The Charlie Method (Campus Diaries #3)

Chapter Two Beckett

CHAPTER TWO

BECKETT

Thinking is overrated

W E LOSE TONIGHT ’ S GAME, BUT WE ’ RE NOT ALLOWED TO ACT LIKE IT , because we’ve been ordered under threat of death-by-coach to be positive. Instructed to visualize radiant waves of energy shooting joy all over the locker room like we’re in a positivity gang bang.

In other words, the team building and morale consultants who wreaked havoc on the Briar U men’s hockey team last season? They’re back to torment us.

As my teammates and I trudge out of the tunnel and into the locker room, Jordan Trager, our resident hothead, glares daggers at a freshman left winger.

“Fuckin’ hell, Ingram! You fucking blew—”

“Hey!” The sharp rebuke comes from Assistant Coach Maran, who frowns at us from the doorway. “Be positive, assholes.”

Trager quickly backpedals. “You blew…a bubble of hope when you took that shot on net and missed instead of passing it to the Kansas Kid who—”

“Who was joyously calling out that he was wide open,” finishes Patrick Armstrong, the wronged party.

Our co-captain, Case Colson, turns to Maran with a pained expression. “Come on, Coach. How long do we have to do this sunshine and rainbows routine for? Why are Sheldon and Nance doing this to us?”

“Don’t blame those goofballs. You can thank UCS for the administration bringing Sheldon and Nance back into our lives.”

Goddamn UCS. It’s only October, and the season’s barely started, yet the University of California, Sacramento Campus has completely imploded. Their entire men’s hockey program was shut down due to a dangerous hazing incident that ended with a rookie falling off the roof of their rink.

To his death.

The scandal has so many he-said, he-said, they-said elements, it’s hard to know what the real story is anymore. But considering the endless parade of aggro douchebags I’ve encountered during my hockey career, I tend to believe that the freshman who died was absolutely being hazed.

With their program suspended, UCS is forced to forfeit every game, and while their college and the Sacramento police investigate, the NCAA isn’t taking chances with any of their other Division I schools. They’ve been sending reps to every program, casually popping in to say hi and observe. You know, make sure we’re not daring drunk kids to jump off buildings. The usual.

Our head coach, Chad Jensen, held a team meeting last week and told us in no uncertain terms that he wants us looking, sounding, and acting like choirboys for the rest of the season. Apparently even trash talk now qualifies as potential bullying and/or hazing.

I doubt it was Coach’s decision to bring back Sheldon and Nance to morally guide us, though. Jensen hates those dumbasses as much as we do.

I peel my sweaty jersey off my shoulders, grumbling when it snags on my chest protector. I can already feel a bruise forming on my left side, right below the rib cage. I took a nasty hit in the second period when the Yale defender smashed me into the boards.

With Shane Lindley and Luke Ryder on my tail, I head for the showers and push open the waist-high partition of the nearest stall. My buddies duck into stalls to the left of me, while Trager and Colson veer to the right.

“Okay, here’s a great one,” Shane says to me as he cranks the shower on. “You’re approached by a mysterious British man in a trench coat—”

“What’s his name?” Trager asks from my other side.

Oh, look who’s suddenly invested in our thought experiments. Last season, when Eastwood College, my former school, merged with Briar, Trager was the first to mock us Eastwood guys about our dumb traditions. Now he’s hanging on Shane’s every word.

“His name’s Albert,” one of our d-men pipes up. “That sounds very British.”

Shane rolls his eyes. “Sure, whatever. Anyway, he’s like, G’day, my name is Albert , and then makes you an offer. He’ll give you a thousand bucks a month for the next twenty years—”

“Dollars or pounds?” Trager asks seriously.

“Yeah,” Colson says, not as seriously, “what’s the exchange rate?”

“Dollars,” Shane replies. “One g a month, twenty years total.”

On Shane’s other side, Ryder ducks his head under the spray and drags his dark hair away from his face. His voice is muffled by the rush of water filling the steamy space. “What’s the catch?”

Shane looks mighty pleased with himself as he reveals, “To receive the cash, you have to watch your parents have sex once a year.”

The entire room breaks out in laughter, loud snorts bouncing off the tiled walls. I work the soap into a lather and start rubbing my chest as I consider Shane’s scenario.

Colson is quick to answer. “Pass,” he says, blanching. “I’d rather be poor.”

“You answered that too fast,” Trager chides him. “I have follow-up questions.”

“There aren’t enough follow-up questions on the planet that can convince me to watch my folks fuck.”

“Lindley,” Trager calls to Shane. “Is it in a dark room so they’re boning in the shadows?”

“Brightly lit room,” Shane calls back.

“Do they come?”

“Both of them. Her multiple times.”

“Do they make noise when they come?”

“They’re very loud.”

After a long moment of consideration, Trager sighs. “I’d do it. I can’t turn down free money.”

Grinning, Shane glances at me. “Beck?”

I face the spray to rinse the soap off my bruised, aching body. “Nah,” I finally answer. “I feel like I’m capable of earning twelve grand a year without having to hear my parents loudly orgasm. I’ll invest in myself.”

Ryder snickers.

As Trager throws out his own thought experiment, I shut off the faucet and grab my towel from the hook, wrapping it around my waist. I head back to the locker room with Shane and Ryder on my heels. At the locker beside mine, I find Will Larsen still in full uniform, frowning at his phone.

“Everything okay?” I ask.

Even without the frown, I would know something’s bothering him. Larsen and I are just that attuned to each other. That’s what happens when you share enough women in bed. Which sounds sleazier than it is. We worship women. That’s why they keep coming back.

Will grumbles under his breath. “Fine. My dad being his usual jackass self.”

He tosses me the phone. I can’t help but laugh when I read the email on the screen.

From: Alessia Mason-Bybee

To: Will Larsen

Subject: Meeting Request

Hi Will,

Your father would like to schedule a meeting with you at your earliest convenience. Please let me know your availability this week.

Best,

Alessia

“He gets his assistant to schedule visits?” I marvel.

“Of course.” Will’s voice is sarcastic. “I’m just another business meeting.”

“Bro, that’s intense,” Shane says, offering a sympathetic look.

Shrugging, Will sets his phone on the top shelf of his stall and starts undressing, tossing his jersey on the bench. “Whatever. It’s always been like this. Can’t even remember the last time we talked without a formal agenda. Alessia emails that too beforehand.”

Ryder grunts out a laugh. “Shit. I mean, as someone who doesn’t have parents, I can’t exactly attest to this, but I don’t think that’s how parent-child relationships are supposed to work.”

I hide my surprise. It’s rare for Ryder to mention his childhood, what with his mother’s murder and his father in jail for it. But we’ve all noticed he’s been much more open since he married Briar U’s golden girl, Gigi Graham. Gigi is the daughter of the most famous alum this school has, and that’s saying a lot because Briar has produced two actual U.S. presidents.

Thanks to Gigi, Ryder’s on his way to becoming a changed man. He has a whole new family now, and I’m damn happy for him. Dude deserves it.

Larsen, well, I just feel bad for the guy. He moved into the house in August after Shane and Ryder moved out, and his dad hasn’t visited him once. The man sounds like a total dickhead.

“Yeah, it doesn’t work that way,” Shane confirms, then holds up his phone as evidence. “See this? This is all my dad. Walls of text, bro.” He scrolls through, like, three paragraphs. “And that’s just him asking what I want him to barbecue when I go home in a couple weeks.”

“Must be nice,” Will says wryly.

I grin at him. “So are you going to send him your schedule?”

“Nope.” He clicks his phone off and shoves it in his pocket.

Most of the guys are heading to Malone’s, the sports bar in town, but Will and I have plans, so we part ways with our teammates in the parking lot behind the Graham Center and get into Will’s shiny black SUV. Courtesy of his father, of course.

Will slides into the driver’s seat and glances over. “When’s Caitlin coming over?”

“I’m not sure. She texted during the game. Let me check.”

But all her message says is: Call me.

“Yo, turn that shit down,” I grumble, referring to the country track blasting from the car speakers. I’m more of a rock and rap guy, but Mr. Boston over here, for some inexplicable reason, enjoys country music. But his car, his rules. Fucker.

“Hey,” I say when Caitlin picks up. “What time are you heading over?”

There’s a beat of silence.

“Caitlin? You there?”

“Yes. Sorry. I’m here. Um…I don’t think I’m coming.”

I wrinkle my forehead. “Why not?”

After another long pause, a heavy exhalation meets my ear.

“I’ve caught feelings.”

“You’ve caught feelings,” I echo.

“Yes.”

“For which one of us?”

That gets me a snicker from the driver’s seat. Will and I exchange a grin.

“For you , you idiot.”

I nod to myself. It’s usually fifty-fifty which one of us a girl decides she’s madly in love with.

Not once has the answer been “both.”

Not that I want it to be. I mean, that would be fucking weird. Sure, we share similar kinks in bed, but we’re not two dudes on the hunt for that one special girlfriend to complete our triad or whatever the hell people are calling it these days.

“I know we were just supposed to be having fun,” Caitlin continues, embarrassment lacing her tone. “And it was fun, the three of us fooling around. I honestly didn’t expect feelings to develop.”

She didn’t?

I mean, I expected it. I can’t remember the last time I met a woman whose emotions didn’t enter the equation during anything beyond a one-night stand. Oh, right. Never. That’s how many emotion-immune girls I’ve met. Zero.

I love women. Truly. I would get down on my knees and worship at their shrine of womanhood. I love how they look, how they taste, how they smell. How soft they feel in my arms. How they sound when they’re moaning in my ear.

And yes, I don’t doubt there are some exceptions, but in my twenty-one years of existence, I’ve yet to meet someone who didn’t eventually catch feelings.

“So…” She sighs again. “I don’t know… Maybe instead of me coming over, you and I can catch a movie or something? You know, like…” She trails off.

“Like a date?” I supply.

Will glances my way again, intrigued now.

“Yes,” she says. “Would that be so bad?”

“No, I’m sure it would be fun, but…” I steel myself for the reaction my next words will trigger. “I don’t want a girlfriend.”

Silence.

The tension emitting from the phone fills the car. Will actually rolls down the window as if it’s something tangible that he can feel. The little hiss of cool air is nice against my face, though.

“You’re not interested? Not even a tiny bit? What, I’m not girlfriend material?”

“That’s not it at all. If I wanted a girlfriend, you would be at the top of my list,” I assure her. “Hell, you’d be the only one on the list. You get my jokes and put up with the time-travel movies. Do you know how rare that is?”

From the corner of my eye, I see Will grinning again.

“Those movies are so boring,” she informs me.

“I know, and I love that you sit through them despite that. Trust me, Caitlin, I’d be all over you if I was looking for something serious. But I don’t do commitment. I’m not good at it. All I want to do for my senior year is play hockey and screw around.”

I’m nothing if not honest. It’s how I’ve always operated when it comes to women, especially after the way my last relationship ended. I’ve been single since my senior year of high school and have no intention of altering that status anytime soon.

I wait for some sort of backlash, but Caitlin proves to be as cool as I knew she was.

“Fair enough. But with that said, obviously I can’t see you guys anymore. I hope you understand.”

“I get it.”

“I really did have a good time, though.” She sounds wistful.

“Yeah. Same.”

“Say hi to Will. I’ll see you around, Beckett.”

“See you, babe.” I end the call and turn toward the driver’s seat. “I just dumped a girl I wasn’t even going out with.”

Will snorts. “Welcome to the club. Remember Felicity from the spring? Bro, she cried when I told her I didn’t love her back. You got off easy.”

“True.”

We reach our town house, which is a lot quieter without Shane living there. Ryder, well, I barely notice that Mr. Silent and Broody is gone, but Shane is another story. The dude’s personality fills every room that he’s in. Will and I are more chill. Probably why we got along so well when our two hockey programs merged.

From the moment I met the guy, I felt like we’d known each other for years. Unfortunately, the Eastwood players weren’t allowed to like the Briar bros—mortal enemies and all—so we kept the friendship on the down-low for months. But once Ryder started hooking up with Case Colson’s ex, Gigi, all bets were off. If he was allowed to fraternize with the enemy, then fuck it, I was allowed to ask Will to hang out and watch some cool sci-fi movies.

Larsen’s the kind of guy you just feel comfortable with, no matter what you’re doing. But the first time I woke up and found a naked woman and a naked Will in my bed, I can’t deny it was…jarring.

The night preceding that awkward morning after had been fun as hell, though. When it comes to sex, I subscribe to the kinkier the better camp. And as it turns out, the more the merrier. I was rock-hard that night as I watched a hot brunette ride Will like he was her champion racehorse and she was aiming to win the Kentucky Derby. Then she leaned over and swallowed my cock as she rode him, and everything became a thousand times hotter.

I’d had a couple of threesomes before, but none as scorching as that one. And it only got better. Until this summer, when Will decided our naughty activities were a little too naughty for him. Deviant is the word I believe he’d used.

I understand where it came from. Will is analytical. He overthinks things. My opinion? Thinking is overrated. Do what feels good. The end.

“Should we go to Malone’s?” Will kills the engine and unbuckles his seat belt.

“Yeah, might as well.”

We don’t have a game tomorrow, no morning skate either, and if Caitlin isn’t coming by, then there’s no reason not to get totally wasted tonight.

It’s only a ten-minute walk to Main Street from our house, so we decide to walk to the bar instead of ordering a car.

As we fall into step with each other down the sidewalk, Will says, “So you really don’t want to go out with Caitlin?”

“Nah, mate.”

He rolls his eyes. “Commitment is not as bad as you think it is.”

“Yeah, it’s not bad. It’s god-awful.”

Only ends in the pure and utter destruction of one’s soul and faith in all that is good, as I can sadly attest.

Well, fuck that. After the way Shannon ripped my heart from my chest the week before high school graduation, I don’t plan on getting serious with another woman for a long, long time.

Maybe in the distant future. Someday. Some vague, undetermined future day.

But definitely not tonight. Nope, tonight I’m pulling up our favorite hookup app, Caitlin already firmly in the rearview mirror of my sex life.

“Are you on our profile?” Will sounds amused as he peers at my phone.

“Yeah. Just checking messages.”

We created a joint profile a few weeks ago, mostly because it’s awkward to be out somewhere flirting with a girl and find a way to gauge if she’s interested in both of us without appearing like sleazeballs. A hookup app feels like an efficient way to vet someone beforehand while sparing yourself the embarrassment of rejection or horrified outrage.

Not that I embarrass easily. It takes a lot to make me care about shit. My default state has always been unfazed.

“Anything good?”

“I think these messages are from a bot.”

I delete them, unmatch the girl, and am about to exit the app when the profile on the main screen catches my eye.

“Fucking hell, Larsen. Look at this.”

When I show him the photo, he shoots me a knowing grin. “The bow?”

“The bow,” I groan.

The girl in the picture is lying in bed, wearing a purple lace bralette and a pair of panties in a matching shade of purple with a little pink bow in the center of the waistband. I am a sucker for bows. I want to capture that bow between my teeth. Nibble on it. And then nibble on every inch of that body. Small, perky tits. Tucked-in waist. Long legs.

I don’t even care what her face looks like. Her body’s a weapon. I want my mouth all over it.

“Yeah, we’re liking her.”

Will is chuckling to himself. “Do you ever not think about sex?”

“I don’t understand the question.”

I tap the heart in the corner of her profile photo, praying she liked us in return. A second later, my favorite alert pops up.

It’s a match!