Page 19 of Sin Bin (BU Hockey Season 2, #1)

As I head in the direction of the McLaren building, I can’t help but smile.

I’m going to see my brother in less than two weeks.

My birthday is right around the corner and twenty-one feels like undeniable proof of adulthood.

Sophomore year started out a little rough, but things are looking up.

I have a great house to live in, some wonderful friends in the hockey girls, and a trip to Vegas in the near future.

I can’t complain. And if I happen to revisit a certain fantasy starring one of my roommates every time I lay my head down to sleep, well, so be it.

It could be worse, right?

It turns out things can definitely get worse, or at least, more awkward.

It’s been a few days since Ollie and I shared a grilled cheese sandwich after which I couldn’t stop myself from dashing off to my room to take care of the aching need between my thighs because being that close to Ollie—and catching a glimpse of him taking care of his own needs—was more than my resistance could handle.

We all have busy schedules, so even though I share this house with nine other people, I don’t see all of my roommates daily.

Mickey and I eat breakfast around the same time, and Liza and I have a psych class together twice a week.

Blue’s usually around in the early afternoon, and Dutton only socializes when he’s forced to.

The freshmen keep to themselves a lot, unless someone’s making food, and even though Ollie and I usually get home around the same time in the afternoon, I haven’t seen him lately.

But that’s because I’ve been avoiding him.

It’s hard to look at his handsome face without picturing him on his bed, mouthing my name. His eyes were closed, so I know he didn’t see me, but I’ve intentionally made myself scarce because looking at him eye-to-eye would be awkward.

Probably not as awkward as staring straight as his dick, though.

Because that’s what I’m doing right now, and trust me, it’s pretty damn uncomfortable.

Let me back up and explain.

I came home for lunch a little while ago, and I figured I’d take advantage of the gorgeous weather and get some sun by the pool. I threw on my bikini, grabbed a bowl of pretzels, a beach towel, and my phone, and sauntered out here ready to enjoy the afternoon.

And then I saw Ollie.

He was swimming under water when I spotted him, but I’d recognize his muscular form and blond hair anywhere. Yes, I live in a house of hockey hunks, but he’s the hunkiest by far.

I froze with indecision. I could be a coward and run back into the house before he spotted me, or I could be brave and ogle him in his swim trunks.

Ogling was definitely in the lead until I realized I’d also have to talk to him. Would I be able to do that without blurting out the fact that I saw more than I was supposed to when I knocked on his bedroom door a few days ago?

I’m never this rattled by the opposite sex, except when the sex in question is Ollie.

While I stood there trying to decide what to do, Ollie’s body sliced through the surface of the water as he came up for a breath. And then he did that thing that guys and dogs do—he shook his head sharply to get it out of his eyes and dispel some of the water.

And that shouldn’t be hot.

It’s not hot. Anything a Labradoodle does should not be sexy when a man does it.

Unless the man is Ollie Jablonski.

So, because I was temporarily distracted by his hot girl summer moment, I missed the splash of water that rocked up over the edge of the pool.

And yes, I know you should expect to get wet if you’re standing next to a pool, but all of my brain cells were otherwise engaged, so when the water hit my feet, I jumped back.

And that made me fumble my bowl of pretzels.

So, I knelt down to scoop them up at the exact same time that Ollie began to climb the ladder to get out of the pool.

So, here we are. My face. His dick. And a bunch of wet, broken pretzels.

You okay? he signs.

Ugh. Damn him for knowing ASL. And for always using it. And for never even checking to see if I have my hearing aids in. He just signs regardless, the same way my family does.

I’m fine, I sign back. I just didn’t expect to get wet, which is dumb. But yeah, I’m good.

After Ollie helps me clean up the mess, I settle into one of the loungers so I can scroll through my phone in peace.

But there’s a broad, muscular, six foot shadow blocking my sun.

Was that little bowl of pretzels your lunch? he signs.

No , I sign back. It was my appetizer.

Oh, yeah? he signs, raising an eyebrow. So what’s the main course?

My dirty mind has an answer for that, but I silence it. Feigning indifference, I shrug. Depends what I find in the pantry. Maybe chips and salsa, maybe microwavable mac and cheese.

That’s not real food, he signs , frowning.

Uh, as someone who consumes those meals on a regular basis, I can assure you that they’re real.

I sign back, knowing full well that my face is full of snark.

Ollie’s eyes go wide as he raises his hands, but something in my head doesn’t want me to let him explain.

My general frustration with the world and my long history of rebelling against people telling me what to do bubbles to the surface and I can’t stop the words that fall from my hands.

I can also assure you that I’m a real adult who can make my own decisions about what I eat.

Ollie’s face falls as each word hits him, and I immediately feel like an asshole, but I don’t know what to do about it.

Of course, you can, he signs. I wasn’t trying to be a dick, and I’m sorry. I was going to head in to make some lunch and that was my idiotic way of asking if you wanted me to make you a turkey sandwich.

Dammit. I won’t survive living with nice Ollie.

I can’t quite reconcile this earnest version of him with the playboy I met two years ago.

He scrambles my brain and I don’t know how to react.

Part of me wants to take him up on his offer of lunch, while another part of me wants to toss him back into the pool for the crime of being sweet.

But the biggest part of me wants to tear his swim trunks off and tell him that all I want for lunch is his cock in my mouth.

Yeah, no. That would be a terrible idea. And I am all done with terrible ideas.

So, instead, I just smile politely and sign back, I’m not hungry, but thanks anyway.

Ollie stares at me for a second, like he’s about to call me on my shit, which I deserve. But he must think better of it, because he turns and walks into the house.

And all I can do is wrap my towel around me like some sort of protective shield. I definitely need one when Ollie’s around. If I’m not more careful, I might actually start to like the guy.