Page 15 of Trick Shot (Bainbridge Hockey #4)

Pete

“ B elieve it or not, man, your brothers really do have everything under control.”

Kaden Kersey’s words are a huge relief. I let out a breath I didn’t even realize I was holding. “Thanks for checking in on everybody. I really appreciate it.”

“Anytime, Cap. You know that. Besides, your grandma sent me home with a dozen cookies, so it’s not like I wasn’t properly compensated.”

“Wait a sec,” I say, saving tomorrow’s lesson plan before shutting down my computer. “Since I’m the one who sent you on that welfare check, half those cookies are rightfully mine.”

Kersey just laughs. “Too bad I just ate your half then. Seriously, though, your mom looks good. Leo might be as much of a mother hen as you are, dude. And Henry’s…

Henry. But I promise, all was well at the Santos house tonight.

And my mom made soup, so I took that over and put it in the freezer.

I’ll stop by again in a couple days. You’ll be home next week, right? ”

“Yep, a week from tomorrow. You sure you don’t mind picking me up at the airport? Van’s still laid up, and Leo’s taking mom in for some scans, so?—”

He interrupts me before I can finish. “Santos, we’ve been friends since we were kids. You’re gonna be in my freaking wedding. Of course I can pick you up from the airport. Just text me the times and all that. I’ll be there.”

“Thanks, man.” Kersey’s a good guy, and he’s right.

We’ve known each other forever. I used to see him every summer when I visited Grandma Dottie in Bainbridge, Maryland.

He lived next door, and we just became friends in the way little kids do when they’re close in age and proximity.

We stayed friends because we both played hockey, so that always gave us something to do or talk about when I visited.

We probably would have just remained friendly acquaintances, but things went south right before my senior year in high school when my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer.

That was scary as hell, but she’s a fighter and she made it through.

It wasn’t easy though, and my dad couldn’t handle the stress.

His work trips became more frequent, and Ma and I needed help.

So, like always, Grandma Dottie came to the rescue.

We moved from Syracuse, New York down to Maryland to stay with her.

It was just supposed to be for a year, just long enough that she could help take care of my brothers and get Ma to and from her treatments when I was in school.

But Ma and the boys thrived under Grandma Dottie’s care.

I can’t lie; I did, too. She’s the best, and not just because her chocolate chip cookies are heaven in dough form.

Dottie surrounded us with love. My mom got through her treatments and found a part-time job.

The boys loved their new school. I’d been looking forward to playing hockey at Clarkson, but the idea of leaving my family made me feel like I was copying my dad’s moves.

It wasn’t the same, but it felt that way.

Kaden was staying local and going to Bainbridge, so he put in a good word for me with Coach Baylor.

A few days later, I was invited to skate with the team and about an hour after that, I was meeting with an admissions counselor.

The very next day, I sat for a scholarship test. The timing couldn’t have been better.

I had a good offer from Clarkson, though, and Bainbridge isn’t cheap.

The hockey gods or the brain squad or maybe both were smiling down on me that day because I earned a full-ride scholarship.

So yeah, Kaden and I aren’t as tight as when we were eight, but he’s always been a good friend.

He’s not really part of the crew I usually hang with, but that’s not because the guys and I don’t offer.

Part of the reason we only see him at games and practices is that he doesn’t live at the hockey house.

No one can blame him, though. It’s a total shithole.

But Rosco doesn’t live with us either and he’s always around.

The real reason I only see Kersey in season is because of Sophie.

They started dating freshman year of high school and they’ve been attached at the hip ever since.

Sophie’s got a big personality, but the same could be said about half the guys on the team, so I can’t fault her for that.

What I can fault her for is the way she bosses Kersey around like he’s her dog.

It works for them, I guess, but I still think it’s weird.

I really don’t have any room to talk, though.

I’m hung up on a woman who verbally assaults me every time I see her.

And I fucking love it. I also love fucking her.

That was unexpected, but I can’t get the images of our afternoon together out of my mind.

I’ve been back on campus for hours, busying myself with cleanup, then with lab work and updating files.

I forced myself to finish my lesson plans instead of heading to the dining hall.

It’s been closed for hours now, and I’m starving.

For Claire and for food.

My gut tells me I’m going to have a much easier time satisfying my hunger for cheese fries at Smitty’s than I am sating my appetite for Claire Fowler.

Grabbing my keys, I lock the door to my room and head out in search of greasy, cheese-laden sustenance. I take the stairs down one flight to the first floor, but when I round the corner, a body slams into me.

Fighting is prohibited in college hockey, but that doesn’t mean we can’t check each other as long as we follow the rules. As a defenseman, I’ve been on the giving and receiving end of bumps, nudges, and hits. This isn’t any of that.

Immediately, I recognize Claire’s body as it stills against mine. Maybe it’s the scent of her shampoo, but I can’t shake the idea that even after one time together, my body recognizes the shape and feel of her.

Whipping her head back, she tilts her chin to look up at me. If I were any shorter, she’d have clipped me. The look on her face as recognition dawns tells me she’s not happy to see me.

“It’s you.” Her words confirm what I was afraid of. Our afternoon together didn’t magically change Claire’s mind about me. She told me it wouldn’t, but the way her eyes softened when she looked at me afterward had me hoping.

“Oh my god,” she says, shaking her head. “Why are you everywhere?”

“This is my dorm.” The exasperation in her tone has me making sure my words are extra measured and calm.

My mere presence irritates her, so since I have no hope of escaping this interaction unscathed, I figure I might as well have some fun with it.

“What are you doing here? You live on the other side of campus.” Granted, this place isn’t that big, but that doesn’t change the fact that she doesn’t live here.

“I came to get something someone borrowed from me. And it has nothing to do with you so you can just scurry off to wherever you’re going.”

She makes a little motion with her hands, and I laugh. “You’ve seen me, Claire,” I say, gesturing to my body. “You’ve seen all of me. I don’t scurry.”

“Right, right,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Fine then. Hustle. Scoot. Steamroll. I don’t really give a shit, Pete. You’ve caused enough problems today, so kindly move out of the way.”

This woman is unfuckingbelievable. I’ve said it before, but it’s still true.

Stroking a hand over my beard, I meet her eyes with mine.

“Just what problems did I cause? When you were riding my cock? Was that one of the problems? Or when I filled you with my fingers and you could barely catch your breath? Or is the problem you’re referring to the orgasm I gave you?

Please enlighten me so I don’t make the same mistake again. ”

“All of the above,” she snaps. “You and your gigantic penis and colossal fingers have ruined everything. I got back to my dorm today and I couldn’t fucking focus because my mind kept flashing back to the cabin and the couch and the nakedness and the sex.”

I nod because my mind did the exact same thing, but also, I want her to keep explaining why I’m in trouble for making her feel so good.

“Picture it, Pete,” she says, holding her hands up with her thumbs toward each other like she’s holding an imaginary picture frame.

“There I am in my bed, getting all hot and bothered thinking about what we did. I was so worked up that I couldn’t concentrate for shit.

So, I took a little self-care break. Figured I’d take matters into my own hands and then get back to work. You with me so far?”

Again, I bob my head because it seems like our afternoons were identical.

“I couldn’t get myself off, you asshole.

” Her words land with a thud in my ears, punctuated by the thin line of her lips and the narrow set of her eyes.

“Nothing worked,” she continues. “Not my fingers or my vibrator or picturing any other sexual encounter I’ve ever had.

My clit doesn’t work anymore and it’s all your fault. ”

Okay, so our afternoons started out the same way, but they had very different endings. It’s probably wise to keep that little tidbit to myself, though. “I should probably be sorry,” I tell her, “but I am not sorry at all.”

Claire’s hands are on her hips, and I tamp down the desire to cover them with my own.

“Well, fuck you very much then,” she practically hisses at me, “because I am going to be extra bitchy until I get this sorted out. When my glare burns your eyebrows off or my disdain boils over and scalds you, you’ll only have yourself to blame.”

“Because you can’t have an orgasm without me?” I clarify, just to rile her up. Unsurprisingly, it works.

“Yes. Hopefully it’s like the flu and it only lasts for five to seven days.”

“The flu can last for ten days,” I say. “Sometimes longer. What if it never goes away, Claire? What if you’ve developed a chronic case?”

“You shut your mouth, Pete Santos.”