Page 35 of Practice Makes Perfect (Pine Barren University #2)

twenty-one

LINC

I’m practically sprinting away from Em’s dorm.

Or, more accurately, I’m walking at an extremely brisk pace that borders on jogging while trying to maintain the appearance of someone who is definitely not fleeing a situation—like being naked in bed with a hot chick who desperately wants to please me…

My heart hammers against my ribs as I put more distance between myself and what just happened in her bedroom. The image of her—face flushed, lips parted, eyes locked on mine as she came—is burned into my retinas. Every time I blink, there she is.

Fuck .

The night air is sharp enough to bite, a small mercy as it cools my overheated skin.

I didn’t even grab my jacket when I bolted out of her place like it was on fire.

And it might as well have been, with how hot things got, but I know that if I’d stayed a moment longer it would have become an inferno.

What the hell is wrong with me?

I came to teach her about self-pleasure.

Educational. Straightforward. The kind of thing I should be able to handle without crossing any lines.

And yet here I am, hurrying away before I did what I really wanted to do—pull her against me after she came, kiss her senseless, curl around her, and fuck her brains out.

What happened to the casual, no-strings-attached sex coach… thing?

I cut through the quad, keeping my head down in case I run into anyone from the team. The last thing I need is to explain why I look like I’ve seen a ghost. But, if nothing else, the brisk chill is doing wonders for my raging hard on, even as I mentally beat myself into a pulp for falling for her.

Because that’s what’s happening, isn’t it?

I’m falling for Em.

And judging by the way she looked at me tonight, with such trust and something deeper that scared the shit out of me, I’m almost certain she’s developing feelings too. And that is the thing we explicitly promised wouldn’t happen.

I was so goddamn confident we could maintain that boundary. Like an idiot. Like a complete fucking moron who thought he could spend time with someone as sincere and genuine as Em and not feel something. But that’s the kicker, isn’t it?

I can’t get feelings for her.

I haven’t got room for a girlfriend.

Not with everything else weighing on me.

Hockey. Classes. Mom bullshit. Team bullshit. Mike bullshit.

Signing up for any more emotional load would be like standing on the edge of a cliff and taking one more step. And because of that I know, no matter how much I might want Em to know my feelings, to admit them will send everything into a spiral.

And I don’t want to hurt her, either. Her inexperience means her first real relationship will inevitably matter more to her, and I’m afraid of the damage I could cause if this goes beyond our original agreement. Because I’m not the guy she should have her first proper, adult relationship with.

I’m the campus man whore for a reason.

I reach my apartment building and trudge up the steps, still replaying the whole scene with Em. Me watching her touch herself. Her watching me. The way she arched her back when she came. The startled gasp that escaped her lips. Her hand reaching for me…

God, that’s going to power my dreams for weeks .

Starting in about 5 minutes, when I lock myself in my room and let off some steam… so to speak… and—not for the first time over the past few weeks—I’m glad Mike won’t be home. I’ve barely seen him, at home or at hockey, in a week, and that’s just fine by me.

Because despite his cryptic ‘good game’ text after the game, he’s been an ass.

When I reach the top of the steps, I’m so consumed by this mental replay of the night with Em that I barely register the voice calling my name until it’s practically shouted in my ear.

“Seriously, Linc? Third time, man.”

I jerk my head up to find Mike on the stairs behind me, looking at me with a mixture of amusement and concern. For a second, I think I’m hallucinating. I haven’t seen him for days or spoken to him in weeks, yet here he is?

Talking to me like nothing happened?

“Where the hell have you been?” I ask, my voice sharper than intended. “You missed three practices and a game, man. Even if you’re pissed at me, the rest of the guys deserve a hell of a lot better than a captain who’s absent for no goddamn reason…”

Mike has the decency to look guilty. He shifts his weight, wincing slightly when he puts pressure on his bad ankle. But there’s something different about him. The perpetual cloud of bitterness that’s surrounded him for months seems to have lifted.

“Co-captain…” He grins, but the smile vanishes as his joke falls flat, and he rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, I know. I’m sorry. I’ve been at Dec’s place.”

“For a week?”

“I needed to get my head on straight,” he says, looking more like himself than he has in months. “And I couldn’t do that around you.”

That stings more than I’d like to admit. “Why not?”

Mike exhales slowly, glancing around the stairwell. “Can we talk inside? I’d rather not have this conversation where some asshole freshman could overhear.”

I nod and continue up the stairs to our door, fishing the keys from my pocket. Once inside, Mike heads straight for the fridge, grabs two beers, and offers me one. I take it, surprised by this olive branch. Whatever happened at Dec’s apartment seems to have made him human again.

“I’ve been jealous,” he says bluntly, popping the cap off his beer. “Since I had the surgery.”

“Why?” I scoff. “You’re Mike fucking Altman, the captain of the team and the guy with the best shot at the NHL out of all of us…”

“Yeah, sure, real top prospect here,” he snorts, gesturing at his ankle. “I’ve been watching you live out the senior year I had planned for myself while I’m watching my NHL chances circle the drain. I know I’ll have another shot next year, but one more injury and… yeah. It’s fucked up, I know.”

“That’s why you’ve been such an asshole?” I ask, not bothering to soften the accusation.

“Pretty much.” He takes a long pull from his beer.

“I just felt it building inside me until it erupted. First I was silent. Then I started nitpicking every little thing you did in practice. And why I was a total dick to you a few weeks ago.” He meets my eyes directly for the first time in what feels like forever. “I’m sorry, man.”

“You could have just talked to me,” I shrug.

“You’ve got a heap on your plate, and you would have just tried to help by taking on all my shit, which would have made me even more angry.” He takes a long pull of his beer. “I had to get away from you and the team, and Dec was the perfect antidote to the poison I’d become, since he’s out now…”

“He said something to you, didn’t she?”

“He told me if hockey was really my dream, I needed to stop punishing my body for getting injured, and stop taking it out on others as well,” Mike’s lips twitch into an almost-smile.

“And Lea chimed in, too, calling me an ‘immature asshole’. Said I should go back to being a team player and talk about my feelings.”

“Harsh.”

“Truth usually is.” He shrugs.

As he says the words, I can’t help but think of the parallels—weird as they are—to my situation with Em, where I’m trying to run from my feelings and I’m pretty sure she’s keeping quiet about her feelings.

But before I can dwell on this too long, Mike goes quiet, clearly waiting for me to deliver the verdict.

And there’s only one choice.

I’m tired of the tension, walking on eggshells, and missing my friend.

“It’s fine,” I say, dropping onto the couch. “I forgive you.”

Mike blinks, clearly thrown. “That’s it? No lecture? No making me grovel?”

“Looks like you’ve been torturing yourself plenty without my help.” I take a swig of my beer. “Besides, I miss having my friend and roommate around.”

Mike sinks beside me, looking relieved. “I’m seeing someone—a therapist, I mean. And I talked to Coach…”

“Did he talk back?” I shake my head. “He’s checked out, man.”

“He flicked me to the trainers, but they think that, with the right approach, I might be able to start some light practices in a couple of weeks.”

“That’s good,” I say, smiling. “The team needs you, even if it’s just leadership from the bench.”

“So,” Mike says after a moment, his tone lighter, “what had you so wrapped up in your head on the stairs that you couldn’t hear me calling your name?”

For a second, I consider deflecting, but what tumbles out of my mouth instead shocks even me. “I’m screwed, man,” I say.

Mike’s eyebrows rise. “With hockey? I can help with?—”

“No, I mean…” I exhale, realizing I’m desperate to talk to someone. “There’s this girl.”

Mike leans forward, his beer forgotten. “Hold up. Lincoln Garcia is having girl troubles? The guy whose phone number is passed around like currency?”

“That’s exaggerating,” I mutter, though he’s not entirely wrong. “And yes, I’m having… issues.”

“Who is she?”

I hesitate for half a second. “Em. Lea’s dorm mate.”

Recognition flashes across Mike’s face. “Shit, she’s hot as fire dude.”

“Yeah…”

“So what’s the problem? She turn you down?”

I let out a laugh that sounds more like a strangled cough. “Not exactly.”

And then, like a dam breaking, everything pours out of me.

Our meeting at the 7-11. The arrangement. The lessons. The night at my place when she bolted. The game. Her past with that Derek asshole. How scared she is. How I’ve been teaching her about intimacy, supposedly without emotional attachment.

Once I start talking, I can’t stop.

“The thing is,” I admit, staring down at my beer, “I think I was already into her before we even made this deal. And it might be mutual as well. And now, every hour we spend together just makes it harder to pretend I’m not, even though I committed to helping her.”

“So you like her,” Mike says simply. “What’s the big deal?”

“The big deal is we agreed to no feelings.” I resist the urge to crush my beer can.

“Rules are made to be broken.” He shrugs. “Especially stupid ones.”

“It’s not stupid,” I protest. “She needed something slow and uncomplicated to help her move past her trauma. And I can’t handle a relationship right now.”

“Why not?”

I gesture vaguely all around me. “Look at my life, man. I’m juggling being captain?—”

“Co-captain,” he corrects with a smirk.

“—maintaining my GPA, dealing with Coach’s bullshit, managing my mom’s bullshit, and now I’m supposed to be some girl’s boyfriend?”

“Some girl?” Mike repeats, his tone skeptical. “The way you’re talking about her, she doesn’t sound like just ‘some girl.’”

He’s right, and we both know it. Em is… special. Different from any other hookup I’ve had. The way she looks at me sometimes—like she’s seeing something nobody else has noticed—makes my chest ache, and even beyond the sex (and we haven’t even fucked yet!) I find myself wanting to hang with her.

“The other night,” I continue, “I just showed up at her place because I missed her. Not for a lesson, not for anything specific. I just wanted to see her face.”

“That sounds dangerously close to boyfriend behavior,” Mike observes, then reaches up to put his palm on my forehead. “Yeah, you’ve got a fever for her…”

I slap his hand away, then sigh. “I know, and it scares the shit out of me. And tonight, during our lesson, I could see it in her eyes. She’s falling for me too.”

“And that’s… bad?”

“Yes! I mean, no! I mean…” I drag a hand down my face. “I can’t be her first real relationship. I’d screw it up and she’d get hurt worse than she already has been.”

“You’re going to be the first person she sleeps with,” Mike points out bluntly. “That’s already pretty big.”

The weight of that responsibility has been hovering over me since our arrangement began. “I know. That’s another reason I’ve been overthinking everything. If we have sex, I’m afraid I won’t be able to maintain boundaries. That I’ll be in too deep.”

“Phrasing…” Mike laughs, and for the first time in months, it feels like my friend is back.

“Asshole.” I grin.

“Seriously though, from where I’m sitting, you’re already in deep,” Mike says. “But you’re pretending you’re not.”

I drain the last of my beer. “I need to double down on our deal,” I say firmly. “Keep things in the arrangement box. It’s better for both of us.”

“Look, man,” Mike says, suddenly serious.

“I’m the last person who should be giving relationship advice.

I mean, I’ve spent the last few months being a total asshole to everyone who cares about me, and I’ve never had a girlfriend for more than six weeks, but you need to take a page from my book and talk to Em. ”

“What, tell her I’m breaking our rules by developing feelings?” I roll my eyes. “That’ll go over great.”

“Honesty, right?” Mike stands and stretches. “Maybe she feels the same? Maybe she doesn’t? But tell her, and figure it out.”

The thought sends a flutter of hope through me that I quickly squash. “Even if she is, I still don’t see how it could work.”

“Not everything needs a perfect five-year plan, although it took me a little too long to learn that myself.” Mike stretches. “I’m gonna crash, but for what it’s worth, I think you’re overthinking this. And that’s coming from the king of overthinking.”

“Night dude.” I sigh. “And Mike?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks…” I smile. “For the advice, and for coming back from Asshole Island.”

He flips me the bird, and as Mike disappears into his room, I’m left alone with my thoughts. If nothing else, our conversation has settled something in me. With Mike acting human again, at least for now, one major pressure is lifted from my shoulders.

But as one source of stress diminishes, my confusion about Em only intensifies.

I tell myself I’m doing the right thing by maintaining boundaries—protecting both of us from inevitable pain. But even as I mentally recommit to our original arrangement, a part of me knows I’ve already crossed lines that can’t be uncrossed.

The way her face looked when I told her I needed to leave early—the flash of hurt in her eyes—will haunt me tonight.

I’ve spent years making women feel special in bed. But maybe that’s been the problem all along. I’ve gotten so used to being the guy who makes women feel good for a night that I can’t imagine being the guy who makes one woman feel cherished for longer.

But with Em…

I shake my head, pushing those thoughts away.

It’s better this way.

Safer.

At least that’s what I keep telling myself.