Page 15 of Kitty Season (Green Line Ice #2)

I ’ve jinxed myself. Why the hell did I toss that troll?

“Troye Becker. I swear every time I see you, you’re even more handsome than the last. How are you doing? How are Fifi and Delphi?”

It’s like a bloody weird-ass high school reunion in here.

Coach. Claire. Troye. The popular kids are reunited.

The dork, alone looking on from the corner with his juice box.

I try to insert myself into the conversations.

Try to get their attention by huffing and sighing to the point of hyperventilation, but it’s not till I pick up then drop my sports science textbook back onto my school issued coffee table, that anyone takes notice.

“Oh, hi. So I’m not invisible? Great. Maybe someone can tell me what the hell is going on?”

Of course, Becker just goes right back to pretending I don’t exist, while doing everything he can to antagonize me.

This time talking like a wanker with an accent somewhere between Dickens and Steve Irwin.

“Great natural light by these windows, although, are they due north? Why, golly yes. I fear they are. It must get terribly hot here in the afternoons. My plants won’t do well. No, not at all.”

Claire looks equally as confused as me. Coach looks as pained as my mum when she consumes lactose. It’s him that’s the first to speak directly to me. “Brady, you may not recognize Mr. Becker without his ass on your chest, but you’re about to know him a whole lot better.”

Troye takes two strides towards me and slings his arm up and over my shoulder. “I take my eggs over easy and my coffee extra black.”

“What’s going on?” That’s Claire, asking the question I can’t ‘cause I’m too busy having an internal fucking breakdown. “Troye, are you?—”

“Am I shacking up with the big fella here? The newest member of the dork-sorry, I mean Bears Brigade, ROOOAAARRR.” He actually roars. It’s annoyingly authentic. “You bet your little pink head I am.”

“No!” I yell at the top of my lungs as I struggle to untangle myself from his grasp. “No way. You can’t be. How can that be? It can’t. It can’t. Can it?” I look to Coach, pleading with my saddest puppy eyes for this to be another one of Becker’s sick jokes. But he refuses to meet my gaze.

“We’ve been lucky enough to secure Mr. Becker for the remainder of the season. I’m sure you’ll agree there is a hole on the the offensive lineup since Petterson left?—”

“And I’m going to plug it,” Troye whispers in my ear, though it feels like he’s blowing directly onto my dick.

“Oh my God! This is amazing,” squeals Claire, as she runs towards us and effortlessly does what I failed to do, get Becker off me. “Invite your moms down for a game, and they can stay with me and Kel. It’ll be Lesbi-palooza!”

While they celebrate, I pull Coach aside, determined to sort shit out. “You can’t be serious? Troye Becker? You want Troye Becker on my team? In my house?”

“It’s not your team, or your house,” Coach reminds me. “It’s my team and a BC dorm, the only one not full. You’ve been lucky to have it to yourself since you arrived, but this is happening, so you better get used to it.”

“But.”

“But nothing. You don’t need to be privy to all the details to know we can’t make it to the semis if we don’t win. I for one will do everything I can to make that happen, and as a senior member of the team, you should, too.”

Troye’s body is still under Claire’s command as she dances him around, but his face. His gaze. That is one hundred percent focused on me. He’s loving this, feeding off his host’s uncomfortableness like a blood-sucking parasite.

“Yep, you’re right. Of course, Coach. I’ll do whatever you need. Whatever the team needs.”

“What are your feelings on IKEA, ‘cause I’m all over it and that empty wall, the one by the front door, is just screaming for a row of Billie Bookshelves.

“Are you in to collectibles? You seem like the type.

“Hungry? I’m thinking Taco Bell.”

“Jesus Christ, Becker,” I snap after what feels like decades of constant jabbering about pointless, boring shit. “Do you ever shut the hell up?”

“I’m far quieter when Quinn’s around.” He smirks, leaning inappropriately close for the hundredth time since he moved in. “My mouth is usually otherwise engaged.”

I’m successful in pushing him away at least now, and he laughs as he resettles himself on the sofa right beside me, the feel of his thigh against mine, unnaturally warm.

I stare at the empty space his ass could be filling, and will him to move. No shock, it doesn’t work. “Don’t talk about her like that. She deserves better.”

“And you would just love to be the one to give it to her, wouldn’t ya, Skip?

” Yes. I think to myself. “She’s going to have kittens when she finds out I’m one of her daddy’s boys now.

That extra hint of rebellion should really heat things up.

But don’t worry, Skip, she loves it when I pin her down and cover her mouth.

All you should hear are muffled pleas for more. ”

“Rack off, Becker.” I want to storm away and hide in my room, but the half chub I’m suddenly sporting has me glued to my seat.

Claire insisted there was nothing abnormal about these …

my … inclinations. But this? Getting hard over a knee bumping mine.

A dirty, disrespectful mouth and the thought of that mouth roaming Quinn’s naked body with nothing but a cheap, drywall barrier between us, very much makes me believe otherwise.

Like he can read my mind, my roomie’s eyes dart to my crotch. “Speaking of the little lady. She’s been trying to reach me all day. Maybe it’s time I reply to her messages. Invite her over.”

Ignoring him, I lean forward, attempting to reach for the remote on the coffee table without dislodging the cock-blocking cushion from my lap. I secure it eventually and switch to ESPN. The two New York teams are facing off tonight. Maybe I can catch the pregame and block the fucker out.

The bright lights of MSG are like a sensory toy, instantly bringing a sense of calm to my frazzled nerves. For about five seconds.

“Kitty. Been busy. Come over.” Each over articulated word grates my nerves like nails down a chalkboard.

“Are you freaking kidding me? You’re speaking what you type?”

“Yes, it helps me spell better. Got a problem with that?” He doesn’t wait for me to answer, which is great ‘cause I have no idea what to say.

“Where was I up to? Oh, right. Come over to my new digs, and I promise to make you purr, dot, dot, dot, twice. No sleepovers though. You know the rules. Full stop, and send.”

“Jesus Christ. This is my life now.”

The weight of Troye’s arm burdens my neck and shoulders again.

“Our life, Skip. You, me and Quinn. One big happy family. Ready to eat?” With that, he drops me a wink, presses his obscenely large palm into my leg as he rises, and heads to the kitchen, leaving me to sit and once again, contemplate how the fuck I got here.

Troye

This is so much freaking fun I can’t take it, but I also will for as long as I can, because the second Quinn finds out I’m on her dad’s team, my ass is grass.

That’s what you want, dick, I remind myself again. Her father’s thinly-veiled contempt and dislike of me may be put to the side when it comes to hockey, but where his little princess is concerned? Well now, that’s a whole other game.

“Holy Captain Boomerang, Skip. Ever heard of taste buds? There is nothing. Not one snackable thing in this fridge. Lean meats. Vegetables. Pre-cut fruit. And this? Kombucha? What the hell is Kombucha?” I crack open the bottle, take a sip, and almost faint. “Dude, this smells like fucking ass!”

The bottle is snatched out of my hand before I realize Brady is behind me.

Big boy can sneak. “It’s fermented black tea and it promotes good gut health.

” He then finishes the bottle in one go, that prominent Adam’s apple tormenting me with each gulp.

It’s abnormally hot to see him drinking from the same bottle as me and I break into a sweat like I’m sitting directly on the sun’s surface rather than standing in front of an open refrigerator.

His eyes are watering, lips stretching around the glass. Again, scorching hot.

I can’t help but giggle though as he gets to the very last drop and has to fight with all his might not to cringe.

When he finally lowers the bottle, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, decorum faltering to allow a squinting wince to sneak by.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he says, a slight shiver rolling through him.

Fuck. I’m staring. “Like what?”

“Like you’ve never seen a man swallow before.”

I burst into laughter, expecting him to maybe do the same, or at least proudly smirk. But Brady just takes me in with a deadly serious expression like he has no clue of what he’s just said.

Like he’s being completely straight.

Unlike me.

I just don’t get him. Dude watches me like a hawk. Sent me a shirtless pic of himself in bed, for fuck’s sake. Who does that unless they’re … wait.

Holy shit.

He was flipping the bird. I thought that was just a foil for the sin shot, but did he not even think about the hot as fuck bod behind it?

I’ve looked at that damn photo a hundred times and more often than not, the raised finger is the last thing on my mind.

I’m too busy focusing on the part of me that’s raising a tent in my pants.

Then there’s the blushing. The dude blushes constantly.

“Around Quinn,” I mutter to myself. “Only when he’s around Quinn.

” He did glow up around Noah, too, but now that I think about it, Quinn was probably always there with Noah’s girl, Lotte.

And just like that it hits me. All along I thought Brady and I were dancing the same dance. Sure, I’d taken the lead but there was no doubt in my mind that Brady knew the steps.

Was I wrong? Is this … am I waltzing a lame ass delusional solo?

I’m in two minds as he shakes his head and brushes past me, deliberately slamming his shoulder into mine as he goes, the point of contact sparking like two flint rocks.

For me at least. Brady looks pissed, but still cool as a cucumber. “If you’ve finished talking to yourself, I can show you your room.”

Leaving the kitchenette, he wanders through the open-plan lounge containing just one sofa, a coffee table and a small T.V.

unit. Three doors lay before him, but he stops at the door on his right, hand tugging on the lever handle as he looks over his shoulder.

“This is the bigger of the two and has an en-suite. There’s a shared bathroom too, I only use that. ”

“Why wouldn’t you take the bigger room?”

“Body’s too big, shower too small. I either smack my head on the head, or got a crick in my neck from bending. The main bathroom is more my size.”

Great, now I’m picturing rivulets of water beading down naked Brady’s peachy cheeks as they press up against the glass.

That pretty thought fizzles as he pushes then swings the squeaky hinged door open, revealing a well above standard room containing a desk, and two barren bookshelves.

Tucked in the far corner beneath a window overlooking the park, sits a double bed that’s empty too, barring a disturbingly stained mattress.

Despite that, it’s a nice view. Nice room.

“Cramped or not, I still don’t get why you wouldn’t take this room and just walk to the main bathroom. It’s like, fifty steps? What’s that? Ten in Gigantor?” Brady says nothing, just scowls and nudges me out of the way.

Stepping back into the lounge, he grabs my bag and case. The latter is haphazardly tossed onto the mattress but I grab for his hand, my fingers unable to semi-circle his wrist. Dude’s sneaky and thick.

“Don’t throw that.” I snatch the one thing I truly care about and clutch it to my chest,

“Looks like a bunch of magazines. What’s in there? Your Women’s Weekly’s? Your porn collection?”

“Woman’s Weekly?”

“Women’s Weekly.” He corrects with a nod that’s not cute at all.

“Whatever. I don’t know what that menstrual cycle inducing shit you’re reading is, and who the fuck reads skin mags anymore?”

“Jeez, mate. Don’t get your knickers in a knot. They’re just magazines.”

“No, mate. They’re not just magazines. They’re comi—” I force myself to shut the hell up, Chris and Dan know about my penchant for the illustrated arts, but here is no way Brady Fucking Basse, or anyone for that matter, can know what’s in this bag.

“Forget it Skip.” I place my palm between his pecs and push him out the door.

No easy task. “Yell out when Quinn gets here, otherwise stay out of my room.”