Chapter 9 #2
I’ve been needing to scratch that itch, and late at night, my thoughts have been entirely on Bristol Greyson.
I know, I should not be fantasizing about the girl who would murder me in my sleep if given the opportunity.
That’s all it ever is, though, a fantasy, because I can’t reach out to her. She’s trouble. Plus, she hates me.
The girl punched me in the first grade!
No, I still haven’t forgiven her for it.
I mean, she completely humiliated me. The least she could have done now is stroke my ego a bit, make up for it. But she never would.
That girl is the devil.
And that kiss that we shared, I need to get it out of my head.
But I can’t.
I’ve tried kissing a few puck bunnies, but it’s never gone past that, because every time their lips are on mine, I think about her.
My bedroom door jets open, and Zeke comes running in, climbing on my bed. He starts jumping and squealing as he throws his arms in the air.
For fuck’s sake, where are Luca and Harper?
I lift the kid, holding him out like a sack of flour. “Luca!” I growl, carrying the toddler, who kicks and wiggles in constant protest.
“Down. Put down.” Zeke has gotten so big over the past couple months. “Fuck down.” And his vocabulary has become much more colorful, thanks to some of us living under this roof.
“I don’t think you’re supposed to use that word,” I scold Zeke.
He sticks his tongue out at me.
He’s Luca’s kid, no doubt. I mean, maybe not biologically, but the mannerisms that he’s picking up scream Luca.
Okay, maybe they also scream a little of Ashton and me too.
We’re totally corrupting him.
“Your little dude just barreled into my room, uninvited.” I hand him off to Luca, who puts him down on the ground, letting him run freely.
“Sorry, Liam. Lock your door if you don’t want him barreling in.” Luca grabs the television remote. “Hey, buddy, do you want to watch some cartoons?”
“You’re not putting him in front of the television all day.” Harper comes barreling out of the kitchen in the same manner Zeke came running into my room.
It’s like a mini-me terrorizing this place.
I glance around the house. Ashton and Nova seem to have disappeared. Both of their bedroom doors are closed. They could be screwing, but I would guess they’re out, avoiding the wrath of the little engine that could destroy my sanity.
I grab my shoes by the door.
“Where are you off to?” Luca asks, raising an inquisitive eyebrow. I get the feeling that he’s silently asking for an invitation, a chance to run away, if even for a few hours.
But someone has to keep Harper and Zeke safe.
“Out.” I smirk and offer a wave. “Have fun, you two.” I wink at Luca and then hurry out the door.
Am I the asshole? Probably, but Luca married Harper. He committed to her; he may as well learn to help her with Zeke. And he has been more actively involved lately.
For a while, Ashton had been doing a bit more of the babysitting and heavy lifting with Zeke, but it seems like Luca has finally taken over more of a role with his son.
About frickin’ time.
I head to the coffee shop to grab an iced mocha and briefly glance around while I wait for the barista to make my drink.
My gaze lands on the one and only, Bristol Greyson.
My heart begins to quicken its pace with every glance at her.
Hell no.
I avoid looking at her, shift my feet, turn to face the other direction, maybe she won’t notice me.
Footsteps come up from behind, and I inhale sharply. It’s her scent.
I can smell her a mile away—well, not really—but oh my gosh, she smells amazing, like peaches and honey.
Her scent is intoxicating, but in the best heavenly way possible. If someone bottled it, I’d douse my pillow and bedsheets with it. The dreams I have of her would be so much more vivid.
I inhale, trying not to seem desperate or obvious when I force a smile. “Greyson.”
“I prefer Bristol,” she says.
“Good to know, Greyson.” I don’t give her the satisfaction.
That’s the one thing we have going for us—banter that never ceases to end. Sometimes I can’t tell if it’s flirtatious or just reckless. Is there even a difference when it comes to Bristol Greyson? Any flirting would be reckless.
She rolls her eyes at me. “Whatever, Moretti.”
My eyes flicker at the mention of my last name. She’s trying to harass me again. Well, it won’t work. I’m used to my friends calling me Moretti because it’s the name on my jersey.
“Liam,” the barista calls.
“Well, that’s my cue.” I grab my drink, and Bristol is right on my heels. The girl was never like Velcro before, but now I can’t seem to tear her off me.
What is this world coming to?
“You’re not going to ask me what I’m doing on your campus?” Bristol asks.
I shake my head. “Nope.”
Am I dying to know why she’s here? Yes, but I refuse to give her the satisfaction. Have I been using her as my fantasy for the last several months? Abso-fucking-lutely.
Again, the bottle of Bristol Greyson perfume would be brilliant.
Someone should market it.
I size her up, drinking every inch of her in.
Damn, she looks good in that short little black leather skirt and top that barely covers her midriff.
She’s all in black and dark red, a lethal combination.
Those fuck-me leather platforms aren’t helping, either.
I shift uncomfortably as my cock twitches in my jeans.
Down, boy, don’t get feelings for the devil.
“Well, I came here to see you.” Bristol stares at me, and based solely on her expression, I can’t tell if she’s serious or joking.
But she has to be joking. It’s Bristol. She’d sooner swim naked in boiling hot springs than intend to pay me a visit. Unless she’s here to make my life hell.
That could be a possibility.
I force a smile because anything else and I’d be bending her over that table. That skirt is far too short and yet, too long because it covers her ass.
Heat flames every inch of my body.
She has to be fucking with me.
It’s definitely something that girl would do to me; she’s always tormented me. Although I’ve certainly done my fair-share to her over the years.
We hate each other.
“Have a good day, Bristol.” I don’t intend to use her first name, but it slips out, and, holy hell, she grabs me by the arm.
My gaze narrows. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
She bites her bottom lip, tugging it between her teeth, and my cock strains against my jeans, wanting to be stroked.
It’s been too long since I’ve fucked a girl, and the way Bristol is looking at me, I’m hungry with desire.
Starving.
“I wanted to talk to you.” Bristol doesn’t release her grip on my arm. Her touch is hot and firm, and I yank my arm free.
“Right, well, there’s nothing for us to talk about.” I take my coffee with me and head out of the café as fast as possible.
“Liam!” Bristol calls after me, but I’m gone.
I need to get far away from Bristol Greyson before I do the unthinkable.
I should go spend the rest of my afternoon at the gym.
It’s not a great distraction, but it would help me burn off the excess energy pouring through me, just thinking about her.
There is no way I like her.
None.
Zero.
It’s just the fact I haven’t gotten laid in way too long that I find even her attractive.
I need to hook up with a girl, and fast.
The problem is that with the hockey season over, I’m not getting a plethora of puck bunnies throwing themselves at me.
That’s not to say that I couldn’t go into a bar, find a girl, and hook up.
But that’s not how I operate. I prefer the friends-with-benefits scenario, but that option I axed.
And my current friends already have significant others.
Which leaves me back to either choosing a girl at a bar or going online and searching profiles.
I refuse to do online dating.
I’m not saying there’s anything technically wrong with it. I’m a guy, I like looking at pretty girls, but choosing one solely over their image first and profile second, it’s just gross.
I’d rather get to know a girl, talk to her, then fuck her.
Truth is, I’m more of a, get to know the girl, then have fun. It’s why I opted for friends-with-benefits over screwing random girls every night, like Ashton used to.
We’re not the same.
I’m glad he has finally settled down a bit with Nova. She’s changed him, definitely for the better.
I sip my coffee and hear Bristol chasing after me.
“Liam, wait.” I grimace and spin around to face her. “No one can’t say you’re not persistent. And annoying.” I add that little tidbit, just to piss her off.
Seems to be working. Her nose scrunches as rage settles on her face. I hope her coffee is iced because I’m a bit worried she might throw it on me. “I don’t know why I ever considered sleeping with you!” She huffs and turns on her heels.
“Excuse me?”
Bristol’s eyes widen, and she tries running away, but, yeah, I’m not having that.
“Sleeping with me?” I grab her arm, yank her back toward me, catching her as she trips over her feet. I steady her, my hands wrap around her waist, staring down into those deep ocean blues.
What is she talking about?
We never once almost slept together, except in a few of my fantasies, but those are locked up in a vault inside my head.
There’s no way she has access to them.
Her cheeks are bright red, and she’s breathing fast, a little too fast. “I think I’m going to be sick,” she mutters, and I can feel her trembling in my arms.
I keep my arms wrapped around her waist, guiding her to a bench. Her legs are like jelly as she stumbles, and I put her into a seated position on the bench, my legs trapping her from falling forward.
Her skin is glistening and pale, while, moments earlier, she looked positively radiant and flushed.
“Fuck,” she rasps, gasping for breath, like she’s been running a marathon.
Eventually, I bend down to her level, still blocking her from falling off the bench. I’m not sure that she’s all right.
“Do I need to call someone?” I ask, unsure what’s going on.
Is she having a panic attack? I’m not really sure what to do for her, how to help her. Her eyes are wide. She’s awake, but she’s not seeming to focus on me.