The Breakup Plan
Out of nowhere, a brawny arm slides around my shoulders and hauls me close, anchoring me against a muscular body. Without looking, I know exactly who the culprit pinning me in place is. The woodsy scent is a dead giveaway.
The deep voice confirms my sinking suspicions.
Grayson McNichols.
“Miss me, baby?” he growls against my ear as his warm breath sends shivers skittering down my spine.
There’s an edge of humor simmering in his voice that thankfully kills the unwanted attraction that has leapt to life at his proximity. No matter how much I fight against it, he affects me like this every time. It’s why I’ve made it my mission in life to steer clear of Mr. Hellcat Hockey himself.
Needing to create distance between us before I get sucked any further into his orbit, I ram my elbow into his ribs. It’s not nearly hard enough to do any real damage, or even to separate myself from him so I can make a quick getaway.
Gray sticks to me like glue.
“Sure did. Almost as much as I’d miss a particularly nasty case of herpes.
” I brace myself before flicking my eyes in his direction.
“No matter what I do, you keep making an unsightly appearance at the worst possible time, just like an incurable STI.” I bare my teeth so he won’t think I’m being flirty.
He smirks.
My acidic comments are like water off a duck’s back.
It’s annoying.
Just like him.
“So, what you’re really trying to say is that I’m persistent,” he waggles his dark brows in a comical manner, “and you find that oddly appealing.”
Please…
As if…
Nothing could be further from the truth. Gray McNichols could eat shit and die, as far as I’m concerned.
He flashes me his trademark smile.
Dimples and all.
Ugh.
Those dimples are a real killer. If I have one weakness, it’s for a guy with Eddie Cibrian dimples. And Gray has them in spades. Now that I think about it, he kind of resembles Eddie Cibrian, circa early 2000’s. I try not to let the smile or—God help me—the dimples affect me, but it’s no easy feat.
I’ve spent years trying to steel myself against his magnetism and charm. To this day, I’m just barely able to hold on to my composure. Most of my behavior is sheer bravado. If he ever pushed me hard enough, the straw house I’ve built around myself for protection would collapse.
Not only is Gray ridiculously handsome, but he’s captain of the Hillsdale Hellcat hockey team, which only ups his hotness factor around campus.
My guess is that he’s slept his way through half the female population at Hillsdale.
All he has to do is smile and girls drop their panties before falling on their backs and spreading their legs wide.
How do I know this?
Here comes the embarrassing part…
Once upon a time, I was one of those girls.
Yup, it’s sad but true.
I know exactly what it’s like to have all that charismatic attention aimed in my direction. It happened second semester of freshman year. I’d seen Gray around campus and was a smitten kitten. And then, one night at a party, we hooked up.
Needless to say, it was a fuck-and-flee situation—the kind that’s chock-full of regret in the morning. I blame alcohol for my poor judgment.
Surprise surprise, I never heard a peep from Gray again.
Was I stupid enough to expect more?
Guilty as charged.
He fed me all the lines that are hot guy kryptonite to stupid girls like me, and I fell for it. Hook, line, and sinker.
I know, I know…
Total.
Idiot.
Trust me, I won’t dispute the title. It may have taken a while, but I’ve come to a place of acceptance. Now, does that mean I’m dumb enough to fall for his easy breezy charm for a second time?
Hell to the no.
Those memories are all it takes to strengthen my resolve.
“What do you want, McNichols?” I hasten my step as we navigate the path that cuts through the heart of campus, but it does no good. I can’t separate myself from him. He keeps me trapped at his side.
People wave and shout Gray’s name, trying to capture his attention.
His celebrity status is irritating. I seem to be one of the few students at Hillsdale who wants no part of him.
Like a man who’s at ease with his station in life, he acknowledges his clamoring fanbase with a chin lift and a practiced wave of his hand.
What a pompous jerk.
Hillsdale is a Division I hockey school. Every year there are a handful of players drafted to the NHL. There’s no question that the muscular defenseman will get snapped up by the pros.
How could he not?
He’s the lead scorer three years running.
And yeah, that would be off the ice as well as on it.
Everyone at this school loves him.
Hell, the whole town worships him.
It’s nauseating.
He could have accepted a full ride from any top-notch university in the United States—everyone was vying for him—but he chose Hillsdale.
Lucky us.
You’d assume with over ten thousand students on campus, the chances of running into him on a nearly daily basis would be astronomically low.
Think again.
I wasn’t joking when I likened Gray to an incurable STI. Every time I turn around, there he is, in my face, acting like we’re BFF’s.
We don’t live near each other.
We’re not in the same major or in any classes together.
I make it a habit to avoid parties that I suspect he’ll be gracing with his esteemed presence. There are a ton of puck bunnies around these parts, but I’m not one of them.
And yet, I can’t get away from this guy to save my life.
Thank God this is our senior year. Once we graduate in May, I’ll never see Gray again. It’s that knowledge that makes it possible for me to get through moments like this.
“Just checking to see if you’ve changed your mind about us getting together.”
I snort at that little bit of ridiculousness. “Umm, I’m sorry. Did Hell happen to freeze over, and I’m the last one to find out?”
He squeezes my shoulder and a jolt of unwanted electricity zips through me. I gnash my teeth against my body’s natural response to him.
“You know how much I love it when you play hard to get.” He punctuates that sentiment by nipping at my neck.
My heart flutters, and it takes everything I have inside to keep my voice level and not betray the attraction roaring violently through my veins.
“I’m not playing hard to get. What I’m playing is I-don’t-want-to-talk-to-you-ever-again.
If you weren’t such a meathead, you’d realize the difference and act accordingly.
” Before he can sweet-talk me into a situation I’ll end up regretting, I fire off a pertinent question.
“And when was the last time you actually took a girl out on a date?”
I’m not a moron. I know the answer, but I want to hear him say it. It’s my ace in the hole, so to speak. Which is a far cry from the ace in the hole he’s hoping to get.
That won’t be happening.
“Never,” he admits cheerfully, “but I’d be willing to make an exception for you, Winters.”
See what I’m talking about?
Hot guy kryptonite for sure.
But I’m way too smart for him. Plus, I’d like to think that I learn from my mistakes, which is a far cry from some of the other girls around here.
We’re about a block away from Thorson Hall, the business building on campus where I’m headed. At this point, I’m practically speed walking. The sooner we get there, the faster I can ditch Gray.
“It’s a tempting offer,” I lie, “but I’ll be taking a hard pass.”
His face falls as he presses his hand against his chest.
And what a magnificent chest it is.
With gritted teeth, I shove that errant thought away before it can worm its way into my psyche and do permanent damage.
“You wound me, Winters. All I want is one date and you’re shooting me down without even considering the offer. Aren’t you the least bit curious where I’d take you?”
Nope.
Not even a little.
“Sure,” I snicker. “Let me guess.” I tap a finger thoughtfully against my chin. “Would it be a little place called Bonetown? I’m willing to bet it is.” I force my voice to fill with boredom. “Been there, done that, have the T-shirt to prove it.”
His laugh is rich and low. It strums something deep inside me.
He tugs me closer. “Have I mentioned how much I love your sense of humor?”
“Please,” I scoff, uncomfortable with the physical intimacy. My left breast is squashed against his side. The last thing I need is for my nip to pebble and him to feel the physical evidence of my desire. That would only encourage him to pursue me more fervently than he already is.
And that, I couldn’t withstand.
I hold my breath, not wanting to inhale anymore of his decadent scent. I need to get away from him before I melt into a puddle. This flirtation is nothing more than a game. It’s what Gray is known for.
Why does he insist on messing with me when I’ve gone out of my way to make my disinterest clear?
Doesn’t he realize that there’s no shortage of puck bunnies who would be more than happy to shower him with adoration? He could easily score with any number of them. Probably at the same time.
I glance around, noticing quite a number of girls staring in our direction.
It’s enough to make me shake my head in disgust.
Get a grip, ladies! This guy is toxic to the female population!
“Have you ever considered,” he says, breaking into my thoughts, “that what I need is the love of a good woman to change me for the better?”
Laughter wells in my throat before bursting free. “You’re so full of shit!”
The love of a good woman, indeed.
Ha!
As if…
Gray grins and his dimples pop in tandem. “Maybe.”
“Oh, there’s no maybe about it, McNichols. You’re definitely full of shit.”
I didn’t think it was possible for him to tug me closer, but he manages to do it before whispering, “Don’t you remember how good it felt when I was buried deep inside you? Come on, Winters. Admit it, you want me.”
And there you have it...
The extent of his interest doesn’t go any further than him dipping his wick.
I need to get away from Gray before he destroys every shred of my resolve. Deep down, I know he’s the worst possible guy for me, but my lady parts are clamoring for his attention.
And that, my friends, would be my cue to leave.
Without warning, I stop and jerk out of his arms. People grumble as they’re forced to walk around us.
“Let me make this perfectly clear.” I harden my voice, refusing to be taken in by his good looks and easy charm.
When it comes down to it, this guy is a predator.
If he senses a moment of weakness, he’ll take me down before I realize I was being hunted in the first place.
And then I’ll be lost. “You’re the last guy on campus I would sleep with.
Your stroke game was mediocre at best, and our encounter was entirely forgettable. ”
Instead of taking offense, he tilts his head and rubs his chin with his fingers.
“Is that so?” He steps closer, his muscular body invading my space yet again, and my body sizzles with the contact.
“I find that hard to believe. I’ve never had any complaints about my,” he smirks, “stroke game.” His finger finds its way to the curve of my cheek.
“But I’d be more than happy to give you an encore performance so you can reevaluate your verdict. ”
I gulp and step away until his hand falls to his side and I can breathe again.
Oxygen rushes to my deprived brain.
Seriously?
How am I supposed to get through to this guy when he refuses to listen to a single word I say?
Unwilling to waste another moment on him, I throw my hands up and stalk toward my one o’clock class.
“So,” he shouts at my retreating figure, “you’re going to think about it and get back to me, right?”
I flip him the bird and keep walking.