Page 18

eleven

So, my girl is messy. I think I can deal with that.

It’ll be difficult when we’re living in my studio apartment or an RV, but it’s something we can argue about and then passionately make up with sex.

I’ll hire a housekeeper so we can live in peace about it.

But then I’d miss making her angry enough to fuck her pussy into oblivion.

My dick stretches in my jeans at the thought, and I readjust myself to give it some space as I glance over the mess she left after running off to class.

The great thing about Pippi having a disaster of a room is how easy it is to put a camera in her air vent without her noticing. When I check the footage on my phone, it gives me a shot of the entrance and floor area, so then I can see exactly who comes to her door.

After installing that one, I use her desk chair to climb up to her ceiling fixture and replace the bulb with a rotating camera.

It’s a great gadget that has dual purposes as a light source and a way I can keep track of her movements while she’s in her bedroom.

Looking at the feed, I’d get a clear overhead view of her playing with herself in bed. Perfect.

My morning lectures are over, so I have some time to kill before hockey practice.

Pippi’s class schedule lays on her desk.

I snap a photo of it. On her nightstand is a container of gum.

I open it, lick each one, then drop them back in so she’ll have some of my DNA in her mouth whenever she chews a piece.

Her bathroom caddy holds her vanilla and caramel scented perfume. I grab a clean shirt of hers, spray some on there, then shove it inside my hoodie to take with me. Along with another pair of fragrant panties from her laundry bag. I should probably buy her more since I already have three pairs.

I pull out my phone, place an order with an upscale lingerie store online, adding not just panties, but some other goodies for me to see her in, and have it shipped straight here.

As my final trick, I leap onto her tiny twin bed, rip off my shirt, and take a selfie while snuggled up to her pillow, with her black velvet rabbit stuffed animal tucked under an arm. Giving it a little kiss, I scroll to Pixtagram to post it to my stories, but my breath halts in my chest.

What the fuck? Did she take down our pictures? Why would she do that?

Wait. She blocked me? My pulse races as I try to find her account, then see it with an incognito browser. She deleted our pictures?

Nah…nope. This is not happening. Flames of fury rise along my back as I sit on the edge of the mattress, but my rage quickly transforms into a slick smile.

Game on, my little partner-in-crime.

Her Harley is easily distinguishable in the parking lot of the Sigma house, and as I slip out the side door with its shitty security box, I stroll straight over to it and set to work.

In three minutes, it’s got a GPS locator under the back wheel well that’s nigh impossible to see. Perfect. It only soothes my irritation at her rejection slightly, but it’s enough.

Instead, I decide to take out my frustration on the ice.

Except, my brain won’t shut off while I’m at practice. I’m constantly thinking about her Pixtagram page and what Pippi may be doing at this very moment. My phone, my lifeline to her, feels too far away, sitting in my locker.

Distracted and focused on just hurrying through practice, so I can go home and do what I need to do to find my pink cheeks, I miss a few easy passes on the drills.

“Cardell! What the fuck are you doing?” Landon yells as I almost trip over the cones set up for us to skate around.

“Shit.”

He flies up to me and bumps his helmet against mine. “That was a straight pass. You’re acting like you’re not here.”

“You alright there, Cardell?” Jax asks, and I nod while giving Lan a shove in the shoulder.

I glance over at Coach Bell, who’s observing me carefully, as I tell the team, “It’s just an off day. What? I’m not allowed to be tired?”

Jax is a good guy, always concerned about us. I know it’s because he really wants to get drafted, but I also think he genuinely cares. Pulling me toward the boards, he murmurs, “Last night hit us all hard. Still recovering?”

“I guess so.”

“We gotta have you in top shape for the first game in a couple of weeks. Hey, if you need anything, let me know.”

“Thanks.”

A few of the other guys eye us, and I try to put my girl out of my mind so I don’t call more attention to the situation.

After finishing drills, we scrimmage, and I make one slapshot on our goalie, who gives me a little salute in respect.

My muscles are worn out and ragged by the time we finish. I’ve been busy training, and…with other diversions. Plus, between how much I’m lifting in the weight room and the cross-training program I started, I can’t consume enough calories. If only I could eat Pippi’s pussy all day, I’d be satisfied.

Fuck. Now I’ve got a full erection.

“Cardell! See me in my office after,” Coach Bell calls out to me from the hall as I reach the locker room.

“You got it, Coach!”

Grumbling all the way to the showers, I hurriedly clean myself up, dress, and grab a protein bar from my locker while tousling my wet hair between my fingers. When I approach, his door is cracked, and he waves me toward the blue-padded chair in front of his desk.

“Come in and have a seat.” He waits for me to settle in, then strokes his chin once.

Twice. “Cardell, you’re one of the best players I’ve had the privilege to coach.

This is why I knew I made the right decision to make you captain your second year when you came back from that…

injury .” Sitting back in his chair, he eyes me skeptically, as if he knows my secret.

I mimic his posture and keep my mouth shut.

Clearing his throat, he continues. “I understand you couldn’t devote the time to the draft and the sport last year with your fraternity presidency obligations, but I still appreciated how much you gave the team with all of that going on.

But it seems something happened between finals then and now.

You’re good enough to go pro, honestly. That’s talent that shouldn’t be wasted. It doesn’t come around every day.”

I’m not sure what his point is, so I sit silently without the words I need to say, other than, “Thank you, sir.”

He leans forward and scans my frame. “You’re getting distracted more often. I wonder if your heart isn’t here, and it’s been pulled somewhere else. Ryan, son, are you okay ?”

“Yes. I’m fine.” My eyes widen with surprise at how quickly the automatic response crosses my lips.

I’m fine. Everything’s fine. I’m okay. Nothing to worry about.

If I confess my struggle to someone, I fear they’ll tell my father.

Who could make my future even bleaker than it already appears to be.

Not only that, but the board, the elders, could assign me to do something worse.

Like put me on the Board of Loyalty and Societal Appreciation Control (the BALSAC).

Which is a long-winded way of saying “snitches with clipboards.” Or they could just kill me, which is starting to not look like such a bad idea…

Except I gotta live for my pink cheeks.

I shift in my seat, getting a feel for my phone in my pocket, dying to leave here so I can do what I want. “I’m sorry, Coach. You know how things go around here. I’m going to be CEO of Cardell Enterprises and won’t have time for hockey. Even got my appointed woman, too.”

He doesn’t look like he buys my attempted enthusiasm, so I follow with the truth.

“I don’t want to play professional hockey.

In another world, at a different time, maybe I’d work in the NHL for scouting or commentating, but not playing.

It’s just not something I’m interested in pursuing as my career, though I enjoy the game. ”

Wiping a hand over his bald head, he gives a curt grin.

“Thank you for telling me the truth. Because if you wanted to go pro, you know that your father, me, and the president of the university would fight to make that happen. We’d tell— We would change the orders for you.

But if you truly don’t want it, then so be it. ”

“I don’t.” As I stand, I pause and ask, “Do you think it’s possible for you all to request that I become a scout?”

His eyes dart toward the desk as he bumbles words, already sounding like a negative. “I’m not sure they would allow that…”

I hate that it makes me so fucking sad to hear. So I hurry out the door and to the athletic training center cafeteria to grab whatever they have left to eat before closing time.

It feels amazing to step through the door of my place, the smell familiar and comforting. Immediately upon entering, I put the food cartons on the table, pull out my laptop, and check the program I’ve been running all day.

The stresses of tonight melt away as I take my first bite of steak and see what’s on the screen. A fucking match. Bingo!

The software pings—password cracked her email. She really used her middle name and high school graduation year? Fucking adorable.

I enter it and hit the jackpot. Before she’s alerted, I send myself log-in data for every account she owns.

Within half an hour, I’ve got her university information, her bank charges, so I know what she spends money on and, most importantly, her text messages, which I hurriedly download to a second phone. I’ll get to read any she sends, too.

Using another monitor, I pull up her social media on one screen, her emails and Congo shopping history on the smaller one, and her texts open on my tablet.

It’s like an online diary of my pink cheeks right here in front of me. My eyes don’t know where to feast first.

In an hour, I’ve delved so much into her life, I almost forget to bring up her camera feed from her room and do that on my phone, tracking her location as she crosses campus while anticipation stirs inside me. I’ll get to see her again in just a moment.

As I pant like a dog waiting for her to arrive, I realize that I’ve never felt this way in my life. There’s no one else I’ve cared enough to do this with, other than trying to sabotage someone or for business purposes.

I catch a glimpse of myself in my floor-length mirror, an inescapable smile plastered on my face, a dreamy look in my eyes… This is the happiest I’ve been in a very long time.

A knock interrupts my moment, and I turn my phone over so whoever it is doesn’t see the footage. Probably Lan coming over to apologize for being a dick or to annoy me.

But when I open the door, Elina stands there with a sorrowful look on her face and a big pan of something under foil. “Hi. I brought you your favorite!”

All the joy I’d been feeling gets sucked into the atmosphere while I stare at my future wife. She doesn’t wait for me to respond and dips under my arm, aiming for the kitchen as I shut the door behind her. “What’s my favorite, E?”

Busy carving up whatever it is, she grabs a plate and hands it to me. “My lasagna, duh!”

Maybe once, when we were teenagers, I told her I liked it because she was my girlfriend and I didn’t want to be mean, but she’s made it for me too many times since then. It’s too sweet. And bland. I set the dish down behind her.

As I get ready to tell her not to bring it over, her eyes become as round as saucers as she sidesteps me and creeps closer to the kitchen table. Damn it.

“Oh…” is all she says as she sees the screens of Pippi’s face on Pixtagram, pictures of me in her room from this morning, and a video of Pippi from a year ago dancing solo in a seductive manner replaying over and over in the corner of the screen.

Hurriedly, I slam the laptop closed, but she’s already seen everything.

Except the cameras and trackers. Both of us freeze and stare at each other.

What’s most surprising to me? I really don’t give a shit about her feelings.

Unless she tries to take them out on Pippi…

Then I’ll remind her what the Cardells are capable of.

“She’s just—” I say but get interrupted.

“Don’t.”

Standing, I cross my arms and shrug. “I told you, E. You’ve got your friends, and I’ve got mine. I think it’s a good arrangement.”

“Until the Culling?”

With a snort, I smile. “Nah. I’ll probably just give you to one of those old men after. Watch their floppy sacks hit your chin.”

Her eyes narrow at me. “We were fifteen , Ryan. I made a little mistake.”

She’s baiting me into the tired argument we’ve had for years. “Elina, aside from the fact that you slept with my best friend back then, can you honestly say we have anything in common? Other than attending the same school, you and I are vastly different people.”

She has the nerve to spring tears to her eyes.

“You want her that much?” With a perfectly painted fingernail, she points to my computer screen behind me.

“I’ll be okay if she joins us in bed. You want to watch her and I together, is that it?

A threesome?” Taking two steps, she presses her palms against my chest. “Will that make you happy?”

It’s not just her pleading that turns my stomach; it’s the vision of having to share anything about Pippi that has my whole body tensing with rage.

I stare at Elina for so long that she wanders away through the front door, and when I lock it behind her, I lean my forehead on the metal frame. Eyes heating with emotion, I envision the future prescribed to me. The one I don’t want and never did.

“I’m not sure I’ll ever be happy.”