Page 26 of Kitty Season (Green Line Ice #2)

A ll night I’ve watched Quinn watch the door, just waiting for that asshole to arrive.

Pretending to be happy while she’s swanned around playing the perfect host, umpired idiots wrestling, and laughed while lounging in the hammock.

But to someone who’s spent a lot of his free time cataloging her expressions, it’s clear to see how devastated she was feeling.

Selfishness had me praying this would be it, the long awaited nail in the Quinn/Troye coffin. But with one kiss on the cheek, one megawatt smile—the one reserved for him, the one he doesn’t deserve—my hope was the only thing buried six feet under.

They’re dancing together now, her head tossed back, hair cascading down her spine, shaking with laughter as he whispers in her ear.

God I hate him.

I hate how much she wants him.

I hate how much I want them both.

That is a reality I only came to tonight.

I was so angry when I thought he wasn’t coming.

Maybe angrier than I’ve ever been at anybody.

But I was fucking gutted too. Any spare time I’ve had since Quinn’s whispered yes , has been spent researching various …

well I guess you’d have to call them porn platforms. I figured since I don’t know what I’m doing, I should study and solo practice some of the expected moves.

It’s been very enlightening. Terrifying, slightly humiliating, but enlightening.

The way they’re holding onto each other now though, as the music slows to a sappy ballad and their bodies sway as one, yeah, no one else is sliding between them.

Or on top, beside, or underneath.

“What did that dance floor ever do to you, young man?” I turn to find Faith beside me, looking hotter than any teacher should in a fitted red dress and matching lips. “You’re giving it the frowning of a life time.”

“Why do people keep saying that to me?”

“Why do you keep frowning?”

“Why are you here?”

We both narrow our eyes. Neither wanting to be the first to concede. I win.

“Fine, since I’m clearly more mature, Coach Harris invited me as a way to get to know the team outside of the rink. He thinks observing them in their natural habitats will help me understand team bonding rituals.” She points to the pile of soaked hockey players climbing from the pool. “Now you.”

Purposely not frowning, I point to Quinn.

“Ahh. I see.” Plum silently shifts on her feet, glancing back and forth between me and the lovebirds.

I’m starting to think that’s all she has to contribute, and am slightly disappointed no words of wisdom are coming my way, when she bites her lip, furrows her brows, then nods.

“You know, she’s very protective of you too.

Without knowing why, I’ve feared she might claw my eyes out on several occasions.

And yes, she’s dancing with him, but she watches you an awful lot.

As for him.” She nods to Troye, whose hands are molding Quinn’s ass cheeks with little regard to who sees.

“For someone he spends a peculiar amount of time taunting and claiming to hate, he speaks very fondly of you.”

I gape at her. Gape. “You’re kidding me? Him? Him? He speaks fondly of me ? You speak to him often, do you?”

“No. Only when I come across him sitting at a train stop, looking more sorrowful than a young man on the way to his girlfriend’s party ever should.”

I try to seem disinterested, but my eyebrows aren’t listening and reach my hairline before I can stop them.

“I’m not sure if I’ve told you this, most likely you’ve figured it out for yourself, but I’m not good with people.

Reading situations, and things seemingly obvious to others is often a difficulty for me.

My little trip with Mr. Becker and his refreshing bluntness, helped me see that I’ve crossed the line with you, Brady.

It was done with your best interests at heart, but it was done all the same, and I’m very sorry for that. ”

This is a turn I was not expecting. I reach for her hand, then pull back. “Hey, I don’t know what he said, but you don’t have anything to be sorry for. I think you’re great.”

Plum smiles, the first true one I’ve seen on her, and yeah, she thinks I’m an idiot too.

“Thank you. I think you’re great, also. But it’s an issue for me, and if I’m honest it’s why I became a lecturer rather than a treating psychologist.”

“Because you don’t like people?”

“No, it’s not that I don’t like people, rather I become too attached and struggle to maintain boundaries.

It’s somewhat of a family curse. Maybe I’ll tell you about it someday.

” She exhales slowly. “Anyway, my point is this. If you want either Miss Harris, Mr. Becker, or both of them, don’t give up.

You’ll be doing them and yourself a disservice. ”

A little flustered, I rub my hand down my face. “Wow, that … ahh, that must have been some car ride.”

“Yes, it was rather … enlightening.”

I slide my gaze from Plum, to Troye and Quinn at the very moment they look our way. Quickly skating over Faith, their eyes meet mine and lock. Quinn’s growing smile is breathtaking, Troye’s ever present smirk/wink combo is arrogant, and I’m enamored, unable, perhaps unwilling, to look away.

As they tend to do, the boys from the team win over the girls from Quinn’s class, and leave en masse.

Coach lost his mind and went to bed when he spotted Quinn and Troye dancing.

Noah and Lotte depart not long after, but honestly, they’d spent so much time in the pool house, or the bathroom, or behind a palm they may as well not have been here.

So that leaves Cory, who the loved-up duo forgot to take home, Professor Plum, Mrs. Harris. And me.

Quinn and Troye are here somewhere too, but I lost sight of them half an hour ago, which is surprising since I’ve charted their every move like Rapunzel—and Lotte for that matter—do stars on their walls.

In my bid to track them down I’ve become trapped in conversation with Mrs. Coach.

It was the accent that caught her attention, but the legendary drop bears that are holding it.

I’ve tried to slip away a few times when she paused to breathe, but with Plum and Cubby ignoring my telepathic pleas for help and engrossed in their own conversation, there’s no one else to talk to anyway.

Maybe I should just make a run for it. I have been getting good at that lately.

“How are you feeling after that nasty knock?” Mrs. Harris inquires, leaning around me to study the back of my head as though she could see the concussion. “David tells me you bounced back impressively.”

I wish that was the case. Not a day has passed where vertigo hasn’t had me at the point of chucking at least twice. More if you count when waking up and falling asleep, or any form of lying down. Hmm. That’s probably not good.

“Of course he has.” Troye’s elbow knocks into mine firmly enough that I need to take a step to keep from falling. There’s that vertigo again. “I just gave you a little love tap, didn’t I Skippy?”

The perfect reply remains elusive because beside Dickwad, is a swollen lipped, mussed hair debauched Quinn. And is that … a hickey in mirror image location to Troye’s swallow tattoos? With no discretion at all, I spin and tilt and, yep. Matching hickies.

How nauseating.

My noticing is noticed and Quinn slaps her hand over top of the sizable welt. Unsurprisingly, her boyfriend harbors no shame. “Want to add one of your own, big fella?”

“Troye.” All flirty and cute, Quinn giggles, latches on to his arm, then mine. As a threesome we stumble towards the door, halting when Faith declares her night is over.

“Would you like a ride, Cory?”

“I bet he would,” Troye mutters, ensuring Cubby blushes as hard as I would if the situation was reversed. Polite thank you's and farewells are exchanged, and the instant Cubby and Plum are out the door Quinn slams it behind them and nods toward the yard.

“Okay, darling. I might turn in.” Mrs. Harris plants a final happy birthday kiss on her daughter’s cheek, and heads to the stairs. “The cleaners will be here at seven, so you three have fun, but do be a good girl and try not to get too messy.”

Snorting so hard he almost chokes, Troye stares at the ceiling, while my stomach rolls, slowly forming a painful knot.

It’s just the three of us.

Just like I thought I wanted.

Definitely what my dick did.

Looking like an absolute wet dream, Quinn sinks her teeth into her bottom lip and I go from half-mast to not so half.

I’m not sure what Troye’s up to, ‘cause I’m too scared to look. I can sense him though, edging closer.

Shit.

This might actually happen.

What the hell was I thinking?

This is not me.

I don’t do things like this.

I need to get the hell out.

“Oop, Uber’s here. Night.” I did not book an Uber. I’m not even holding my phone.

Launching herself at me is Quinn. “Don’t go yet, we need to do stuff first!” she blurts in her deliciously awkward manner. “You haven’t even seen inside the pool house.”

“Ah, yeah. Pretty sure no one could with Lotte and Noah sexing it up in there.” Troye steps closer till I feel the heat of his chest on mine then stills, eyeing me cautiously as though he’s waiting for me to run.

I accidentally inhale, and God damn, he smells good.

Fresh and apple-y clean like the air at home just before it rains.

When I fail to move, a long, muscular arm lined with thick, ropey veins I do not notice, grabs my tie just below the knot and tugs.

“We might need to hose it down before we go in, Skip. Then again, what’s the point?

” Relaxing his grip, he lets his fingers slide down the fabric then tosses it over my shoulder. “We’re only going to mess it up again.”

Gulp.

“You’re pretty confident for someone who …

uh … who was … um.” I have no idea what I was about to say.

Partly because I’m an idiot. Partly because this close up, I can see a fraction of what might be doubt lingering in Troye’s eyes.

Partly because every single thought in my head died a thousand deaths because Troye’s taken Quinn’s hand and is leading her outside.

Those fucking shorts are staring me in the face, and now she’s looking over her shoulder, twisting just enough for me to see her crooked finger as she beckons me.

I go of course. Telling myself nothing will happen. This is probably his idea of a sick joke. I’ll walk in there and be blinded by the flashing lights of the entire PR team’s cameras, everyone will laugh and Quinn will think I’m a fool.

And I am, I guess.

What sort of dickwad walks into an ambush, knowing it’s an ambush, and is still sporting a semi?

I’m so lost in my head that I don’t catch on to my surroundings until the click and slide of a glass door alerts me that I’m at the threshold of the world’s largest pool house.

Troye steps inside first, and turns to pull Quinn with him, the sheer curtains providing only a modicum of privacy, clinging to her body as she went.

I get it curtains. I get it.

Far larger than my dorm room and the one beside it, the space is open, flash and pristine.

I’m still lingering by the door but from here I can see a leather lounge-suite, white kitchen cabinets and those fancy chandelier things you could spend a whole day dusting.

They, like the rest of the normal ceiling lights, are switched off, meaning those strung around the pool are the one and only light source.

“Can I get you a drink, Brady?”

“I’ll get it.” Troye glances my way, and smirks. Like I didn’t notice his scent, or his arm veins, I don’t notice how those damn lights highlight the multitudes of hazel in his eyes.

Looking more sorrowful than a young man on the way to his girlfriend’s party ever should.

That’s how Faith described finding him. The contrast between that and this, strutting around like he owns the place, is startling.

A good party can bolster moods sure, but I can’t help but wonder if this cockiness and bravado is all an act.

“Do you have Kumbotka, Kitty? That’s his favorite. ”

“It’s not all I drink, you know, and it’s pronounced kom-BOO-cha, idiot. Not that hard.”

After retrieving three sodas from the fridge, he wanders back to the sofa, drops and manspreads. His eyes drop to my mouth, then blatantly head south. “Dunno. Looks pretty hard from here.” I feel myself blush, and can only hope it’s concealed by the dim lighting.

“No need to be embarrassed, Skip. We all know what we’re here for. Now, if you’re still up for it, which I can see you are, come … here.” Smug as always, he taps the empty seat beside him, and I decide I hate puns. “It’s time to give Kitty her gift.”