Chapter 22
TWENTY-TWO
COOPER
Do I have any clue where we are going? No. All I know is that I wanted to spend time with her, especially before tonight.
We’re playing Ohio State tonight, Dad’s alma mater.
They were supposed to come, but Mom has the stomach flu. She apologized twice over the phone, and I could hear Dad’s inner turmoil of staying home to take care of her or coming to the game. He’ll still watch, always finding a way to stream our games.
I shouldn’t be happy that he won’t be in the crowd.
There’s always an added layer of pressure around this game. Ohio State’s coach is the same one who coached Dad and didn’t recruit me. He’s cordial. Friendly because he has to be.
I don’t only want to impress him, I want to prove to him what he missed out on.
My teeth clench. Always having to prove myself.
I open the door to my Jeep for Sutton. She’s the only person I don’t feel the need to be something I’m not.
Over the past month, I’ve cut myself open for her to see everything.
If I didn’t know better, I’d think she was a doctor.
Removing the dying parts of me, fixing me, and sewing me back together.
She slips her tote bag off her shoulder.
“Want me to put that in the back?”
She takes her phone out before passing it to me. Her hands adjust her skirt when she sits down, pulling it over the scar on her thigh. Closing her door, and putting our bags in the back, I round the car and climb in the driver’s seat.
Sutton is texting. I wonder who? Zach?
Probably. Her cheeks lift, a hint of pink to them.
Maybe I should just take her home.
My car roars to life, and I pull out of the campus parking lot. The playlist Jaxon and I were listening to earlier pours out of the speakers.
“Hannah Montana, really?” She snickers at me in surprise. I go to change it, but her hand stops mine. “Leave it.”
Sutton and I drive around for twenty minutes, landing ourselves back at my house. We don’t speak except for her reading Elliot’s text that she’s at my place.
Inside, I head upstairs to start my pre-game prep, and she follows me to my room. Echoes of my roommates’ voices trail behind us from the living room.
“You didn’t have to come up here with me,” I admit.
“You have my bag.” She points at the canvas tote printed with fruit.
One of my shoulders is being dragged down. “Sorry. Here.”
I hand it to her. She takes it but doesn’t leave. Sutton walks further into my room, claiming my desk chair as a bag hook.
“Can I stay?” she asks over her shoulder, eyes wandering over my bulletin board. Pictures taped to it.
“Please.” Don’t sound desperate, Cooper.
“When do you have to leave for your game?” Sutton turns around, laptop and notebook in her hands.
“An hour.”
“Okay. That’s enough time to—”
I shake my head no, and she pauses. Mouth hanging open, and I want to kiss it again. Perfectly pink, recently glossed. Unabashedly, my gaze dips to them, and I know she catches me because she closes them and swallows slowly.
That only makes me want to kiss down her neck, following the motion. Press my mouth in the hollow of her collarbone, over each freckle. Whisper sonnets over the parts of her I’m desperate to love on, the invisible parts of her that make her beautiful and that I cling to.
Her mouth curls into a smirk. “No more practice kisses.”
“What about good luck kisses?”
“Nice try.” She rights her shoulders. “I’m not like the other girls you’ve been with. I’m not going to beg for it.”
Sutton doesn’t know what she’s talking about. There aren’t other girls, not since she’s been single.
And if anyone is going to beg for it, it’ll be me.
Maybe not.
Forty-five minutes later, when I exit my bathroom in my game day suit, her eyes are locked on me. Pupils widen, irises morphing into an electric shade of blue-green. Her telltale color of anticipation, excitement, and desire.
Maybe if I’m good enough, she’ll beg for me.
“Are you coming to my game?” I ask, leaning against the doorframe, taking in the way she’s stretched out on her stomach on my bed.
“Do you want me to?” Her question is more of a challenge, like I’m daring her.
Of course I want her there, but I think I want her to want to be there more.
“Yes,” I answer simply.
“We’ll see, Superstar.”
Superstar.
The nickname rings in my head with each touch of the puck during warm-ups, and I’m grinning as Coach wraps up his pre-game speech.
Our game against Ohio State is under thirty minutes away from puck drop.
We’re tied in our conference standings. The last time we met, we lost in overtime, but that was at the beginning of the season. We’re better now. More in sync. Stronger and faster. Our team is young after eight seniors graduated last year.
I skate out onto the ice to stretch.
An Ohio State player skates by me, purposely slow, a cruel curl to his mouth. “No daddy tonight? Couldn’t stand to watch his disappointment in person?”
Another Ohio State player joins them, this one I don’t recognize right away. They go back and forth with other insults as my hearing starts to ring, chest tightening. Dammit, this can’t be happening right now.
Jaxon skates up next to me, glowering at the other player. “Fuck off, Gentry. And Shrivner? Your shooting average is that of a dog trying to get its ball from under the couch.”
They skate off when their coach yells at them.
I want to ask him if they are right, but no words come out; my brain is too focused on slowing my breathing.
“Sutton’s here.”
“She is?” The words fumble out of me, part like a little boy, part because the constriction of my lungs is finally relinquishing.
I know I asked her to come, but I didn’t think she would. Jaxon spins me in her direction and points. Elliot sees us first. Sipping on a fountain drink, she waves. Big and bold.
My eyes zoom in on Sutton…and Zach.
We skate over to where they are sitting.
“Are you wearing jerseys?” Jaxon yells at them.
Elliot nods. Twisting her upper body to show off the name on her back. She picks up the shoulders of the jersey, showing off Jones printed on the back.
Sutton is lost in conversation with Zach. Someone’s better with small talk now. Or is there more to their relationship than I know? Is this why she said no more practice kissing?
Finally, she spins forward and sees us. Her lips are pressed in a line. A red-brown brow arches, mouthing gonna score tonight?
Looks like you will I mouth back, both our eyes flicking to Zach.
Jaxon teases Elliot on her choice. “Greene looks better.”
“What’s yours?” I ask Sutton.
“Not yours.”
“It would look good on you.”
“Davis would have looked better on you.”
Would have, but her number looks pretty good too.