Page 11

L ifting the red cup to my lips, I tip it up, but nothing pours into my mouth.

Shit .

It’s already empty. I sigh.

“Already what?” Dean asks, and I realize that the thought wasn’t just in my head. Either that or Dean can now read minds. Which would be pretty fucking cool.

“I’m out.” I set the empty cup down on the desk and lean back in the gaming chair, closing my eyes as my body feels like it’s spinning and floating in place while a comforting warmth spreads throughout my veins.

God, I had way too much to drink.

I should have stopped hours ago. But the more I drank, the more my brain went quiet. I’m just here, existing, thoughtless and numb.

My eyes flutter open, and when I sit up, Dean has magically disappeared. “What the fuck?”

The dorm room door swings open, and he walks in as if he didn’t just teleport into the hallway.

“Why does your face look like that?” Dean looks up from the pile of clothes in his hand, his wet hair falling across his forehead as his brows furrow.

“Forget about me. How the fuck did you get on the other side of the door?” I ask the important question, ignoring his.

He bursts out laughing, Asher joining in, and he plops down on his own bed. “You’re fucking wasted, Malik. Jesus . I left and took a shower. I’ve been gone for, like, fifteen minutes. You need to sober up, buddy.”

That makes a lot more sense …

“Yeah …” I trail off in agreement.

My bladder feels like it’s going to fucking explode soon if I don’t piss.

Rising to my feet, I sway back and forth as I step toward the door to the hallway. “I need to piss.”

“Thanks for letting me know.” Asher laughs as I fumble for the doorknob, twisting it open. “Come straight back though. I already took your keys so your drunk ass can’t even think about driving.”

Annoying but thoughtful. “Thanks, man. I’ll be right back.”

Pulling his door open, I walk through the doorframe and take a right.

Ping-ponging against the walls, I make my way down to the end of the hallway, stopping in front of a door that most definitely doesn’t say bathroom .

I know whose room this is. That damn infuriating and intoxicating creature.

The one who’s been wrapping herself around my brain, consuming all my thoughts. She’s a virus, and I’m completely infected.

Fuck, I shouldn’t be standing outside of her door right now. I need to actually find the bathroom and then pass the hell out in the Kensingtons’ room.

I don’t even know how I ended up here. One moment, I was taking shots with Asher and Dean in their room, and the next, I’m standing in front of Alora’s room, questioning whether or not I should knock.

Is she sleeping?

Does she sleep naked, like me?

I can’t imagine how perfect her bare body is. Those luscious curves. Fuck, I want to taste them, devour them. I want to know exactly what it’s like to feel her thighs wrap around my neck. To hear what she sounds like, coming apart by my touch. I need it. I need her.

What the fuck is wrong with me right now?

I smack my forehead, hoping to hit the dirty images of her out of my head. But it doesn’t work.

I need to go back to the room and lock myself inside because the thoughts running through my mind are going to get me in trouble. Like thoughts of how red her cheeks were earlier when I had her caged against the door. I wonder how red she’d get if I slid my hand around her throat and claimed her lips with mine.

Or how flushed she’d become if I tasted every inch of her soft skin until she melted into my grasp, writhing with pleasure.

My cock twitches in my joggers, making my boxers uncomfortably snug.

Fuck.

My body is floating in midair, every cell tingling as I stand on the precipice of crossing a line or not.

I drank too much. Way too much to be trying to make a decision like this.

Hearing the sound before I look up, I find my fist against her door.

Oh shit, I just knocked.

Malik, I’m going to need you to get it together right now, okay?

Pressing my ear against the door, I don’t hear anything. It’s quiet. She’s probably sleeping. Which is a good thing. She shouldn’t open this door. I’m way too out of control.

My hand knocks again with a mind of its own, and I start to wonder if this is all a dream because there’s no way I would do this in real life.

“I-hear-something,” I mumble, my words one continuous slur.

The lock clicks on the door, and it gently gives way, as does my weight.

I fall forward as the door swings inward.

“Ahh!” Alora shrieks as I crash into her. But I catch her, stabilizing her against the wall before I drop to the floor. “Malik? What the hell are you doing here?”

My eyes drift shut, only for a moment before I sit up and struggle to my feet. “What are you doing here?”

I chuckle to myself.

“You’re so drunk,” she sighs. “And I have no idea what you’re doing here, but you need to get the hell out of my room.”

She crosses her arms, and my vision finally clears enough to notice her fully.

My mouth waters at the sight of her before me. Her cami red silk top does little to contain the full, round weight of her tits, her nipples poking through the thin fabric, begging to be brushed by my thumbs.

The bottom of her top is bunched together, just above the waistband of her matching shorts, leaving a gap that exposes her bare skin. My eyes travel lower, down over the red silk to those plump, full thighs that I want to dive between.

My God, she’s perfect. Every single inch of her.

My fingers twitch, desperate to reach out and stroke her smooth skin.

The words fall from my lips without my consent. “Fucking hell.”

My gaze flicks back up to her face. Her lips are parted, and her cheeks flush a deep pink, almost matching those pajamas that are teasing me with the way they hug her body.

But her eyes … her eyes are otherworldly—bright, stark blue. Like the sky on the clearest day. Or the lightest part of the Morpho didius butterfly. Right now, they are wide, stretched with caution and a pulse of something resembling … desire.

As if she forgot herself for a moment, she shakes her head softly, just enough for a few stray strands to fall into her face. Her hair is all disheveled and messy from her sleep. But with her body flushed and plump lips parted, she looks like she just got ravaged by me, and, fuck, I wish it had been me that left her like that instead of her sheets.

Although, if we had been together, there would be visible marks on her—collarbone, throat, thighs. I would pepper her with my sin, burning it into her skin with pleasure. Maybe a bite mark here or there.

She steps toward the door behind me as she clears her throat. “You need to leave.”

Right before she passes me, I throw my arm out, flattening my hand against the wall, stopping her from going any further. She slams to a halt, gasping with surprise as her hands latch on to my forearm as she braces herself.

She’s so short. I tower over her, the top of her head barely hitting my collarbone.

“Malik.” Her voice is breathless when she speaks, and I wonder if she feels the same way I do right now.

Leaning down toward her, I wet my lips. Watching her eyes fall to half-mast and her lips part, I whisper, “Say it again, baby. It sounds so good on your lips.”

Her eyes widen for a second, and she sucks in a breath. “Y-you should go.”

Delicately, I lift my other hand up to her waist, brushing my thumb back and forth on her side. A shiver runs through her, and I bite down on my lip.

She follows my gentle push like a good girl, backing herself up against the wall, and I take this perfect opportunity to cage her in. Positioning my left hand against the wall higher, I rest it above her head and slide my left leg to the outside of her tightly pressed thighs.

My right fingers sink in her side of their own accord, desperate to feel how soft and pliable she is. I want to mold her body around mine. Memorize the way it feels.

She looks up at me, her lashes breaking up her bright blue gaze. “W-what are you doing?” she asks breathlessly.

Turning my palm up, I drag my fingers higher up her waist, around the side swell of her breast. She shudders and bites down on her bottom lip.

Inching higher, my fingers trail across her bare collarbone and up the side of her neck.

Gently, I wrap my fingers around her throat, and her eyes widen in response.

“Don’t worry, Bug. I won’t choke you until you ask me to.”

Brushing my thumb back and forth, I can feel her pulse pick up at my words. She wants this too.

Dropping my head, I tilt hers up. “I hate you.”

She wets her bottom lip and wiggles her neck in my grasp. My dick twitches in my joggers, hard as a fucking rock.

Our bodies drift together, our lips ghosting across one another as a shock runs through me.

Her warm breath skirts across my lips, her voice so soft that her words are almost inaudible. “Then why are you here?”

Shit.

I don’t fucking know.

I stay quiet because I don’t have an answer.

Staring down into her eyes, I take a shaky breath.

The small amount of mental effort it takes to process her question does just enough to clear my mind. Just enough to make me realize that I’m a second away from pinning her to the wall and kissing her senseless.

I shouldn’t be here.

Not giving myself any time to second-guess or overthink, I release her neck, pull away, and step toward the door.

In one swift movement, I throw it open and disappear into the hallway.

Clenching my fists at my sides, I stride down the hall, much smoother than the trip to her room the first time, sobering up faster each second.

Fuck, I shouldn’t have done that. I should NOT have done that.

What was I thinking?

* * *

It’s been two days since I drunkenly wandered into Alora’s room. Two days since I had my hand on her waist, the other around her throat with her lips brushing against mine.

It’s only been two days, and it’s felt like for-fucking-ever. I’ve been distracting myself from the inevitable awkward encounter, skipping all my classes and staying glued to the ice. It’s helped so far, although I know I can’t do it forever. But another day or so won’t hurt.

Besides, we have a big game tonight, and I need to be on top of it. We’re playing the Titans, one of the best teams in collegiate hockey right now. They are ranked number one in scoring.

Not only will we need to get pucks deep in the net to counteract any of their goals, but we’ll also need to be on our toes to stop them from scoring at all. The problem is, they don’t have two or three players that do the majority of scoring that we can stay on top of; it comes from multiple players on each line.

I know we’re the better team. That’s not a question. But I don’t want to win by one. I want to dominate them from beginning to end.

Before games, I usually mentally lock in by messing around with the guys—either by kicking around a soccer ball or a Hacky Sack to pass the time. Thankfully, that helps keep my mind distracted.

I just need to get out of my head and try to forget about what happened. But, fuck, I don’t think I can.

Which doesn’t do anything to help the hatred I feel any less confusing. How can I want someone so badly and loathe them at the same time? Make it make sense.

After warm-ups, the starters set up for puck drop at center ice.

It’s a blood battle from the very beginning, every player out there working their bodies to the max. By the time the first period ends, no one has scored, but everyone is gassed. The exhaustion doesn’t matter though; it fades quickly, replaced with the desire to win.

The second period starts off just as equally matched. Blow for blow. Shot for shot. Block for block. We need an edge, an advantage to push us over the wall.

This is where I come in occasionally. Not forced by any coach or teammate. A decision made all on my own. One I love making.

Number thirty-one has been picking on Asher all night. I already gave him a warning. But the next time I see it, I’m crushing him into the ice. I’m making a scene, making him regret ever touching Ash. As a bonus, it will rile the team up and hopefully push the momentum our way. I’ll take the penalty happily, every day of the week.

Finny blocks one of their shots, and it rebounds right near me. Taking it with my stick, I skate around the goal as their team makes a move to change a few of their players.

We take full advantage of the opportunity.

Elias taps his stick on the ice up ahead, and my body moves in sync with my thoughts as I pass the puck through the neutral zone. It glides effortlessly, landing right on the end of his stick, and he sinks into our offensive zone.

Asher flies into the zone on the other side, only one defender between the two Legends.

Elias passes it to Asher, who overexaggerates and pulls back the puck like he’s going to shoot, but at the last second, he fires it back to Elias, who tips it midair past their goalie and into the net.

One of the Titans players is racing toward Elias, who has his arms in the air, celebrating.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” I shout, gaining speed and catching up to him.

He checks into Elias and sends him flying awkwardly into the boards. He collides with a deafening thud.

And all hell breaks loose.

Wrapping my arm around the soon-to-be dead guy’s neck, I yank him backward, far away from Elias, who is still lying on the ice. His helmet comes undone and falls off.

“You’re going to fucking pay for that,” I promise him.

Releasing him, I let him gain his balance, but I’m not patient. Flicking my gloves to the ground and ripping my helmet off, I grab his collar and jerk him toward me.

Cocking my arm back, I release my fist, swinging my weight into it as it collides with his cheek. He grunts and throws his knuckles my way, but I dodge with ease.

The arena erupts as a full scrum breaks out around us. But the only thing I’m focused on is him and breaking his fucking jaw.

Rearing back, I land another blow and another. I knock him off-balance, and he drops to his knees, his arms flailing out beside him.

The refs begin skating over to us, surely to tear us apart, as he hit the ice—a typical cue for the fight to end.

But I’m not done yet.

Adjusting his collar in my grasp, I lift his head up, and his eyes fly open. But there’s no mercy here. He shouldn’t have hit Elias.

He knocked on this door; I’m simply answering.

Punching him on the side of the head, I watch the lights in his eyes shut off, and I drop him.

The arena goes berserk as he collapses to the ground, knocked out cold.

Adrenaline surges through me, and every single person in the building, aside from the Titans, cheer and shout.

The energy is electric as I skate away from him toward my bench.

I know I’ll get heavily reprimanded for it, especially since I kept hitting him after he fell to the ice.

But I don’t care. This rush is what I live for.

“Let’s go!” I throw my hands up in the air.

The crowd somehow gets louder. My teammates smack their sticks against the boards as I step through the open board door.

“Fucking animal!” one of the guys yells at me with a huge smile on his face.

“Fuck yeah!” another howls, followed by a slew of compliments and shouts from the rest of the guys.

Striding down the tunnel toward the locker room, I can still feel the vibration through the floor from the pulsing energy behind me. It’s palpable.

It’s everything .