If You Keep Me (The Toronto Terror #6)

Chapter 1

TALLY

“Ijust want to have sex.”

The table goes silent for a moment, and all eyes shift to me.

I’m out for brunch with my Babe Brigade. These women are my friends, though they’re all a little older than me, and also almost all affiliated with the Terror, Toronto’s pro hockey team, of which my dad is the head coach.

Hemi’s eyes flare. “Uh-oh, what happened last night?” She’s the head of Terror PR and married to Dallas Bright, a forward on the team.

“The same old same old.” I’m the last virgin standing in my university friend group, and I don’t see that changing any time soon. “It’s so stupid. All these idiot boys just want to fuck the coach’s virgin daughter.”

A table of dad-aged guys close by looks our way. Hemi stares them down, and their breakfasts are suddenly super interesting.

“It must be frustrating.” Essie’s expression is all empathy.

Somehow a rumor proclaiming my unsullied status—to counteract the previous one where my ex called me a bad lay—has made its way through the douchebag population of my university. It’s become a fun game to play: Who can deflower the precious Terror virgin? Or at least that’s how it seems.

“Why can’t I find a nice boyfriend who wants to know me?”

Maybe my expectations are too high. Maybe I need to read less LoTR fanfic and omegaverse romance where the heroes are head-over-ass in love with their partner and exceptionally focused on providing unparalleled pleasure. Is that too much to ask?

Dred tents her fingers under her chin in contemplation. “Maybe hockey parties aren’t the ideal location to source such a man?” She’s married to Connor Grace, the Terror enforcer, who lives to make her happy.

I sigh. “You’re right. I know this. But my friends are all connected to the hockey world.

There’s no escape. Last night some guy waited in line with me for the bathroom, and we got to chatting.

He seemed so nice and legitimately interested, but when it was my turn, he asked if I was down to fuck.

It’s horrifying how predictably horny university boys are. ”

Rix and Essie make matching icked-out faces. “That’s awful.”

“Right?” I point my fork at my friends. “There are guys out there capable of a meaningful connection and know where to locate a fucking clitoris.”

“Women know where the clitoris is,” notes Rainbow, our server, as she tops up my coffee.

“I wish I was attracted to vaginas and not peens.” I sigh.

“Peens are fun.” Rix bounces a little in her seat.

I keep my cucumber comment to myself.

“So fun.” Essie looks all dreamy.

They each have a Stiles brother who is wholly dedicated to their happiness and their vagina. I hang out with the youngest Stiles brother, but we are one-hundred-percent platonic, and he’s woefully obsessed with my friend Enid.

Rainbow finishes filling the coffees, humming to herself, and then flounces to the next table.

My rant continues. “I spent all of first year holding out because I wanted it to be with the right person, but it’s three-point-five years later and I’m still searching for someone to give my V-Card to!

But it’s about more than sex,” I admit. “Sure, I want my first time to be great, and not some lackluster wah-wah experience with a guy who’s afraid of intimacy and needs a map and written directions to find my hot button.

But I want my person. Someone I can hang out and cuddle with.

” I envy the women I’m with because they all have their person.

Even some of my university friends have serious boyfriends.

I want someone to love, who loves me back.

“You’ll find the right guy,” Dred assures me.

That gives me pause. It’s possible I’ve already found the right guy. I’m just not on his radar. I probably never will be.

The conversation moves away from my single/virginal status as we finish brunch and head up to Rix and Tristan’s penthouse to hang out.

Conveniently, they live in the building above the breakfast place.

My stomach fills with butterflies as we enter the living room, because the star of all my late-night fantasies, Terror forward Phillip “Flip” Madden (also Rix’s older brother), is sitting on the couch, looking far too delicious for his own good. And mine.

He’s well over six feet of chiseled, broad hockey player. His thick brown hair curls around his ears, a few weeks past needing a trim. He’s wearing a long-sleeved shirt, pushed up to reveal defined forearms. I just want to rub myself all over him and scent him like a cat.

Essie, Rix, Dred, and Hemi are greeted by their significant others, who have also gathered in the living room. I long for that kind of casual affection; to have someone who knows all my secrets.

Hammer and I drop onto the empty love seat.

“Hollis is on the road this weekend?” Quinn Romero, a Terror enforcer, asks. He joined the team a couple of years ago. He has hair the color of fire and a Milky Way of freckles dotting his pale skin.

Hammer nods. “He’s coaching the junior team in Ottawa. They should be back later this afternoon.”

Flip passes his game controller to Kellan Ryker, the Terror goalie, and his dark-maple eyes shift to me. “How’s it going, Talls? You have your holiday dance showcase coming up soon, right?”

“Yeah, it’s next weekend.” I try not to get overly excited that he remembered, but I also inconveniently recall the way fantasy Flip made me come last night after I’d read a particularly spicy fic update by my friend Cammie.

I always replace the heroes in her why-choose stories with different versions of Flip, and of course my stupid cheeks heat.

“Is this one a solo performance? Or are you dancing with your troupe?” Flip leans forward, elbows resting on his thick thighs.

He always asks me about dance, and he always seems genuinely interested. “It’s a whole-class ensemble this time, but I have one of the main parts.”

His face lights up. “That’s fantastic, Talls, and not a surprise since you’re magic on the stage. Can you drop the date in our group chat?”

“There isn’t a game that night,” Hemi says before I can.

“So your dad will be able to go.”

“As long as he doesn’t have a meeting.” My dad can’t always make my performances, and when he does, often the Terror show up along with him.

“Right.” Flip rubs his bottom lip. “Are there still tickets?”

“I can check for you,” I offer, a little lightheaded. To be Flip Madden’s girlfriend is the ultimate dream. But he’s almost a decade older than me, my dad is his boss, and he’s part of my extended friend group.

“That’s okay. I can do the legwork.” Flip leans back, a warm smile on his perfect mouth.

“I’m so excited to see you perform again!” Rix pipes up, breaking the spell I was under.

A chorus of agreement follows. When their schedules permit, the Babes attend my dance showcases at Tilton U, where I’m a dance major.

Occasionally, the guys come too, when they don’t have a game.

I appreciate that they do what they can to accommodate my events, since we’re in different phases of life.

“Are you feeling confident about your routine?” Essie asks. “Cammie said you’ve been at the dance studio a lot lately.”

“Yeah, my troupe has been great about making time to rehearse.” Even if we have to take the early-morning studio slot.

Essie’s younger sister, Cammie, is one of my closest university friends. My university and the Terror world are hopelessly intertwined. Cammie’s boyfriend plays hockey for the university team and is best friends with Brody Stiles, Nate and Tristan’s youngest brother.

The conversation shifts, taking the focus off me. I sit back and listen, happy to be surrounded by the people I’m most comfortable with. The Terror crew is like a big extended family.

Well, except Flip. He doesn’t feel like family at all.

When I was a teenager, I had a huge crush on him. I still do. But it’s shifted in ways I didn’t expect over the past year. He’s a great guy. He coaches hockey for kids with special needs and plays cards with little old ladies at the retirement village.

He’s fun to be around, I’m comfortable with him, and he’s always been nice to me. Protective even. Countless times I’ve imagined what it would be like to be more than just his friend. To be his.

Warmth blooms low in my stomach and works its way up my chest.

Flip’s brown eyes meet mine, and he gives me a questioning look.

It feels like he’s paying more attention to me than usual.

Or maybe I’m hyperaware because of the conversation earlier at the Pancake House and his questions about my upcoming showcase.

I excuse myself to the bathroom before the heat can reach my cheeks and inspire questions.

I splash cold water on my face and grip the edge of the sink. If things were different. If Flip saw me differently…

Could he?

Would he?

I’m so tired of being a fetish and untouchable at the same time.

I want someone to want me for me. Someone who cares about me and not who my dad is.

Lately the loneliness has been eating at me.

I sigh and pat my cheeks dry before I leave the bathroom.

As I round the corner I nearly run right into Flip.

“Whoa, hey.” His wide, warm palms settle on my shoulders, steadying me.

My hand lands on his chest. “Hi. Sorry.”

I inhale the mouthwatering scent of his cologne as I lift my gaze, hand still pressed over his heart. I should step back, stop touching him, but he’s still touching me, too.

He tips his head, maple eyes searching mine as he drops his hands, fingers gently skimming my arms on the way down. A shiver runs through me. For a moment I believe he’s not just my friend. For a moment a spark of something hot flares.

“You okay, Talls?”

Tension builds and swirls, twisting my stomach into a knot.

Flip is an amazing person. He knows me. I know him.

He cares about me the same way I do him.

I’ve yearned for him for years. Previously innocent fantasies have spun into darker, baser desires over time and merged with my longing for something real.

Flip has always been protective of me. He would take care of me.

He would make me feel revered. With him, I’d be safe.

Flip Madden would be the perfect man to give my V-card to.

Before I can think it all the way through, I blurt, “I need your help with something.”

His eyes soften, and a warm smile tips the corner of his mouth. “Of course. Anything you need, just name it.” He’s so earnest, his smile so genuine, like he’s pleased I would come to him.

I pull in a deep breath. “I need you to take my virginity.”