60. Sydney
sixty
sydney
Penn and Oliver don’t put up much of a fuss about going to Carter’s game. In their words: “It’s an excuse to scope out our rivals.”
Which doesn’t really strike me as any better than what I did last year…
Whatever.
Oliver is without a phone. One of the concussion protocols is to avoid screens with blue light… so I guess the movie wasn’t in his best interests last night. Either way, he turned it off and shoved it in his pocket for emergencies only.
He sits in the front, while Penn drives and Carter and I take the back.
Our first stop is Carter’s apartment. Not his stalker apartment across the street from mine, but his real one. He assures us it should be empty, which it most certainly is not. His roommate, a d-man on his team, comes out of his room with barely any clothing on. As in, boxers only.
I can imagine what he’s thinking: Vipers in a Seawolves apartment?
Laughable.
Penn covers my eyes before I can see anything else, and I shove him away with a roll of my eyes.
Carter slaps the boxers-only guy on the back and makes up some excuse about them losing a bet, but I don’t know if his teammate buys it. He watches us, a mix of wary and skeptical, until Carter returns from his own bedroom with SJU sweatshirts for the guys and a long-sleeve shirt for me. It has Carter’s last name and his jersey number—eight—on the back, and St. James Hockey on the front.
After a brief internal debate, I put it on.
Carter’s smile alone is worth it.
Oliver and Penn both grumble. Oliver’s is a zip-up, which helps with the sore ribs. I ease it over his shoulders, then slip in front of him and take over the zipper.
Completely unnecessary, but I like the way his eyes on me heat my skin.
This is all one major distraction from the shit going on in the back of my head. It seems like I’ve traded one trauma for another. But focusing on hockey lets me ignore the fact that my mother is dead.
Caleb Asher’s parting words were that the medical examiner hasn’t ruled anything conclusive yet. If it comes back to be a suicide or accidental death, then I have nothing to worry about.
Which is as shameful as it is relieving.
I hope she wasn’t murdered. That would add more mystery onto my plate, more trauma that I don’t want to handle.
Anyway. We pile back in the car, now fully clad in St. James attire, and head to the arena. Carter goes in the players’ entrance. We’ve got another half hour or so before the doors will open for students.
I pull my legs up and rest my chin on my knee. “Truth or dare?”
Penn twists around. “Dare.”
I smirk. “I dare you to post a picture of your outfit.”
“Only if we’re all in it,” Penn counters. “Ollie?”
Oliver’s slowly gotten paler since we left the house. “And tell whoever attacked us exactly where we are? No, thanks.”
I exhale. “He’s right.”
“Okay, fine.” Penn pauses. “Truth, then.”
My stomach somersaults. “How would you feel about… me not picking?”
“Picking what?” He narrows his eyes. “Your seat?”
“Between the three of you.”
It’s a conversation Penn, Carter, and I have had before. In Michigan. But Oliver wasn’t part of it, and now I watch for his reaction to my question.
Oliver laughs. Groans at the following pain. “ Mi nena , you don’t have to pick right now.”
“That’s the problem,” I say before I can stop. “The more time I spend with all three of you, the less I want to pick at all. So what if I can’t? Are two of you going to… leave?”
Oliver shifts so he can face me without twisting. His brows furrow. His eyes are more warm brown than green today, although when the light catches them, the inner circles are all green-gold.
“What are you saying, Sydney?”
Penn wets his lips. He looks equally interested in what I’m about to say.
“Do you think the four of us could be happy together?” I immediately bury my face in my legs. “Don’t answer that if it’s a no.”
“I don’t think either of us are going to say no to you, princess,” Penn whispers. “Oliver?”
“I—” He cuts himself off. “Maybe.”
Maybe is better than no .
My heart flutters, and I slowly peek up at them. “The thought of choosing makes me sick inside.”
“Then don’t,” Penn advises. “Ollie. Truth or dare?”
Oliver frowns. “Dare.”
“I dare you to call Carter some obnoxious nickname during his first shift tonight. Something better than baby or sweetheart. Something that will make that man blush.”
They’re both so serious, staring at each other—I can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of me. And then it’s like a dam breaks, and I can’t contain it anymore. I laugh until my eyes water and tears leak out of the corners. I laugh until my stomach hurts.
When I finally stop, I look at them through my blurred vision, blinking away the last of the tears and swiping them off my cheeks.
They’re both staring.
“What?” My tone immediately shifts to defensive.
Oliver shakes his head.
“Just the most goddamn attractive girl on the face of the earth,” Penn says under his breath.
Oh.
Oliver nods.
Oh .
My face flames.
I clear my throat and shove the car door open. “Time to go in.”
Their laughter follows me.
Me
You’ve gone quiet.
L.
I was giving you space.
Seems like you might need more of it lately, with your entourage.
Don’t do that. Please.
What? You’ve got, by my count, three guys drooling over you.
You sound jealous.
Maybe I am.
Maybe I just want you to figure out who I am.
That’s not fair… I have tried.
You didn’t try very hard when I broke into your room and fucked you.
Some part of you likes not knowing, hmm?
I don’t know what to say to that.
Say it’s the truth.
Or I’ll just disappear.
Fuck you.
I don’t know what’s crawled up your ass, but I’ve been a little distracted lately. Sorry that I haven’t texted you or—or whatever you expect from me.
Did you want me to take it up with the gossip column? Maybe I should dox your information, see how you like being inundated.
Why won’t you just admit it?
Sydney.
There’s a part of you that liked being taken by a stranger. By not seeing his face. MY face. I bent you over your desk and I left my cum in your ass, nice and plugged. Your guys probably found you wet and needy, hmm?
They can thank me for that if you ever figure out who I am.
I do want to know…
Uh-huh. Should I give you another chance?
Maybe you should.
Where are you?
At the SJU hockey game… second period just started.
Keep your eyes peeled.
The game of cat and mouse is one of my favorites.
I leave Penn and Oliver in their seats with five minutes left in the second period. They have strict instructions to come find me if I’m gone for more than ten because of what happened last time.
When I said that, though, guilt flashed over Oliver’s face. He tried to get up and come with me, but I waved him off.
“Faster for me to jog up the stairs alone,” I told him.
And now I’m in the women’s bathroom—albeit a different one from the taping incident. I think. They all look mostly alike, but this one is smaller. Only four stalls, as we’re on the backside of the arena. Carter apparently didn’t want us sitting with the SJU crowd when he gave us tickets. We’re far from the student section, which suits us just fine.
I don’t need to see people I used to go to school with and drag up all those memories.
L.’s last words are imprinted in my mind, though. I can’t shake the feeling that he’s here, watching me or planning something nefarious. I finish my business in the empty bathroom and wash my hands.
Something catches my attention, and I frown.
The water isn’t draining.
I turn off the tap and move to the next one down. There are only four sinks, and each one fills with water without draining. The last tap, on the sink all the way to the left, doesn’t shut off. I step back and bump into something.
Someone.
My head snaps up, but I only catch a glimpse of the hooded figure behind me before his hand grips the back of my neck and shoves.
My face goes into the water.
His other hand grasps at my leggings, yanking them down. I grip the edge of the sink and try to propel myself up. I need air. My lungs scream. He gets my leggings to my knees and finally lessens his hold on my neck.
I jerk up and gasp a quick breath. “L.?”
His fingers squeeze once on my neck. I’m still too low to see in the mirror. My gaze is trapped on the sink, which is quickly filling with even more water. It sloshes up and over the edges, spilling across my hands and to the floor.
He slips his other hand between my legs, dragging two fingers down my center. Collecting my arousal. When I try to twist back and look at him, he shoves my head back into the water.
I managed to take a better breath, at least.
But then something else distracts me—something hard between my legs. When he thrusts into me, I groan. Bubbles escape my mouth and nose. He pulls me up again, and I focus on taking a breath and not looking at him.
Maybe he’s right.
Maybe I like that I have no fucking idea who he is.
His grip changes, slipping from the back of my neck to fist my hair. I go back under. The cold water pushes at my face. I’m horrified by how turned on I am, as he rocks his hips into me. His cock hits something inside me that makes my legs shake.
And suddenly I’m not just gripping the sink to try and lift myself, but to hold myself up, as well.
His movements are fast and jerky. His other hand reaches around me and strums my clit, rubbing harsh, almost painful circles.
I can’t come while I’m underwater. I make a noise, something unintelligible, and water goes up my nose. My whole body heaves, trying to get rid of it.
He yanks me up and I cough, but he doesn’t stop fucking me.
Who are you?
I cough and sputter. He keeps my face hovering just over the water, and my eyes roll back when my orgasm sneaks up on me.
The water kisses my lips and nose, my chin. He pushes me down as I come. My fingers flex, my muscles shake. It takes everything in me to keep holding my breath.
He stills inside me, his dick pulsing. My lungs cry for air, the burn somehow creating more fire along my skin where he’s touching me.
And then he releases me entirely. He moves back, and I straighten. My hair around my face is soaked. My shirt. I lean on the sink and look at him in the mirror. But he’s already turning away from me. The profile of his sweatshirt, the hood pulled low, obscures his face.
“Stop.” My voice is raspy, and I have to slick water out of my eyes. “Just—stop.”
He chuckles. Low. Harsh.
I yank up my panties and leggings, but by the time I’ve righted myself—he’s gone.