Chapter Thirteen #2
I wasn’t sure if she was teasing me for the fuss I had made last night.
“It was comfortable.” And sturdy as hell, judging by what it had survived.
I didn’t say that last part because it was too intimate and I wouldn’t want to give her the satisfaction of things ending happily after I had been forced to share a room with Beckett.
He was my little secret. My guilty pleasure. “Could I grab a cup of coffee?”
“By all means,” Bridgette said, the wariness melting away to give room to her hospitality. “Don’t mind me. I only need five more minutes.”
“Don’t rush it,” I said. “I’ll take it up.” I reached the coffee maker and poured two mugs full of coffee, then realized she noticed as much. Now, she would definitely know I wasn’t in a murdering mood when it came to my roommate like I had been last night.
I thanked her as I hurried away and upstairs.
Beckett was, as ever, partially dressed, like his entire life depended on triggering my erections.
He wore his sweatpants, damn him, but his feet were bare, as was his torso.
His hair was wet and his brown eyes were clear like he had been awake for half a day.
“You love me. You really love me.” His sarcastic comment was brushed aside as I handed him the mug. He sipped it and exhaled with satisfaction that rivaled the one from last night.
I carried my mug to the balcony because the silence in the room made me more uncomfortable than I wanted to admit. Part of me wanted to forget the coffee and lick and slurp all over Beckett’s torso. Another part screamed at my stupidity for letting myself get tangled in this mess.
What’s the mess, though? I asked myself, knowing it was my semi-hard dick influencing me.
I indulged. The mess was in Beckett being the most obnoxious person I had ever crossed paths with.
Smug, self-centered, and privileged beyond reason, he was the root of all my current problems. However, he was also the most passionate and exciting lover I had ever had.
And while my experience wasn’t as limited as it had been a year ago, I was still fresh enough to make mistakes and be infatuated with the wrong person.
Like Beckett Partridge.
Like sexy, seductive, confident Beckett Goddamn Partridge.
Shuffling feet pulled my attention from my drifting thoughts. Beckett stepped out in house slippers, wearing a partially zipped-up hoodie over his bare torso. His coffee steamed as he held the mug with one hand and brought it to his lips.
I watched him, but he acted like I wasn’t even there. If I were being petty, I would have accused him of ignoring me. After last night, my perception of him broadened just enough to let me consider the possibility he wanted to be outside without disturbing me. The thought made me cock my head.
“What?” he asked, a trace of curiosity touching his voice, the corners of his lips stretching into a faint memory of a smile.
“Nothing.” I wished I knew how to soften my tone with him. Even now, I sounded suspicious and clipped. “Just…thinking.” That was marginally better.
He nodded without intruding any further. His attention drifted to the great lake and the indistinguishable horizon. The bleakness of the morning was a bad omen to my athlete’s superstitions. I just didn’t know what it was about. Our game this afternoon or whatever happened next with Beckett and me.
It was after a few hours and a brief meeting with the coach for a few last-minute drills that I discovered the omen had nothing to do with our game.
We prepared ourselves in the locker room and Beckett did a brilliant job balancing our forced friendship and a giant freaking secret for everyone to witness.
He acted like his old self, slapping my shoulder while we were still undressed in the locker room and pretending to hype me up for the game.
His face didn’t betray even a trace of anything intimate in the heated touch of his hand on my bare shoulder.
And I nearly fell apart at the contact. I hurried to put my gear on, but there was no erasing the redness that touched my cheeks.
But it was on the ice, when we met the Icehawks in their home rink, that the true changes showed themselves.
Although we were out of luck through the first period, a break helped us recalibrate our strategy with all the information we gathered from getting our asses kicked.
Beckett wasn’t sulky when we gathered for a few minutes of strategizing as a team.
Instead, he and Coach Murray set our minds to a single purpose.
“They’re harmonized for sure,” Beckett said, grinning like a madman, bloodthirst awakening as he readied us for another battle.
“But if we pull our defenses forward and engage theirs, the quickest among us can get through.” He proceeded to suggest our roles, handing out big duties to Avery, Sebastian, Tyler, and Paxton.
Then, as if I was an afterthought, he waved his hand. “Jones, eyes on me out there.”