Chapter 3 #2
Classes start on Wednesday, and by Friday I’m swamped with coursework and training, especially since I wasn’t prepared for any of my classes.
I’m in a foul mood, horny as fuck, and still distracted by thoughts of a green-eyed, masked pixie.
Unfortunately, that’s not a great combo when we have our first game against Macquarie University tonight.
“You really need to get laid,” Everett grumbles as I drive us back to campus.
“Fuck off,” I mutter, drumming my fingers on the steering wheel.
After finishing class at two, we went home to chill before the game, only I couldn’t relax. While my housemate was trying to unwind with a movie on the couch, I was consumed by my masked woman and stress-cleaning to the point I think I freaked him out.
This is getting beyond ridiculous. All I did was fucking kiss her, but now it’s like no other female exists in the world.
Maybe Everett’s right. Maybe I do just need to get laid, then I can move on from this mind-fuck.
But the thought of sticking my dick in some random woman doesn’t get me remotely excited.
That’s all I need getting around campus: Blake Logan has performance issues. Fuck my life.
I’m still grouchy as fuck when we push through the door to the change rooms and the sounds of seventeen men shit-talking and preparing for the game assaults our ears. I know I need to pull myself out of this funk and get my head in the game, but I’m spiralling into a dangerous obsession.
Noah Bentley, our captain and centre-back, arches a brow when he sees me and pulls me away from our prying teammates to check-in.
“What’s up with you, dude? You’re wound up tighter than Doyle’s girlfriend.”
I bite back my snarky reply and run a hand through my hair. “I’m sure Jess would love that analogy.”
He shrugs, grinning. “I don’t know how he puts up with her constant nagging and neediness.”
My brow arches. “Don’t think we haven’t noticed how you and Kincaid have been totally loved up and hanging out of each other’s pockets every second you’re not in class or on the pitch.”
His smile turns soft at the mention of his boyfriend—our ex-teammate who graduated last year—and a pang of jealousy coils in my chest. I swallow it down because a relationship is out of the cards for me—I’ll never risk turning into my father.
The thought sobers me up pretty quickly.
“Seriously, Blake,” Noah says, his tone serious. “What’s going on?”
I contemplate telling him, but this is my problem, and I need to get over it.
There’s no use working myself up over a random stranger when there’s no future other than a single night of scorching hot sex.
I don’t do repeat performances. I don’t let anyone get close enough to discover the skeletons in my closet and the defective man I might be. No fucking chance.
Sighing, I shake my head. “Nothing, man. I’m good. Just feeling a little overwhelmed and underprepared with my course load. I’ll get it under control.”
His brow furrows as he studies me, but my carefully constructed mask has slipped into place. I’m not giving anything away. Time to forget about the kiss of a lifetime and move on.
I clap him on the back. “Thanks for checking in, but I’m fine. Let’s go win this game.”
And we do.
In spectacular fashion, if I do say so myself.
We lost two players to graduation last year—Kincaid and Ritter—my two closest mates besides Everett. But Macquarie lost seven, and it shows. Their team is green.
I score a hat trick in the first half, with Jasper and Everett also slotting one apiece.
Going into the second half with a five-nil lead is something most of us haven’t experienced since juniors.
I actually feel bad for their goalkeeper.
In saying that, there’s no defensive pressure, and his back line is like running around fucking cones in a training drill.
Being on home turf makes this even more fun, with our crowd going nuts. After scoring another goal in the sixty-seventh minute, Coach Johnson subs me out of the game to give our back-up striker, Ryan Ashcroft, a run.
Sitting my arse on the bench, I guzzle some water before squirting it over my hair and then shaking it off like a dog.
“Great game out there tonight, Logan,” Coach Raynor says, slapping my shoulder.
“Thanks, Coach,” I rasp out, still trying to catch my breath.
For sixty-seven minutes, I shut out everything except the game. Not gonna lie, even though Macquarie isn’t putting up much of a fight, I felt good out there running around with my teammates. I missed the adrenaline high. It’s better than sex.
I snort at the thought. Clearly, it’s been way too long since I got laid. Maybe it is time to rectify that.
“What’s so funny?” Tallon Doyle, our centre-mid, asks as he drops onto the bench next to me.
Coach is obviously planning on giving some of his star players a rest, so we don’t demoralise the opposition too badly.
In saying that, Ashcroft scores an absolute banger from outside the sixteen-yard box, and the maroon and silver fans go wild.
“Just thinking I can’t wait to get laid tonight,” I say with a smirk. “The Banshees are going to be out in full force.”
The Beckford U jersey chasers will be hanging around the players at Carter’s tonight, desperate to get lucky with one of us. But even as I say it, my stomach churns.
Doyle grimaces. “Jess is going to love that.”
He and Jess have been dating for two and a half years now, so you’d think she would trust her man implicitly, but I guess not.
“What’s her deal?” I ask, my eyes tracking the ball as Macquarie’s new striker makes a run, but Noah intercepts it and sends the ball back into our offensive end.
He sighs. “I don’t know, man. It’s getting intense. I love her, but sometimes I feel like I can’t breathe around her.”
Doyle and I get along all right, and we’re both studying paramedicine, but we’re not close. I wasn’t expecting him to go deep.
“That sucks,” I say, for lack of a better response.
“I mean, all I want to do tonight is hang out with you guys and celebrate. But guaranteed as soon as she sees all the chicks hanging around the team, she’ll drag my arse out of there.”
I frown. “That doesn’t sound healthy, man. Have you talked to her about it?”
He shoots me a wry smile. “I like my balls firmly attached to my body, and the sex is incredible. There’s no chance I’m questioning her.”
This is another reason I’m not interested in a relationship.
Having to worry about someone else’s emotions and feelings when most days I can’t even deal with my own.
Nope, I’ll stick with meaningless hook-ups over getting entangled in someone else’s drama.
Which is why I need to forget about the masked pixie.
If only it were that easy.
The guys are all on a high when we shut down Macquarie seven-one, although our goalkeeper, Dane Galdeen, is cursing at the stupid penalty our new left-back, Scott Kristof, gave away in the dying minutes of the game. He’d been hoping for a clean sheet.
I celebrate with my teammates, laughing and joking as we shower and get changed. The mood is euphoric, but I’m just playing my part. There’s a fucking lead balloon in the pit of my stomach, expanding as we leave the change rooms and drop our bags in our cars before crossing the quad to Carter’s.
The feeling gets worse as we enter the campus bar. It’s packed with people decked out in maroon and silver, and the cheer that erupts as we stride in together is deafening. I swallow my discomfort and paste on a cocky grin as I let Everett drag me to the bar.
He orders a round of shots, and we knock them back. Still feeling uneasy, I order another round, wincing as the liquor burns its way down my throat.
After Noah throws his arms around our shoulders and orders more drinks for the team, we finally push our way through the crowd to the usual tables reserved for us.
Most of our teammates are already there, and I offer Jess a smile when I take the stool beside Doyle, eyes darting to the way she’s possessively gripping her boyfriend’s arm.
People come over to congratulate us, and I relax as we talk about the game.
I scoot my stool over to make room when Emily joins us, still struggling to meet her eyes after last weekend.
Everett pulls her onto his lap, nuzzling into her neck.
She’s been over a couple of times this week, but thankfully she kept her clothes on outside of his bedroom.
“Here’s hoping all the games are that easy,” Kristof shouts over the chaos, and the table lets out a collective groan.
Griffin smacks him over the back of the head. “Way to jinx the rest of the season, dickhead.”
“There goes our chance at back-to-back-to-back,” Galdeen adds, draining the rest of his beer.
Jasper Kale, our left wing, snorts at his housemate. “No one’s ever won back-to-back-to-back.”
“Well, it’s not going to happen now.” Galdeen shoots a glare at Kristof, who looks sufficiently chastened.
“Not with that attitude it won’t,” Noah says with a shake of his head. “If we work hard enough, anything can happen. Look at this time last year. No one would’ve thought we’d do it the way we played our first four games of the season.”
Zac Kincaid wraps his arm around his boyfriend’s waist and rests his chin on his shoulder. “Let’s be honest, babe. We all know why we lost those games last season, and it had nothing to do with the team.” He arches a brow with a smirk, and our captain actually blushes.
That pang in my chest rears its ugly head again, but I quickly push it down. I’m happy for my teammates, but I don’t want what they have. I can’t let myself crave that type of connection with someone. It’s too dangerous.
A group of Banshees approach the table.
One of them is shoved towards me by her friends. She stumbles, and I reach out on reflex to catch her before she falls.
“Great game tonight, Blake,” the petite brunette says with a shy smile when I release her arm. She has the number ten painted on her cheeks in silver.
I rub the back of my neck. “Thanks, uh…?”
“Abigail,” she supplies, her cheeks blushing red.
“Abigail,” I repeat, ignoring the suggestive waggle of Everett’s eyebrows behind her. He’s clearly noticed my number on the back of her Beckford U jersey.
“Four goals in a game is impressive.”
“Thanks.”
She bites her lip and looks at me through her lashes. “Would you be interested in a game of pool?”
I take a sip of my beer, considering her request. She’s pretty, with warm caramel eyes and a smattering of freckles across her nose, but I can’t muster up any form of attraction. I’m about to turn her down when Everett butts in.
“How about a game of doubles? Me and Em versus you two?”
Abigail’s face lights up. “Sure.”
All three of them look at me, and I mask my irritation. There’s no getting out of this without looking like a grumpy arsehole.
“Why not.”
We weave our way through the crowd to the group of pool tables out the back, and Everett gets another round of drinks while we wait for a game to finish.
Emily and Abigail engage in polite conversation about school, but I zone out until Everett’s girlfriend elbows me in the ribs, and I realise Abigail asked me a question.
“Sorry, what?”
Uncertainty flashes in her eyes, but she pastes on a smile and repeats, “What are you studying?”
“Paramedicine.”
“Wow, athletic and a lifesaver,” she teases.
“I’m far from a lifesaver,” I say gruffly.
Emily shoots me a look that I interpret as her telling me to stop being an arsehole, but before I can say anything else, Everett arrives with a tray of shots and what looks like a round of vodka, lime, and sodas. He probably figures if he gets me drunk, I might loosen up and have some fun.
Maybe that’s what I need.
If only I could stop thinking about a damn sexy pixie who blew my mind with one fucking kiss.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I need to get that dangerous woman out of my head.
Grabbing a shot glass off the tray, I knock it back and wink at Abigail. “You ready to show these two how it’s done?”
Her eyes widen—she’s probably getting whiplash from my behaviour, but fuck it. I need a distraction. For the next half an hour, I lean into the flirting, casual touching, and teasing, but while I know I’m putting on a good show on the outside, my heart isn’t in it.
When Abigail steps into my body, angling her head up for a kiss, I do the gentlemanly thing and lean in to meet her lips with mine. The kiss is… nice. The perfect amount of tongue, not too pushy or overeager… but it’s just nice.
There’s no overwhelming need to claim her. Not even a twitch in my pants.
Fuck, I’m screwed.
Things get even more awkward when Everett suggests we take the party back to our place, and I have to let Abigail down gently.
I’m an idiot. I should just take her home and try to screw the green-eyed pixie out of my head, but the thought gives me the ick, and I feel bad leading Abigail on.
Goddamn it. This is getting beyond a joke.
Everett shakes his head as he climbs into the backseat of the Uber with Emily, but I ignore him and get in the front seat next to the driver. I rest my head on the cool glass, staring out the window as we drive home.
Maybe this is what I deserve because of my past. Dad’s final fuck you from beyond the grave. I wouldn’t put it past the sadistic bastard.