Chapter 12 #3
“Nice rack, Michaels!” Mason catcalls. He’s a year older than me, and it was his bet that landed me in this ridiculous outfit. I flip him off and walk over to a group of guys standing around a mossy gravestone and a keg of beer, which is wedged into the grass against the stone.
“Keg stand anyone?” my teammate Ryan asks. “Smith couldn’t hold his alcohol. Who’s next?”
I glance over and see Alex Smith, one of our junior defensemen, doubled over in the bushes retching. Coach is going to be pissed.
“I’ll do it.” I say with a shrug. “As long as someone gets Smith home safe tonight.”
Ryan nods and waves toward the keg. I’m pretty good at keg stands.
I put the nozzle in my mouth and place my hands on the metal handles on each side and hoist myself up.
Of course, I forgot that I’m essentially wearing a skirt, and it flutters over my head, blocking my vision, but I start chugging the liquid and foam anyway.
“For fuck’s sake, Brantley. No one wants to see that.” I recognize Lincoln’s voice.
The nozzle drops from my mouth as I snort a laugh, and the carbonation goes up my nose.
“Seriously, cut it out. You’re defiling someone’s grave,” Link snaps.
I try to land gracefully, but the fabric of my costume catches under my foot, and I fall onto my ass in the grass. I rub my nose, wincing at the burn, and stare up at Lincoln, who's glaring at me.
“What?” I ask, looking around. Trey is laughing so hard, he’s gasping, and the other guys look just as amused. I grin proudly.
“Hockey players are idiots,” Link mutters. “Don’t let me catch you doing that again. You could have broken your neck.”
I smile at him sweetly but comply. It is his party, after all. “Yes, Daddy.”
Lincoln storms off, and my eyes catch on a girl in the crowd.
She’s fucking gorgeous, and she’s giving me an intensely judgy stare.
In the dim twinkle lights, I can’t see the color of her eyes, but they’re dark and alluring and thoroughly disgusted.
She’s also wearing the exact same costume I am, though it looks incredible on her, hugging every curve of her pale skin.
I give her my most disarming smile, climb to my feet, and walk over. “Well, this is embarrassing.”
“What you just did? It sure was.”
I smile wider at her snark. “I mean that we’re dressed alike. Isn’t that a party foul or something?”
“Are you wearing braided earmuffs?” she asks, reaching up to touch them.
“Are you?” I ask, touching her back. My fingertips graze over the intricate auburn hair space buns.
She steps back, eyeing me suspiciously. “You should really ask consent before you touch a girl.”
“You’re right, actually. I’m sorry.” She seems angry, but her gaze softens when she sees my embarrassment.
I start to ramble to hide my discomfort.
I feel so awkward around her all of a sudden.
I’m hardly ever awkward. “I’ve learned a lot about women just tonight, you know.
You wouldn’t believe the catcalls and sexual comments. ” I huff. “Men are pigs.”
She bursts out laughing, and the sound makes my stomach bottom out. I drop my hand to my abs self-consciously. She raises her cup with a wink, and I follow suit, knocking her drink with mine.
“I’m Fiona Flowers,” she says. “And you are?”
“Brantley.”
“Enjoy the party, Brantley.”
Then she walks away. I watch her leave in awe just as Mason approaches and slaps me on the back.
“In case you were wondering, she wore it better,” he snarks.
I elbow him, and we walk back to our teammates.
I watch Fiona Flowers all night, and I don’t think I’m particularly subtle about it, but it’s hard to tell because the alcohol is making my head fuzzy.
The party’s winding down when a guy approaches her and whispers something in her ear.
Fiona glares at him and shakes her head.
She’s had a lot to drink too, and she’s gotten a bit louder and handsier as the night’s gone on, but I can tell she just set a boundary with this guy.
As the song slows, he reaches for her waist anyway, and Fiona pushes his hands away.
The move awakens the alpha douche in me, and I set my beer down on the nearest rock.
“What’re you doing?” Mason asks as I stride toward them.
“I’ll just be right back,” I growl.
“Brantley…” His voice holds a note of warning, but I ignore it. I’m a badass hockey player. What could go wrong?
The guy looks annoyed by Fiona’s rejection but doesn’t seem to be walking away. I drop a hand on his shoulder and try to spin him around like they do in movies. He doesn’t budge. Instead, he stops to look at my hand and then turns to face me, smirking when he takes in my gold bikini costume.
“Brantley?” Fiona’s clutching her hands together, her brows lowered in confusion.
“Can I help you with something, pretty boy?” the guys asks.
I look the asshole up and down and realize he’s actually much more muscly than I thought. And also not as drunk as I am.
“Jeez, you’re a big fellow, aren’t you?” I’m having doubts that I should try to hit him. Maybe he’ll listen to reason.
I poke his bicep. It’s really firm. The guy’s eyebrows shoot up as he glares at my finger.
“What’s your name?” I ask, giving him a smile. He does not smile back.
“Bruce.”
“Well, that’s appropriate—you have kind of a Hulk vibe going on. Hey, Bruce. Listen.” I nod my head at Fiona. “It seems like my friend told you not to touch her, but you seem insistent on doing it anyway. How about you give her some space and walk away?”
Bruce’s gaze darkens, and he cracks his beefy knuckles. “How ‘bout I touch you instead?”
I give him a cheeky grin, which, in hindsight, was probably a mistake. “I don’t think you mean that like it sounds, buddy.”
For some reason, Bruce doesn’t think I’m funny, and he steps forward, grasping the gold bra in his huge fist.
“C’mon, man,” I stutter as he yanks me forward. “This bra isn’t mine.”
Bruce just grunts at me.
“Hey, cut it out!” Fiona steps between us and lays her hand on his wrist. “Let him go, Bruce.”
Is she crazy?
“Or what?” he taunts. “What’re you going to do about it, princess?”
Fiona’s eyes, which I can now see are a brilliant jewel-toned green, flash with anger, and I feel like I’m watching in slow motion as her bare knee comes up, nailing poor Bruce right in the balls.
He doubles over, his head knocking painfully against mine, and I fall to the ground. Spots float in my vision, and I rub my forehead where we collided.
The giant above me is groaning and clutching his microdick. “You bitch,” Bruce spits.
Before he can get anything else out, Fiona takes a swing and hits him in the nose. He falls to his knees just as Lincoln pushes his way through the crowd that’s gathered around us.
I give him a half-hearted smile because damn, my head hurts.
“What the fuck is this?” Lincoln demands. “I said no fights.”
“Sorry, Lincoln,” Fiona says. “I was just leaving, but you should consider what kind of trash you let into your parties.”
Link glances at me and back to Fiona. Then he walks up to Bruce, grabs his greasy hair, and pulls his head back at an unnatural angle.
“Get the fuck out of here, Bruce.” His eyes are practically black, and a chill skates over my skin. “If you show up at one of my parties again, you’ll be expelled from this school and everyone will know what a disgusting sexual deviant your daddy is, including your mother.”
Bruce goes pale.
“Do you understand?” Link tugs his hair, his grip tightening until his knuckles are white. “Tell me you understand.”
Bruce nods quickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing. When Link lets him go, he scrambles to his feet and stumbles away.
Link reaches out a hand, and I let him help me to my feet.
“Thank you,” I mutter. My eyes search for Fiona. She’s with a group of friends, her hips swaying as she walks up the path and disappears beyond the cemetery gates.
My stomach does that weird fluttering thing again, and I break into a run. “Fiona! Wait!” I yell just as I crest the hill. She turns, walking backward, but doesn’t stop. “I love you!”
What. The. Fuck. Brantley. I am literally horrified by what I just said.
Fiona laughs. “I know.”
Then she turns around with a wave and leaves me standing in the middle of Main Street like an idiot.
“Whoa, stop,” Fi says, holding up a hand. “Bruce was not that big.”
“He was too!”
“You were drunk, B.”
“So were you,” I counter. Then I turn to look at Bastian who’s laughing so hard, he can hardly breathe.
“What the fuck is so funny?”
Fi looks at him, grinning widely. He leans back into the couch cushions, wiping tears from his eyes. I raise my eyebrows expectantly.
“She totally Han Solo’d you.”
“What?”
His smile fades and a look of disbelief crosses his face. “The famous line. Charlie is obsessed with that scene. Leia says, ‘I love you’ and Han says, ‘I know.’”
I turn and look at Fiona, eyeing her suspiciously. “Did you do that on purpose?”
“Of course, I did, B.”
“But I’m the guy…”
“Of course you are, sweetie,” she says, her foot kicking mine playfully. “But actual genders aside, I just have more traditionally masculine traits.”
I huff doubtfully. “Like what?”
She holds out her hand, ticking off each item as she talks. “I can outdrink you; I’m better at Street Fighter; I’m freakishly strong…”
“She can chop wood,” Bastian cuts in.
I give him a dirty look. “Okay, okay, I get the point.”
“To be honest, B, I thought you said it to be clever because of your costume. It was a joke.”
“Yeah, of course it was,” I say, but I can’t meet her gaze. I can’t tell her that my mouth had a mind of its own that night. That those three words came out unexpectedly, and in that moment, I meant them and never stopped meaning them. And that thought is scary as hell.