Page 4

HAYES

“Another fucking frat party,” I groan as Jacob pulls his car into a space outside the DKE house. The music is audible from the street, and students spill from the front door like vomit. I’m so not in the mood for this, but where my brothers go, I go.

“What do you want to do? Sit at home watching Law and fucking Order ? Shit, man. You’re in the prime of your life, and you’re like a grumpy retired dude.” Jacob throws open his door too hard, and it bounces back. The curse words that tumble out of his mouth could melt ice.

I drag myself out of the car, expanding from a folded crouch to my full height. We’re identical triplets, but somewhere along the way, I outgrew my older brothers. I guess their few minutes of extra life didn’t translate into more inches of height or width. Now I’m the big baby brother. Not that it stops Jacob from lording it over me like the father we no longer have.

“I don’t watch Law and Order anymore.”

The three of us slam the doors, making the car rock on its tires.

Jacob raises his hands. “Oh, sorry, man. My bad. What have you moved onto? Brooklyn Nine-Nine, Chicago Fire, New Amsterdam ?”

“It’s fucking escapism.” I shove my hands into my pockets so I’m less tempted to punch his sarcastic ass. I love my older brother, but his know-it-all ways get tired fast.

“You shouldn’t need to escape your life,” he says, dropping his hand and sighing. “You’re in the prime of your life. You’re a fucking hockey player. Chicks are fucking falling all over you. The world is your oyster. You should be gulping it down.”

“I heard oysters taste like two-day-old spunk,” I say, desperate to move away from the chick talk.

“Who told you that?” Shawn, who generally stays out of these kinds of conversations, screws up his face like he deep throated a lemon.

“I can’t remember.”

He rubs his chin, frowning. “So, it was someone who’d tasted oysters and also happened to taste two-day-old spunk. I mean, how does someone even manage that? What were they doing? Licking their old jerk-off sock? Wringing out used condoms for the protein? Sucking unwashed dick two days after a cream pie?”

I gag at all those images. “I don’t fucking know, Shawn. Can we just get inside so we can get this over with?”

“Yay.” He throws up his arms. “Hayes is in the party mood.”

I grimace. “Just… let’s go.”

I follow Shawn and Jacob up the path and into the house. It smells like old cheese, stale beer, and morning breath inside. Just glancing at the carpet makes me wish I had some of those blue plastic shoes people wear when investigating a crime scene. Why do some frat houses have to be so disgusting?

There’s a keg in the corner, and Shawn heads straight there, gathering three red plastic cups almost overflowing with warm beer that I already know is going to taste like piss. I sip it anyway because I need something to take the edge off the pounding music and the sweating crowd.

I don’t know how it’s possible, but it smells worse than a locker room.

“There they are,” Malik says, throwing his arm around mine and Shawn’s shoulders and squeezing us hard enough to spill beer all over the floor. “The Drayton brothers are here to show us how it’s done.”

“You know how it’s done. Spit on it and stick it in.”

“Jesus, Shawn. You’re fucking disgusting,” I scowl.

Malik folds himself like a pretzel, he’s laughing so hard. “Maybe just stick to the lube, Hayes. You’re a big boy. The ladies will thank you for it.”

I pretend to laugh, but all I can think about is returning to the peace and quiet of my room and watching the next episode of my favorite show. Or working out some tension on the ice at our next game.

Shawn’s laughing, too, but I don’t miss how his gaze lingers on me for too long. We share a lot. We’re brothers. He and Jacob always talk about girls, but I never join in. They used to ask, and I used to tell them I’m not a kiss-and-tell kind of guy. They don’t ask anymore, but I think Shawn’s worked out that I’m not fucking around like they are. Even though I sometimes disappear after parties to throw them off the scent, I don’t think he’s convinced.

I love my brothers but telling them I’m still a virgin isn’t an option unless I want them to tease me to an early death. Seriously. If Jacob won’t let me live down my love of TV, imagine what he’d be like about my lack of experience with girls.

I sigh as my secret weighs on my shoulders enough to make me stoop. I scan the party, finding all the usual faces. There are girls in here who’ve attempted to talk to me, but I just can’t keep the conversation going with people whose only interest is finding out if I’m going to be entering the draft—code for are you going to be a rich fucker that I can latch onto—or, whether I like their dress slash hair slash nails. When God handed out the flirting manuals, he dropped mine into the ocean. Or he gave it to Jacob and Shawn. They’ve got enough game for all of us.

I watch Malik grab a girl around the waist and pull her close. In two seconds flat, she’s grinding on his thigh like a horny dog. I turn away, finding Shawn with his tongue down someone’s throat. Jacob’s already in the corner with his hand up a skirt. They don’t even bother finding rooms these days.

In less than ten minutes, I’m left standing on my own.

Fuck. I should have just stayed home tonight, but the one time I did that, Jacob got into a fight. He handled himself—the guy can throw down—but if anything serious had happened and I wasn’t there, I wouldn’t have been able to forgive myself. So, now I’m stuck traipsing around after my brothers to shitty parties.

I drift into the kitchen, hoping to find something less gross and preferably stronger to drink. On the way, I pass Malik’s sister, Imani, who’s laughing with a group of girls. The freshmen this year look way too young. I wonder briefly if we looked the same, but I was six-three by the time I was sixteen, so maybe not. My beard was also pretty impressive at that age. I run my hands over my clean-shaven face, considering growing it back. There was something nice about wearing it, like a furry mask. It was an easy way to look different from my brothers.

I strike out in the kitchen but grab a handful of chips from a freshly opened packet. The space is packed with linebackers who out loom me with their immense bodies. I shake some hands. We’re generally friendly, although there has been some unpleasantness over girls in past years. I get dragged into a conversation with Andrew Barker, the QB, about my predictions for the hockey season and what teams I hope to get drafted to. I don’t mind chewing over team stats and mulling predictions, but I hate discussing the draft. Jacob’s a sure thing. Shawn, as well. Me? Well, I’ve always gone where my brothers go, and hockey has been our lives for longer than I can remember, but the draft could split us up. We could end up in teams all over the country, potentially in different countries, if we’re drafted into Canadian teams, and what then? Will I even want to play when my brothers could be on the opposing side? I shudder at the thought of competing with either of them.

Just as I’m about to find a way to disengage from the conversation and head back out to where my brothers were last standing, a girl’s voice rises above the music and chatter. “Get your friggin’ hands off me, you oaf.”

I turn to find a curvy blonde, shoving the massive chest of one of the biggest linebackers at Eastern U. His hands grip her ass cheeks, pressing her against his hulking body. She’s struggling against his grip but losing the fight. “This ass,” he groans. “This ass would feel so good smacking back against me while I ride you from behind.”

“Fucking gross,” she spits, grabbing his wrists and attempting to dislodge them but failing. She might not be winning the war, but she’s giving it her all, and I respect that.

“That’s not what you’ll be saying when that pretty mouth is full of my dick.”

She gawps as though he’s outdone her capacity for shock. Forester is well known for being excessively handsy, but this is fucking unacceptable. He jiggles her ample ass, shifting one cheek at a time, laughing like he’s found a great new game to play, and the girl flushes scarlet.

She looks familiar and sounds familiar. In black pants and a hot pink top, she’s a bombshell of an angry woman.

“Hey, Bryan. She said no.”

He turns to me, his mouth twisting from a disgusting grin to something sly and ominous. “I didn’t hear a no.”

“Fucking NO,” she screams right in his face. “Clear enough for you?”

“I think you like it. Most girls do. They say they want the nice guys, the hearts and flowers, but really, they want to be held down and fucked.”

“NO, NO, NO,” she screams as I momentarily reel with disgust. The dude sounds like a sex offender.

“I think you need to let her go, dude.”

“Mind your own fucking business, Drayton,” he barks.

The conversation in the kitchen has dropped to nothing as everyone stares, braced for what will happen next. I don’t know this girl. She isn’t my friend. But none of that matters because Bryan Forester is a massive fucking asshole who needs to be taught a harsh lesson.

“This is my business, Forester. Take your hands off my girl.”

He blinks, his smug expression falling. There are rules amongst men, and grabbing another dude’s girlfriend breaks the most fundamental. The girl twists to stare at me, and I realize that she’s the one who rejected Jacob last night.

“GET YOUR FUCKING FILTHY HANDS OFF MY GIRL,” I roar.

Like he’s been scalded, he drops his arms like they suddenly weigh a ton, and the girl flinches back immediately, panting hard. The air is so thick with tension that it presses against my temples. I saunter toward the girl and rest my hand gently against the small of her back, praying she won’t deny my claim on her in front of all these people. Her dark eyes stare up at me, shock widening them.

“Are you okay, baby?” I tuck a lock of her hair behind her ear, and she doesn’t flinch from my touch. Instead, her eyelids lower, and she exhales, leaning into me.

I register a lot of things at that moment; the way she smells, like roses and vanilla, the warmth of her body and the way the top of her ass curves against my little finger, the easy way she fits into the protective arch of my body. Although we’re surrounded, it’s like the world is spinning on a different axis, and we’re alone.

“Yes.” Her voice is low and breathy, and I shudder with an awareness I’ve never experienced before.

I turn to Forester, who is staring at me like I’ve grown a second head. “If I ever catch you near my girl or any other girl like that, I’m going to twist your fucking hands off. Do you understand me?”

His expression flickers between his instinct to come at me and the real prospect of him taking a beating, but then his buddy shifts his weight like he’s gonna put himself between us if necessary, and Bryan decides against doing something stupid. He knows I always roll with my brothers, and they won’t be far. He knows that hockey players throw down more than any other athletes. He might have a few pounds on me, but I could batter the shit out of him before even raises a fist.

Keeping my hand on the girl, I encourage her to walk out into the hallway, maintaining eye contact with Bryan until we’re through the doorway.

It’s only then that I breathe.

The music is pounding, and people, unaware of what just happened, push past us, but the girl stays close to me. Her body trembles against my palm. I guess her adrenaline is spiking.

“Jesus.” She presses her hands to her face. When she looks up at me, her eyes are wide with surprise. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know.” I shrug, dropping my hand.

“I was handling it.”

“I know.” I smile. Bryan had more than a foot of height on her, but she was ready to scrap with him. She’s feisty.

Her tight shoulders lower as she focuses on the wall behind me. “Thank you.”

“Anytime.”

She leans in close, and I dip my head a little.

“So, I’m your girl? How are you going to explain it when they find out I’m not?”

“Well…” I shove my hands into my pockets, curving my shoulders as I look at the floor. She’s wearing cute pink shoes, and her toenails match. I don’t know why that fact makes my mouth dry, but it does. “I guess it would help if you played along. Just for tonight.”

“Is this your way of trying to get laid?” she asks. “Because I’m pretty sure there are easier ways to go about it without risking a beating from an ogre.”

“There was no risk.” My tone is surprisingly cold and calm, and she blinks, surprised. As we stare at each other, I swear her eyes get darker, like her pupils are trying to swallow more light. “And I’m not trying to get laid.”

Her eyebrow arches, and I stare at her mouth, the pretty cupid’s bow of her pouty lips and her white, straight teeth behind them. I’m not trying to get laid, but a kiss would be nice. Her kiss would be nice. Feeling her body loosen against mine after witnessing her rage and fight would be fucking awesome.

“So, you’re just an all-around good Samaritan?”

“Men who touch women that way…” I shake my head.

“That’s most guys at this college,” she says. “The sense of entitlement is extreme.”

“I’m sorry about that.”

She folds her arms and lets her gaze sweep over my length, assessing me, taking a step forward which puts her right into my personal space and tipping her face to adjust to our height difference. “I can’t be your girl, Hayes Drayton,” she whispers. Then, on tiptoes, she presses a soft kiss to the corner of my mouth, lingering for a second before pulling back. It’s like saying thank you; sweet, but not enough. Her cheeks heat, and she blinks her long brown lashes in a gesture that’s like a reset, shaking her head like she’s dazed and confused and is coming back to reality.

I swallow a giant ball of want from my throat. “You know my name, but I don’t know yours.”

She smiles. “Thanks for rescuing me. My very own knight in shining jeans and hoodie.”

“Play along,” I say. “Just for tonight.”

She touches her hair, stroking a strand down to the tip. “What would playing along look like?”

I glance back into the kitchen, finding Bryan staring. Further down the hallway, Shawn is dancing, and Jacob is probably somewhere fucking.

“Come outside with me,” I say. “Just for appearances.”

She glances over her shoulder, maybe looking for friends, definitely reluctant, but I guess she must feel like she owes me, because she turns and makes her way to the front door, leaving me to trail after her.

I’m so rusty at this; my brothers would be mortified, but I can’t drag my eyes away from the obscene curve of her hips and the swell of her big booty. I’m like a snake that’s been charmed and can only slither in one direction, right behind her.

Outside, the air is cooler, but it’s welcome. I’m sweating and decide to tug my hoodie over my head in case she’s cold. I follow her around the side of the house until she stops. Her hands cross her body to rub her bare upper arms, squeezing her boobs together. Whatever words I prepared to say leave my brain. At least I still have the sense to hand her the sweater.

“You’ll be cold.” She reaches out to take it anyway.

“I won’t. I’m a furnace.”

She’s swallowed up by the black fabric, and when it’s over her head, it swamps her. Looking down at herself, she laughs.

“You really are a big boy.”

“Huh. Yeah. I guess.” Malik’s comment from early spins into my mind. Maybe just stick to the lube, Hayes. You’re a big boy. The ladies will thank you for it.

This woman isn’t a waif, but she’s still small compared to me. Fuck. Why am I thinking about fucking? We’re just having a conversation.

“Do you always step in when damsels are in distress?”

I think about my momma and how she’d cower when my dad was angry. I never witnessed him raise a fist, but I heard her crying from behind a closed door and the thud of flesh on flesh. I saw the bruises. I did fuck-all about that.

I turn in a direction where there is something else to look at other than her plump, slightly flushed cheeks and the sweet upturn of her nose. She has stud earrings up the entirety of one ear that fascinate me inexplicably.

“So…” My mind is blank. I shouldn’t have suggested this. Me, women and conversation are an awkward combination.

She leans against the wall of the house, her hands buried in the sleeves of my hoodie so that only her pink fingernails grip the cuffs. “I can fight my own battles, but these assholes only listen when it’s a man saying no.”

“You shouldn’t have to fight your own battles.”

She nods.

“What’s your name? I mean, we’re dating, so it seems like something I should know.”

“You can call me Beth.”

“Beth.” She doesn’t look like a Beth, although I couldn’t pinpoint what a Beth should look like. Maybe more studious, with glasses and bangs. Not like the girl next door who changes in front of her window so you can jack off to her naked voluptuousness.

God, if she could view my mind, she’d be fucking disgusted.

You can call me Beth. Seems like an odd way to tell someone your name.

She slides her hand into her pants pocket and pulls out a small silver flask, handing it to me. “It’s better than that pisswater they have inside.”

I stare at the small vessel, unscrew the cap, and sniff. The unmistakable scent of whiskey wafts out. “You drink the hard stuff?”

“It’s the only alcohol my dad ever has in the house. I got used to it.”

“Illicit drinking.” I tip the flask and take a long, burning gulp. “Such a rebel.”

“Nah. He didn’t mind me drinking a little whiskey. It’s medicinal. Better than drinking cola or any of those other drinks… chemicals with bubbles.”

“I guess.”

“What’s your favorite drink?”

“Whiskey,” I admit. “I’ll drink Jack, but I prefer Scotch.”

“This is Scotch.”

“I can tell.” We smile at each other, pleased with our shared love of the good stuff.

The warmth of the alcohol flows through my chest and into my stomach. I take another swig and pass the flask back to Beth.

“Never seen a girl drink whiskey before.”

“You’re a hockey player. You only date the plastic fantastic girls who mainline lettuce and fizzy water.”

“That’s not me,” I say.

She raises a skeptical eyebrow.

From around the corner, a girl’s voice rises above the music. Beth flinches and scrambles to put the lid on the flask, tucking it back in her pocket.

“Riley.” Malik’s little sister Imani sticks her head around the corner and breathes a sigh of relief when she spots Beth. “There you are. I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

Her attention turns to me, and a slow smile spreads over her face, and when she notices my hoodie, her smile widens. “Was I disturbing something? I’m sorry.”

“Riley?” I say, turning the name over in my head. That’s what Imani was calling out. Not Beth. Riley.

I knew a Riley once. A little girl who shared our house for a while until our parents stopped dating. She had frizzy hair and bangs that were too short. She dressed in overalls and shirts that were too tight, like she’d outgrown her wardrobe, and her dad hadn’t kept up with new outfits. Riley’s dad used to sit on our couch at night and savor a measure of whiskey.

“Riley?” I say again, this time searching her face.

“Shit.” She struggles out of my sweatshirt and stuffs it back into my arms.

Before I can question her any further, she’s grabbed Imani’s arm and stormed away, leaving me gaping at the woman I think is my ex-stepsister, who is now all grown up.