Guarded by the Goalie: Wittmore U Hockey

Chapter 1

Nadia

College parties suck.

Not that anyone would admit it, or that people would ever stop going to them, but it’s true. Everything from the thumping, ear splitting music, to the shitty, watery, lukewarm beer. Or, God, worse, the mystery fruit punch served to all the girls the instant we walk through the door. What I hate most of all is the couples, paired off, with their tongues thrust down one another”s throats, with zero regard to anyone else in the room.

“Hey, you look like you could use another drink.” The statement comes from the guy standing next to me; Jacob. Cute. Ish. A sophomore. Baseball player for Wittmore U. Third baseman. He adds a wink that’s not as sexy as he thinks it is.

He was also the one that offered me the first drink, the one that is still full, that I’m currently clutching to my chest.

“I’m fine, thanks.” I give him a smile and take a fake sip.

I don’t take drinks from guys I don’t know at parties. I don’t even take drinks from guys I do know at parties. Not anymore.

This party is more annoying than most. It’s game day and everyone started partying early. I mean–early. When I walked into the coffee shop after my 6 AM shift at the gym, the three sorority girls in line in front of me were already dressed for the game. It’s November, and the cool air did nothing to deter them from being out in short sequined dresses, designed to look like the Wittmore football jersey. The number ‘04’ stamped on the back in a shimmery black. Beneath the short hem, their long, slim legs were bare, only covered in identical white cowgirl boots. One girl had a button pinned to the front, a photo of a tough looking face of one of the players. Her boyfriend, I presumed.

I stood behind them in my campus gym work shirt and leggings feeling self-conscious, jealous, and for the fiftieth time that week, reconsidering my new haircut which includes bangs. I thought I’d be one of those girls when I got to Wittmore. Sorority sister. The quarterback’s girlfriend.

God, I was a fool.

Hours later, the game is over and everyone is here for the afterparty. Those girls all look a little more haggard. Makeup smeared and messy, fueled on energy drinks, loud music, and the excitement of a Wittmore win.

Jacob presses his hand against the wall behind me and leans close, giving me a whiff of cologne as he peers into my drink. Or maybe my cleavage? Either way, when he notices the cup is still full, a flicker of annoyance crosses his face. He does have the good sense to shake it off and gives me what he thinks is a charming smile. “I’m here to serve when you’re ready.”

“When I get thirsty, I’ll let you know.”

Poor kid. He’s been on me since I walked in the room, his intentions clear. His gaze familiar. He knows me even if I don’t know him. I’ve got a reputation, one I helped build. Nadia Beckwith: jersey chaser. He’s convinced, rightly, that if he plays his cards right, I’ll be an easy lay.

Every varsity athlete on campus knows me. Over the past few years, my number has been passed between them as a sure bet.

Too bad for the third baseman I’m reformed. No more athletes.

And to be fair, baseball players have never been my interest. I do have some standards.

I like my men big. Rough. The kind of guy that can pick me up and carry me to bed. One-hundred-percent alphahole. Football players, preferably. Maybe the occasional starter on the basketball team.

Or at least I did.

“Nadia!” I turn at my name and see Twyler wave from across the room. My roommate is at a table set up for a game of Quarters and is sitting on her boyfriend’s lap. Reese, captain of the Wittmore hockey team, has one hand on her thigh and another wrapped around her waist. It’s as much affection as these two will commit to in public, well at least Twyler. She tilts her head and calls out, “Come play with us!”

“In a minute,” I lie. As much as I don’t want to be over here with the baseball player while he plots ways to get under my skirt, the idea of being a third-wheel with Twyler and Reese is worse. They’re the most unlikely pairing. The quirky sports trainer and the captain of the hockey team. They started off with some fake dating scheme to get his ex off his back, but Reese fell hard and fast. Nothing about those two has been fake since the first time he kissed her in the coffee shop. I would know. We share a bedroom wall.

Anyway, being fake isn’t Twyler’s style. That girl is as real as it gets.

But me? It’s where I’m most comfortable. I excel at pretending to be something I’m not.

Across the room, my best friend closes one eye and lines up the quarter, making her toss. The quarter lands, dropping into the cup with a plop.

“Take that!” she cries, her grin wide with victory.

Across the table, her opponent, Axel Rakestraw glares at her. “Are you fucking kidding me?” he groans, running his tattooed hand through his platinum blonde hair. It’s spiky on top, short on the sides. “How is she this good? You barely even go out.”

Twyler shrugs and gives him an evil grin. “It’s a gift.”

“It’s bullshit.” He narrows his eyes at Reese and I see a shadow under his nose. Is that a mustache? Lord. Well, at least his shirt is still on, although the night is young. “She has to be cheating. No one hits it every time.”

“My girl does,” Reese replies to his teammate with a smirk. “Undefeated.”

Axel frowns, his teeth worrying the ring in his lip. He’s annoyed. Not at Twyler, but his competitive edge boils under the surface. He hates losing. I feel the tiniest flicker in my gut because, yep. Axel Rakestraw is my type. But even if I wasn’t reformed, Axel is off limits for two reasons.

One, I promised Twyler I wouldn’t chase any of the guys on the hockey team. Initially because she was working with the team, but even after she stopped she didn’t want to risk any upheaval between us. Fair.

Two, Axel had seen me at my lowest, most humiliating, moment. He knows my secret, and I can barely stand to face him, much less have sex with him.

“You know, if it’s too loud in here we can go somewhere more quiet. My buddy Rich lives here. We can head up to his room.”

“Huh?” I turn, forgetting Jacob is still here. I look at his face, well, I try to, because this time he’s definitely staring at my cleavage. Eyes nowhere near my face. I can’t blame him. My tits are pretty spectacular. But from the glazed over glint in his eye, I can tell it’s time to cut this kid loose. “Listen, Jacob–”

“Oh shit, they came.” He straightens, gaze leaving my tits to peer over my shoulder.

“Who came?” I ask, looking behind me, but I already know. The tingling in my spine– a warning signal.

It’s impossible not to see them, based on size alone. The guys walking in the front door are massive, each one bigger than the last. They have to duck their heads as they enter and they barely make it into the living room before the crowd swarms, each wanting a piece of our local celebrity football players.

I keep track of two of the players: Brent Reynolds and CJ McMichael. Brent’s hair is damp, fresh from his postgame shower. He’s surrounded instantly, by girls and guys, happily accepting the bottle of whiskey thrust in his hand. Next to him CJ wraps his good arm around one of the girls in the jersey dress. Even off the field, nursing an injury, it doesn’t seem to lessen his status. A wave of nausea builds in my gut.

I look across the room to the Quarters game, but Twyler and Reese have vanished. Another one of Reese’s teammates, Reid, has taken their place, and Axel looks much happier about it. His green eyes flick up, meeting mine, and he gives me a friendly smile and wink.

“I have to go,” I blurt.

“Are you serious?”

Without an apology, I leave the baseball player, and go the opposite way from the front door. The last thing I want to do is to run into either Brent or CJ. This is their territory, not mine, and I don’t want to do anything to provoke either of them.

My heart pounds as I make my way through the kitchen toward the back of the house. I used to think Brent was the one. He’s handsome. Strong. Popular and skilled. He’s headed to the NFL draft and it’s predicted he’ll get picked in an early round.

I was willing to do anything for him.

And a few months ago, when I’d been lucky enough to catch his eye, I had. Back then those feelings felt like butterflies. Nervous excitement. Like maybe what we had between us could be real. But the churning in my gut that I’m currently experiencing? That’s not excitement. It’s fear. Even I can’t pretend otherwise.

“Excuse me,” I say, squeezing past two girls leaning against the refrigerator, lips locked. They shift, never leaving their embrace, and I squeeze past, ducking into the hall that I know leads to the back deck.

I’m not sure why I’m scared–I barely remember that night. I’ve never even seen the video, but it’s like my body knows something my mind can’t–or won’t–recall. I just have flashes of Axel barging in the room and getting me out of there. Of the weight of his jacket being thrown over my bare shoulders, and the slap of cool air on my bare legs as Twyler met me outside. What isn’t blurry is the aftermath. How she wanted me to report what happened to the police. How she and Reese almost broke up over Brent’s threats. How Axel’s gaze went from flirty to sympathetic.

That was the night I became a victim.

“Leaving so soon?”

The voice I’d been avoiding for weeks comes from behind. Heart pounding, I swallow and turn. Brent stands in the hallway, his shoulders broad enough to almost go wall to wall.

“Brent…” I peer behind him, looking for CJ, but he’s alone. “Hi.”

“Hi.” He leans a shoulder against the wall, effectively blocking me in. “It’s been a while.”

“Yeah,” I nervously reach for my hair, but the length is no longer there. “It has been.”

His eyes track my fingers. “You cut your hair. I almost didn’t recognize you.”

Almost.

“I was looking for a change,” I shrug. “Something different.”

“I like it,” he says, reaching for a strand to tug between his fingers. “It’s sexy.”

A month ago I would have been thrilled for Brent to track me down at a party and call me sexy. Even though we’re in a back hallway, it’s still more public than he’s been willing to commit to.

“Thanks.” With my drink still clutched in my hand, I take a step back. “I was just going to find Twyler and Reese. We’re about to leave.”

I don’t miss the flicker of irritation cross his face when he hears the name of the two people that know about our history. He catches himself, smoothing out his expression and letting his mouth curve up.

“Sure you don’t want to stay?” His tone is casual. Easy. “I thought maybe we could talk. Catch up.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Brent.”

The deal Twyler and Reese made with Brent was clear. He and CJ would not only remove the video of me that they put up on LonelyCams without my permission, they’d destroy it. They’ll also leave me alone. Otherwise, I file a report.

That was the deal they made. I just want to forget the whole thing happened.

Brent takes a step closer, out of the shadows, close enough for me to smell the whiskey on his breath. The bottle hangs loose in his fingers down by his side. “Now that everyone has cooled off, I thought maybe we could reassess.”

“Reassess?” I ask, not following.

“Our relationship.”

That one gets me. “We didn’t have a relationship. We had an arrangement. You called. I came over. We fucked.” Until he got tired of me and decided to get a ‘real’ girlfriend. Someone that looks good on his arm. Not a jersey chaser. “You handed me over to CJ.”

He takes a deep breath. “In hindsight, I can admit that trying to look out for CJ wasn’t a great idea. He was just in such a low place and I wanted to help him out. I thought that’s what you wanted too?”

That’s the problem. I had willingly hooked up with his best friend. Why? One reason. He asked me to. “Yeah, well… he took it too far.”

It’s an understatement.

“I regret it.” Brent’s eyes drag down my body, lingering over my chest and down to my hips. That look used to give me hope, make me willing to do whatever he asked, but I know better. He reaches out and I feel the firm press of his fingers grazing down my neck. “Seeing you with him–seeing what you did with him on camera. It made me realize what I was giving up.”

I try to process what he’s saying. He regrets giving me up? Does he actually want me back? I close my eyes and ask, “What about Shanna?”

He doesn’t even blink at his girlfriend’s name. “Our relationship has nothing to do with Shanna, and you know that.“ His thumb strokes the divot at the base of my throat. “I need her for certain, official, roles.” His tongue darts out and wets his bottom lip. “I need you for entirely different reasons, Nadia.”

Heat creeps across my skin at the implication. Brent is insatiable in bed and I was willing to do whatever he wanted. Even things I wasn’t always comfortable with. I was certain–desperate–that I could convince him I could fulfill all the roles in his life; a partner in and out of the bedroom. He disagreed, and when Reese and his long time girlfriend, Shanna, broke up, Brent had swooped in to claim the girl who spent her life preparing to be an athlete’s wife. Basically, Shanna’s good enough to be seen with in public.

I’m not.

“Come on, babe,” he says, leaning in, breath hot by my ear, “let’s give this another shot.”

I tense. “You know that can’t happen.”

“Why?” He jerks back, glaring at me. “Because you don’t want it to happen or because you’re afraid of Cain and his girlfriend knowing you want it?”

“It’s not about them,” I say, knowing it’s only half true. “It’s about me having some self-respect for once in my life. I’m better than just being some booty call, or worse, the girl you get tired of and hand off to your friend.” I swallow. “Once you’re ready to be seen with me in public, and not including a dark hallway at the back of a frat party, maybe we can talk.”

His jaw tenses. “I knew you were a slut, Nadia, but I had no idea you were so fucking stupid.”

And there he is. The Brent I knew was hiding under the surface. The mean, petty, entitled, athlete that wants what he wants, when he wants it.

“Fuck you, Brent.”

I step away, not wanting this to escalate, but his hand snaps back out and his fingers tighten around my throat. “I’d watch your mouth or you’re about to see the other side of this, the one where I’m not so nice. I’ll put the word out to every athlete at Wittmore that you’re toxic. That baseball player out there, the one trying so hard to get in your pants? He won’t even look your way. You’ll be blacklisted. Every girl down on sorority row, everyone that you so desperately want approval from, will see you for what you are; trash.” There’s no mistaking the ferocity behind his threat. In the hierarchy of Wittmore, the captain and quarterback of the football team, is always going to outrank a jersey chaser. But to get one last dig in, he adds, “You’ll be less than nothing when I’m through with you.”

“I’ll go to the police,” I whisper.

He cocks his head. “I don’t think you will.”

One thing that I hate most of all, is how well Brent knows me. He knows all the buttons to press. What gets me out of bed at 3 AM to go over to his house for a booty call. What my goals and aspirations are. How desperate I am for approval–for the life he dangles in front of me like a carrot. And in this moment, with his smell all around me, and his fingers on my throat, all I want is for everything to go back to normal. Just accept who I am. Even without him spreading the word around campus that I’m blacklisted, what do I have? A crappy reputation. A best friend who is currently living my dream life. The fear of everything in my life falling apart even more than it already is.

“Hey,” an upbeat voice carries down the hall, “you guys having your own party back here?”

Brent glances over his shoulder and grunts, fingers loosening. “Rakestraw. Nadia and I were just catching up.”

Axel strolls up, eyebrow piercing glinting in the overhead light, and slaps Brent on the shoulder. “Reynolds,” he says, in greeting. “Ran for three touchdowns. Who even needs the rest of the team, amirite?”

Brent crosses his arms over his chest. “Sometimes you gotta take matters into your own hands.”

“Maybe I need to leave the goal more and get some glory.” Axel looks at me for the first time and nods at my drink. “You gonna finish that?”

“Uh–” He grabs it before I can reply, tipping it to his lips. I stare at his Adam’s apple, bobbing as he swallows. “Sure, go ahead.”

He finishes, licking the corners of his mouth and wrinkles his nose at the empty cup. “Jesus, that’s some shitty punch.”

Brent doesn’t look amused, but he’s also not dumb enough to start something up with Axel. He’s a notorious, no-fucks-to-give, wild card, with his tattoos, piercings, and love of partying. He’s also one of the few on campus unafraid of the Wittmore quarterback. Unfortunately for me and Brent, he knows everything that went down that night.

“Twyler was looking for you,” he says, crushing the cup in his inked fingers. I try to make out the letters across the knuckles but can’t. “I think they’re ready to go.”

“Oh, great.” I feel a sense of relief. “I was looking for them too.”

“Cool. I’ll walk you out.” He places a wide, steady hand on my lower back.

“Thanks.”

I don’t give Brent another look, but I only take a step before I feel the quarterback’s hand wrap around my bicep, holding me back. “Think about what I said, Nadia.”

Axel doesn’t give me an opportunity to answer, placing his body between me and Brent, forcing him to release me.

“God, he’s a self-absorbed douche,” he says once we step into the cloud of smoke on the deck. “Was he bothering you? Do I need to go back in there and break some knuckles?”

“No knuckle breaking, please.” I intentionally don’t answer the other part of the question. I hate that Axel was there the night Twyler and Reese dragged me out of Brent and CJ’s house. This makes the second time he’s been witness to my messy life. “Oh, there’s Twyler and Reese.”

I see our friends down in the yard, and push through the smokers to reach them. Twyler is looking down at her phone, fingers flying over the screen.

Reese squeezes her shoulder and lifts his chin in our direction. “Sunshine.”

Her eyes meet mine and she shoves her phone in her pocket. “There you are! We were looking all over.”

“Reynolds had her cornered in the back hall,” Axel says with the slightest slur of his words. I jab him with my elbow and he grunts. “What?”

“You were talking to Brent?” Twyler shouts. “He’s not allowed to even look at you, much less talk to you!”

“Shhh,” I tell her, while shooting Axel a dirty look. Narc. “It wasn’t a big deal.”

“Nadia,” Reese starts, “we made a deal with him. No contact.”

Theymade a deal. They moved on. My life imploded.

“I promise it was nothing.” I give her a reassuring smile. “He just wanted to brag about the game.”

“He ran for three touchdowns,” Axel adds, stumbling over a few syllables. He rolls his eyes at Reese. “Marshall was wide open in the end-zone the entire time.”

“Prick,” Reese agrees, then lifts an eyebrow at his teammate. “How much have you had to drink?”

“Just a few beers–oh and Nadia’s drink.” He makes a displeased face at the memory. “It was terrible.”

“That’s all?”

“Yes.” He shrugs. “Unless you’re counting the joint I shared with the rowing team before we got here.”

“Jesus, Axel,” Reese mutters. “We have morning practice.”

“It’s Sss-unday,” he slurs. “Not until ten. I’ll be there, Cap. No worries.”

Reese exhales a frustrated sigh. “You better be.”

“Y’all be safe,” he says, before spinning around and ambling back toward the party.

“Is he going to be okay?” I ask, watching as he climbs the deck stairs and slides his arm around a girl’s waist. She nuzzles affectionately against his side.

“Probably,” Reese says, taking Twyler’s hand. “He’ll feel like shit in the morning, but that’s his problem.”

“How about you?” Twyler asks, waiting for me to fall in line with them as we head down the road toward our house. “Are you okay?”

Other than being a third wheel of a couple who are so perfect together I can’t be mad about it? Jealous, totally. Mad, not a bit. “I’m fine, Twy. It was no big deal. Brent was just flexing, like always.”

She doesn’t seem convinced, but Reese distracts her with a kiss on the cheek. She blushes, embarrassed at his affection. I smile encouragingly, pretending like everything’s okay.

Because that’s what I do best.