Page 9

Chapter Nine

Trent

D rake approaches my right and slaps a hand on my shoulder. “Where did Tuck go? I’ve been looking for him for the past hour.”

I glance over my shoulder at the corner booth where the guys from Delta Sig sell dick-shaped taffies to raise money for testicular cancer. The sign above their booth reads, We go balls deep , which matches the personalities of the men in the fraternity.

Tucker and I are practically honorary frat brothers, though neither of us has ever thought of pledging. It’s not like we would have time with our hockey schedules. Plus, all their drinking at the chapter house would land us in trouble with the Athletic Commission.

I point at the Delta Sig booth, and Drake follows my finger. Tucker is pounding an unmarked bottle with Romeo and Professor. I can’t remember their real names. Most of the guys go by a nickname given to them when they were new members.

Tucker shouldn’t be over there with them, not with Dean Whittaker walking around the carnival. His punishment will become permanent if he doesn’t get his act together.

“What’s up with Tuck lately?” Drake asks me.

“He’s not taking the suspension well.”

I walk alongside him toward the Kisses for Cancer booth on the opposite side of the Quad.

“It’s like something snapped inside him,” I continue. “I don’t get it. I’ve been trying to pull him out of this funk, but he’s getting worse.”

Drake shoves his hands into his jeans pockets, his eyes on the crowd before us. “Tuck was a mess last weekend. I was almost embarrassed for him. Last night wasn’t any better. He’s been partying over at Delta Sig. He doesn’t care if he plays hockey anymore.”

Tucker and I have always been closer to Drake than the other guys in our house. His father, Carter Donovan, is my dad’s best friend and one of the few people he trusts. We spent a lot of time at each other’s houses when we were kids, went to the same schools, and played on the same teams.

Our fathers made sure we were best friends. Drake is like a brother to us. I can talk to him about anything.

“Yeah, I see that.” Drake shakes his head. “I tried talking to him earlier, but he said he was fine, and I had nothing to worry about.”

“Same for me,” I admit.

“Maybe we need to stage an intervention at the house.”

I cock my head at him. “He’s not a drug addict.”

“No, but he’s partying too hard this early into our season. He needs to save it for after we win the Frozen Four again.”

Losing playing time has taught me a valuable lesson. For the longest time, I thought we were invincible. We got away with murder, our father’s connections, and enough money to settle the issue every time.

“I’ll ask Parker to talk to him,” I offer. “He has a way of getting into Tuck’s head.”

“If he would listen to anyone, it’s you,” Drake shoots back.

“He just needs to blow off some steam.”

“He looked like shit at practice. All the drinking is fucking with his game. I thought he would fall flat on his face during the shooting drills.”

I nod in agreement. “Yeah, his game could use some work.”

As we approach the Kisses for Cancer booth, I stop dead when I spot Jemma. She’s standing inside the kissing booth I helped build. Four other girls stand next to her, all wearing short dresses. The girls look terrified of kissing strangers for money.

Jemma fidgets nervously with the seam of her dress. The garment does little to cover her delicious body, and I wish she would tug a little harder and rip the damn thing off. Her huge, perky tits pop out of the top, her nipples hard and visible through the thin fabric.

I lick my lips and remove my wallet from my back pocket. “You want in on this?” I ask Drake.

He dangles a twenty-dollar bill in front of me. “Hell, yeah.”

Drake fixes his gaze on the sexy-as-fuck raven-haired girl next to Jemma. She has the face of a model, her complexion flawless, her body toned. I’m not the type to pay for sex, but I’ll hand over my wallet to kiss Jemma again.

I run a hand through my hair and push it off my forehead.

Jemma locks eyes with me, studying my face.

She watches my every move with curiosity.

Abby Gale, the president of Kappa Delta, asks us to form five single-file lines, splitting the guys up based on who we want to kiss.

Drake is next to me, dead set on kissing the dark-haired chick with nice tits and legs that seem to go on for days.

“No tongue,” Abby tells us. “And don’t be pervs.” The arrogance in her voice and the condescension in it grates on my nerves.

I’m the first in line, the first to kiss Jemma. Or at least that’s what I hope. For all I know, she’s kissed a hundred guys by now. So, I better make this one memorable.

As I approach the booth, Jemma’s face illuminates, her smile so wide it draws more attention to her green eyes.

She presses her palms to the wooden ledge before her and leans forward, her tits almost falling out of her top.

I stare down at her body, my mind wandering to dirty places.

My cock perks up at the thought of bending her over.

Jemma waits for me, and I meet her halfway until our mouths are inches apart. Her breath on my lips sends a chill down my arms. I hope I can follow the rules and give her a quick peck on the lips for her sake.

The corners of her mouth turn up into a wicked grin. “Did you come to claim your kiss?”

“You bet your sweet ass I did.” I tilt my head to the side, admiring every inch of her sexy body. “And what a sweet ass it is.”

She giggles, and then I brush my lips against hers.

Our connection is electric. A simple touch creates so much need I don’t care about the rules.

I grab the back of her head, pulling her closer to me, consuming her as I slip my tongue into her mouth.

At first, she hesitates, but then she goes with it.

Her tongue works in harmony with mine. The passion between us is so intense everyone in the Quad can feel it, too.

But our kiss is short-lived, broken up by Abby clearing her throat loudly next to us.

Jemma stares at Abby in horror. “I didn’t mean to…” Her voice trembles and then dies off in her throat.

“It’s not your fault,” Abby says to Jemma before turning her angry gaze on me. “I told you no tongue, and you didn’t listen.” She folds her arms across her chest, a permanent scowl on her face. For a beautiful girl, she doesn’t smile much. “You need to go.”

There’s no point in arguing with her.

I look at Jemma one last time, committing her to memory, and then wink. She blushes, the heat going straight to her cheeks. Long after I walk away, I’m still thinking about that kiss, planning my next move.