around Aidan.
“I was waiting until I picked a school.”
“And?”
“I’m going to Penn.”
It’s the first time I’ve said that aloud so definitively. It sounds right. And it feels amazing to have made a decision.
“Congrats, man,” Conor says. “That’s an awesome school.”
“Penn’s in Philadelphia, right?” Aidan asks.
“Yeah,” I confirm.
“Sweet. I love cheesesteaks.”
“You love all food,” Conor corrects.
“Well, my stomach knows it was supposed to be eating a burrito by now, so yeah.”
Conor parks outside of our favorite Mexican restaurant, and we all pile out of the car.
Before I can even shut my car door, Aidan’s pulling me in for a hug and pounding my back. “I’m proud of you, Morgan. All those hours in the library paid off. And, you got the girl.”
I told Conor and Aidan about meeting Eve freshman year fully expecting them to tease me about it for the foreseeable future. But they surprised me. Phillips said he knew I was a secret romantic. Hart said he clocked my interest in Eve as soon as I put soy milk in the grocery cart.
“Thanks, Phillips.”
“Try to work on the whole tardiness thing though, ’kay?”
I roll my eyes and shove him away. “Take your own advice. I was late once . You’re always ten minutes behind.”
“Going to have to side with Morgan on this one,” Conor says, rounding the front of his car and walking toward us.
Aidan rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, Captain.”
I sling my arms around my best friends’ shoulders and steer them toward the restaurant.
Table of Contents
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- Page 37 (Reading here)
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