The One Night Dash (The Brooklyn Bears #2)

1. Dash

ONE

DASH

Tuesday

My phone explodes on the nightstand, vibrating against a water glass until it sounds like a jackhammer in my skull. I reach for it, squint at the screen, and groan.

Not a text. Not a team update. Not even a “you up?”

Briar.

I swipe, already bracing myself.

“Dash,” she says without a hello, her voice all bright and clearly caffeinated, like she doesn’t realize it’s an hour earlier than I need to be awake. “I met him. The one. ”

Of course she did.

I rub a hand down my face and glance at the blondie untangling herself from my sheets. She’s one of the Icehouse Tavern bunnies—bless them. The group of them has multiplied faster than third-period penalties since the team started moving up the ranks.

We took down Columbus last night, which explains why I woke up with her leg thrown over mine and glitter on my pillowcase.

“Uh-huh,” I mutter into the phone, leaning just far enough over the side of my bed to grab her top she dropped somewhere between the bar and my mattress. She takes it with a grin that says she knew exactly what she came for. No illusions. No hard feelings. No mention of me being the one.

“He’s different,” Briar insists. “He’s not like the others.”

I throw my legs over the side of my bed, bend, and grab a pair of sweats, sliding them on as Glitter Bunny slides her skirt on. Then I pull the phone from my ear, thumbing open the rideshare app.

“Car’ll be out front in five,” I whisper and flash a quick smile.

A respectful exit, no walk of shame required.

My mom, Serena, drilled into me that it doesn’t matter the circumstances, you treat people with dignity.

She says,“Don’t leave anyone with less than they came in with, even if all they wanted was a good time.

”So, yeah, a car, a smile, no awkwardness, ever.

“Bathroom?” she whispers, and I nod toward my ensuite.

“Did you hear me?” Briar asks.

“Right. Not like the others,” I echo back as I grab a sweatshirt from the closet.

“I’m serious, Dash. He held the door for me. He asked about my classes. He?—”

“Briar,” I cut in, lowering my voice as I snag Glitter Bunny’s shoes from under the bed and hand them over. “You said the same thing about the guy who sold you a fake parking pass.”

“That was different!” she huffs.

“With all the love in my heart, Briar, you gotta stop listening to these little bitches that use lines to get laid,” I half-whisper.

“For your information, I didn’t even sleep with him … yet.” She says … proudly?

“Good. Because, hand to God, you’ve already given me two names of asses to kick during the off-season, because that’s when I can get away with being locked up and not piss off Coach D.”

“And hand to God, Dash, I will stop trusting you enough to share my inner most secrets and just call?—”

“Our sister is too damn young and needs to remain focused. Don’t twist her mind with?—”

“Celeste is a senior in high school. She’s dated and?—”

“A virgin. Just like you are until marriage.”

She snorts. “Don’t go all patriarchal on me, Dashel Stearling, that will force?—”

“Fine, whatever,” I cave … like always.

The bathroom opens, and Glitter Bunny heads toward the door. She knows the deal. Just two adults with the same idea of fun. No delusions of love floating in her head.

I get the ping notifying me the ride’s here and open the front door for her, phone still pressed to my ear, Briar still narrating the love story of the century.

Glitter Bunny gives me a wink and slides out.

I shut the door and walk back to my room.

“Are you even there?” Briar asks.

I flop back on the bed and finally answer Briar correctly. “Yes, tell me more about Prince Charming. Because, clearly, I’ve got time for fairy tales before practice.”

“Like I said, I met him at the library,” she breathes, like that alone seals the deal.

“Not even the loud, group-project part of the library—the quiet floor. He was sitting in one of those uncomfortable chairs by the window, reading a book for his political science seminar. Poli-sci, Dash. He actually wants to change the world. And when I dropped my highlighter, he picked it up and said,” she pauses for effect.

“‘Looks like someone takes her studies seriously.’”

I stare at the ceiling and roll my eyes. “Wow. Shakespeare’s got nothing on him.”

“Don’t be a dick,” she huffs, then softens immediately.

“He wasn’t hitting on me. He was … noticing me.

Like, really seeing me. He asked what I was studying, and when I told him kinesiology, he said it was amazing how athletes learn to train the body as much as the mind. Dash, he gets it. He gets me. ”

I bite back a laugh. This is the same girl who swore the guy who sold her a fake parking pass was “deep” because he called her car a chariot.

But Briar barrels on, unstoppable. “And then he asked if I wanted to grab coffee, and it wasn’t sleazy or suggestive—it was polite. Respectful. He opened the door for me, Dash. He carried my books. And when I laughed at something dumb, he didn’t just nod—he laughed, like it mattered .”

I sigh, dragging a hand over my face. She falls fast, and she falls hard. And even though I want to tell her every guy in college knows how to hold a door, I don’t.

I ask a simple question, “Does he like soccer?”

“No, but?—”

“Briar, you play D1 soccer, and this guy doesn’t even like your sport?”

“He doesn’t have to like it to like me, any more than I have to pretend I like politics to keep his interest, Dash. Don’t you see? He’s perfect. Like so perfect he didn’t even ask me back to his place like every other jackoff at this school.”

My body goes tense at the thought. “And if he had, you’d have told him no like you do every guy who wants to,” I damn-near throw up in my mouth, “ mess with you, right?”

“Circling back to the fact you have no right to judge me, especially since you are?—”

“I have no intentions or interest in falling in love, no time to do so, and I make damn sure whoever I … mess with knows that.”

“What about that girl at Hayward? You were in lo?—”

“I was eighteen and never once told her I loved her.”

“But you did love her,” she states.

“Clearly not.” I laugh.

“I call bullshit, big bro.”

I roll to my side and try to get comfortable, hoping like hell I can fall back to sleep for half an hour. “Call all you want, Briar, but try to wait until eight in the morning?”

“I wanted to call you last night, but you were playing hockey.”

I force myself to bite back how I’d really like to respond, which is difficult when I’ve been trained to react without pause since my dad laced up my first pair of skates when I was three years old.

But Mom has drilled it into my head that, with my sisters and women in general, I’m supposed to think before I speak.

So, I take a brief second to choose my words.

“I’m not saying this is you.” Total bullshit—of course it’s her . “But did I ever tell you about my buddy Johnny?”

“Johnny?” she asks.

“Yeah. Johnny. He hates anything green—like, irrationally—because Philly cut him right after his first season and their jerseys are green. Guy won’t even touch broccoli. But then, out of nowhere, he’s walking into team dinner in a custom emerald suit. You know why, Briar?”

“Because he changed his mind?” she asks, zero emotion.

“Nope. Three dates in, this girl tells him her favorite color is green.” I fight a yawn and keep going.

“Next thing we know, he’s talking about joint gym memberships when he’s already got state-of-the-art facilities both at the arena and in his own damn building.

Another week later, he’s planning a romantic getaway to Tuscany. ”

“Oh my God,” she gasps. “How romantic!”

“She dumped him five days after he surprised her with a plane ticket,” I say flatly.

“What? Why?”

“She told him she didn’t have vacation time. He offered to cover her lost wages. Didn’t matter—she still bailed. Ghosted him, blocked his number. Between you and me, I think he scared the hell out of her. Too much, too fast.”

“Is he okay?”

“Who?” I ask, like a moron.

She groans. “Johnny.”

Shit. “Yeah … if you count doing it all over again with three more chicks okay.” I pause, letting that sink in. “Word got around he was desperate, and then people started calling him a player. Even the Icehouse bunnies steered clear.”

She goes quiet, which is rare for Briar, so I twist the knife a little more with a smirk.

“His hype playlist was nothing but Adele. And not the fun ones. Full-on heartbreak ballads. Guy cried during warmups.”

“That’s awful.”

“He swore off women for an entire season,” I say, stretching out on the bed, “and then, a year later, he’s at the dentist getting a chipped tooth fixed, a hygienist walks in.

She’s sweet, zero interest in hockey. She’s got gloves on, a scraper in her hand, and tells him to ‘open wide.’ Johnny swears it was the most romantic thing he’s ever heard. ”

Briar snorts. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope. Married now. Kid on the way. Moral of the story? Until you stop hunting for ‘the one,’ you’re not gonna find them. Sometimes they sneak up on you when you’ve got a drool bib around your neck and a dentist’s drill in your mouth.”

She sighs in that dreamy kind of way she does, and I’m sure I got through this time.

“One man’s drool bib is another’s highlighter rescue.” Apparently fucking not. “I think this could be it.”

“Love you, Briar, and need to get a few more minutes sleep. I have a promo to do today. Gotta look fresh.”

“Love you, too.”

“Do me a favor?”

“Sure,” she says.

“If this guy isn’t the one, stop looking and let ‘the one’ find you.” I yawn. “And he better deserve you, or I will ruin him.”

Duffle still slung over my shoulder, I push out of my bedroom, head down the hall, and into the kitchen of the Puck Palace. My roommates are already there, hunched over the island, eating like they’ve never seen food before.