Page 42

Crew

W hen Lane woke me up at seven in the goddamn morning, I nearly lost my shit. He didn’t mention last night that he booked an early flight for us.

I mean, most people probably wouldn’t consider nine-thirty to be an early flight, but I’d been waking up at nine all break, so I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a crab-ass on the way to the airport. And while going through security. And while getting on the plane. And during the first half of the plane ride.

But, by the second half of the plane ride, I’d fallen asleep, and when I woke up from my nap during landing, I felt way better.

In previous years, Lane and I had shared a hotel room, but last year, I brought a girl home one night, and Lane wasn’t very pleased with having to wait in the lobby for nearly two hours for the girl to leave.

So, this year, we rented an Airbnb with two bedrooms.

Once we got checked in and situated, we didn’t waste any time hitting the slopes for a few hours, and by the time early evening rolled around, we were starved.

There was a bar and grill in the downtown area that we always wound up at at some point during our trip each year. We’d been coming here for so long that it still felt weird being in the bar legally, given we spent the first three trips using fake IDs to buy drinks.

Neither of us needed more than two minutes to look at the menu, already set on our typical, annual order.

“So,” I smirked at Lane.

“So?”

“Have you looked into any teams yet?”

Lane sat back in his chair, extending his feet straight until they bumped into mine. He rubbed his lips together, his focus drifting past me as if uninterested in the conversation.

“A few.”

“Do any of them happen to be close to Lake Michigan?” I asked, leaning forward with anticipation. “Just out of curiosity.”

His body stayed perfectly still, his eyes being the only thing to move like a creepy painting whose gaze followed you as you walked away.

Glaring back at me, he responded, “I’ve looked into the Blackhawks, yes.”

I pushed away from the table, leaning back in my chair to match Lane. “Yeah? What’re you thinking?”

“I’m thinking,” he said, shifting his silverware around, “that I don’t feel like talking about this right now.”

My lips thinned, enclosing the thwarted huff that was stuck in my throat. It had taken so much to push Lane towards the decision of going pro, and when he finally shared his choice with me, he seemed excited about it. He even had a private meeting with our coach to share the news. But getting him to talk about the topic was still a challenge, yet I wasn’t sure why.

“Alright,” I grumbled with a tight jaw.

Our smiling waitress came back with two beers. “Here are those drinks for you guys.”

“Thanks,” we said in unison.

Instinctively, my eyes landed on her ass as she walked away. There seemed to be a small jolt within me, turning me on. It seemed like the first time I’d gotten somewhat turned on for someone other than Kota in a while.

I needed to do something about this.

“Let’s go out tonight,” I said.

Lane’s brows shot up behind his bottle. “Why?”

I nearly choked on my beer. “What do you mean why? ”

He sighed, a gravelly, pissed off kind of sigh. “You gotta be like this on night one? Really?”

“You don’t get it.”

Lane dropped his hands on the table. “What don’t I get?”

I fucked our roommate and now I can’t stop thinking about her and I need to fuck someone else so that I can get over whatever the hell is happening to me.

“I just...” I said, lying straight through my teeth, “need to.”

All he did was stare at me, his eyes narrowing further by the second. “When’s the last time you got laid?”

What the hell did this have to do with going out tonight?

I almost said, “New Year’s Eve,” but I caught myself, unsure if Lane would put the puzzle pieces together or not. “Few days,” I finally answered.

There he was again, staring at me, leaving nothing but silence at our table, accompanied with “Under the Influence,” by Chris Brown playing over the speakers.

Lane’s fingers curled around his beer bottle, bringing it back up to his mouth for a solid chug.

Meanwhile, I sat there, listening to Chris Brown sing about bodies and riding it and if I heard one more word, my mind was going to wander right back to the one place I didn’t want it.

“Do you have a... problem?” Lane finally asked.

“Hmm?”

Lane’s cheekbones sharpened lightly, waiting for me to catch on. I blinked at him rapidly, unsure if he was asking what I thought he was.

“Are you asking me if I’m addicted to sex?”

Sheepishly, he answered, “Yes.”

Was I addicted to sex? Nah, I didn’t think so.

Maybe I was just addicted to it when it came to her .

“No,” I nearly growled.

His hands came up defensively. “Only asking because I care.”

I gave an “Mhm,” and crossed my arms.

Lane was bobbing his knee, and I knew it because the table was shaking. I should’ve told him to knock it the fuck off, because I was a little put off— or I was at least trying to be.

It was nearly impossible to stay mad at Lane.

“Alright,” he sighed as our waitress headed our way with two plates of appetizers.

“What?” I simmered.

“We’ll go out tonight.”