Page 18 of Kitty Season (Green Line Ice #2)

L ike Basse was listening in on me and Quinny earlier, we’re now the ones with our ears glued to an inanimate object. Barely holding herself back, Quinn’s body is as stiff as the timber we’re leaning against, those green eyes of hers glistening.

“What did you two think you were doing training days after a concussion? And on an empty stomach, too.” I know I got it wrong when I mistook Professor Plum for Claire Petterson, but this time it’s her for sure.

Her mixed accent is as much of an identifying marker as a fingerprint on a corpse.

“Do I need to tie you to the bed to keep you from further injuring yourself?”

“The bed?” Quinn’s vibrating now. “Notice how she said the bed, not your bed?”

“What’s the difference?”

Disgusted, she drops her hands to her hips, mouth agape. “What do you mean? The bed indicates a vested interest or loose ownership.”

“Hmm, does it though?”

“Yes. It does. And what kind of teacher casually mentions tying up her students?”

“The best kind?” For that I earn an elbow in the stomach.

It’s possible more violence was coming but the door handle starts jiggling and Quinn and I make a dive for the sofa, me slapping my feet up onto the same coffee table that Quinn picks a copy of The New England Hockey Journal off.

Brady freezes the second he sees us, those damn rosy cheeks blooming.

“Oh. You guys are here?”

“Where else would I be? It’s my place now. Remember?” The wink I add is not remotely required, or suited to the moment, but results in a deepening of the blush I can’t get enough of.

“How could I forget?” he replies flatly, watching Quinn who only has eyes, and words for the hot teacher.

“Two visits in one day seems a bit … excessive, wouldn’t you say, Professor?”

“Not at all,” she snaps, rolling her index finger and over her thumb. “I’m just doing my job.”

“Really?” Stepping closer, Quinn doubles down. “Your job? Since when did a sports psych professor’s role description include wildly inappropriate bondage references to students while inspecting their bedrooms?”

“One, that’s not what you heard, and two, since Dean Mankato appointed me as mental health consultant for the Bears.

” This seems to be news to Quinn and Brady, both look like a sideshow clown.

“I was in Brady’s room to make sure he took Aspirin, and rested.

Heaven knows what would have happened if I hadn’t spotted him while finalizing paperwork.

Any intervention on my part was due to your father’s negligence. ”

Your father is said with such vibrant animosity it could glow in the dark. Maybe that causes Quinn’s uncharacteristic back down. Or maybe it’s the gut-churning awkwardness oozing from Skip’s every pore.

Feeding off others, but especially his, unease is kind of my thing. I live for it … normally. I couldn’t give two shits about Professor McHotty’s discomfort, but for some reason, witnessing Quinn and Brady wallowing in its depths doesn’t sit right.

“Anyone else hungry?” Purely for a distraction, I meander to the refrigerator I know contains nothing remotely edible. “Just as I thought. Nada. Dammit I’m so hungry I could eat a horse. Hey, maybe we could order some. I hear it tastes like chicken.”

The live action adaptation of Roald Dahl’s Matilda was my favorite movie as a kid. Odd choice for a hockey-obsessed carny, but Matilda and her red bow taught me a valuable lesson. There were other kids with asshole parents that didn’t give two shits about them.

I wasn’t alone.

On each re-watch I dreamed that one day, I would wake with magical powers, wreak revenge on my birth mom and dad, then find my own bespectacled teacher, with a cute cottage, to take me in.

Lucky for my folks, they ditched me before I got the chance to come into my powers.

Lucky for me I was taken in by not one but two women, two times as sweet as Miss Honey.

Two further examples of feminine strength, and maybe stubbornness, have been on display as I eat my large pepperoni pizza.

Countering each other’s moves, opinions and offers of support, Quinn and Plum have turned waiting hand and foot on Brady into an Olympic level sport.

I guess that’s why Plum looks so exhausted when she finally makes her exit, waving over her shoulder then disappearing into the stuffy hallway.

Naturally, it’s Skip seeing her out. Skip, who lingers by the door long after her svelte frame has passed through it.

“Thank Christ,” Quinn mutters louder than necessary. “The woman may be intelligent enough to be a professor before she’s thirty, but a kindergartner could have read the room better.”

Falling forward, Brady sighs, his head coming to rest on the chipboard door with a dull thunk.

Oh yeah. He knows he’s screwed.

There’s no one here to save him now.

No one to act as a buffer.

No one to keep us decent.

Nowhere to run.

Sure, he can go hide in his room, but once he is, he’ll be forced to hear the moans, sighs and purrs he absolutely knows I will absolutely draw from Quinn …

just for him. Hell, maybe I’ll bend the rules and let her sleepover tonight.

Before I can make my move on Kitty, she makes hers. Just not on me.

Rising to her feet, she approaches her favorite goalie from behind. “You know her little visits are inappropriate, don’t you, Brady?”

“I don’t want to hear it, Quinn.”

“That’s not answering the question.”

“You’re right it’s not, because it’s a question you have no right to ask.”

“Poh! Wahh?” Quinn huffs. “I’m your friend. I have every right to be concerned.”

“You’re not though,” Brady counters. “You can’t be. You told me so after we almost kissed. Remember?”

Almost kissed?

Well. Well. Well.

Brady turns, eyes alight with a mix of fear and trepidation.

His gaze flickers between me and Quinn, whose body is as rigid as my dick will be if this keeps heating up.

“If not, let me remind you. I believe your exact words were, ‘We need to take a break from our friendship for a while. I need to take a break.’ You were right to say it, and I’m right to remind you of it. ”

Brushing past Quinn with his head down, he makes it only three steps before he comes to a sudden halt. Eyes still glued to his feet. “Holy shit. That night, you said something about me seeing someone. Did you … you meant, Faith, didn’t you?”

Quinn huffs again and crosses her arms across her chest. “Don’t you mean Professor Plum?”

“No, I mean Faith. Bloody hell, Quinn. Do you honestly think either of us are dumb? Or that someone like her would ever be interested enough in someone like me, to do something like that? Something that could get her fired, and me sent home?”

“What do you mean someone like you? You’re the best. She should be so lucky.”

Man, I wish I had some popcorn.

“Jesus, Quinn. You’re giving me whiplash.” With that, he’s off, once more smashing his shoulder into the wall as he barrels into his room, slamming the door behind him. Exasperated, Quinn plops beside me on the sofa then rests her head on my shoulder.

“Can you believe how defensive he is?”

“I can. I also believe you’re jealous as fuck. Gotta say, you look hot in green, Kitty.”

There’s never been a time where calling out a strong—some may say temperamental—woman’s behavior has ever worked out well for me, and I suspect this is no different.

“What? What? I am not jealous. That’s ridiculous. Why would I be jealous? According to Brady there’s nothing to be jealous of. Jealous. That’s ridiculous.”

“Hmm, so you said.”

Quinn ignores my cynical eye roll and continues. “Brady is my friend. I’m just concerned. Besides, I’m with you. Not him.”

“Technically you’re not with me, remember? This is a hook up deal. You could be with Brady if you wanted, which it sounds like you might, since you almost kissed him.”

She almost kissed him.

With that thought, a twinge of jealousy, at least my own version of it, tugs at something in my chest. Which is stupid.

I’m setting her up to move on, I remind myself for the millionth time.

Breaking up with her for her own good, because in the long, and hopefully, happy tale of Quinn Harris’s life, I will be regarded as nothing more than that hot college guy who fucked her like no other. Just a hockey boy blip on her radar.

Someone like Brady, someone safe, with prospects, who will be able to give her what she deserves. The type her dad would be proud to have on his daughter’s arm. He’s her future.

And she wants him. Her attitude towards Plum is proof of that.

Hmm.

I click my tongue, mulling over the possibilities like an evil genius. Someone bring me a cat to stroke.

Maybe this is what I’ve been waiting for.

I could start it off as a three-way hook up deal.

I could train him. Teach him exactly what she needs.

Not only would Brady satisfy her seemingly bottomless pit of want, but maybe provide a little fun for me too.

Then slowly I can extract myself from the situation leaving them for their cookie-cutter happily ever after.

It’s perfect.

Slightly nauseating and crushing should I have a heart, but perfect.

Yup. That’s what I’ll do.

I am going to set up my girl and my enemy.

Fuck I hate my life.

If Quinn notices my suddenly sour, somber mood, she doesn’t let on. “Yeah, well, all of that’s irrelevant. We’re talking about Brady and his over-sexed teacher … stalker that’s working well outside of her wheelhouse.”

“Oh, you mean the teacher your dad hired to take care of the mental health of his team? Sheesh, I’d hate to stir the pot, but I’d say she’s doing a wheely thorough hand job.

Hands on job, I mean.” I earn my second elbow in the ribs, and it’s that which convinces me I’ve forced myself to be jovial enough.

The tugging inside my rib cage has intensified to the point of pain, bringing a wave of fatigue with it.

Instantly exhausted, I’m ready for this—no longer fun—conversation to be over.

In truth I’d love to curl up in bed with Kitty, my latest comic and mug of cocoa, but that’s not good for either of us.

“Now, if all you’re going to do is bitch about Plum and bruise me, I’d say it’s time to call it a night. ”

“Troye.” Quinn sighs, as I stand and sulk to my room.

“Not now, Kit. You can let yourself out.”