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He laughs. “You’re a real smart ass, Bex Bryant.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“For the record, no one’s forcing me to do anything, especially when it comes to you.”
His crooked smile and disgustingly good looks go straight to my core. One look from Preston hardens my nipples, begging for him to touch them. Stupid body. My physical reaction to Preston needs to fuck off. Like right now.
“Bex is short for Bexley,” I add for clarification. Not like he cares about my name. He’s too busy staring down my basketball jersey at the girls.
“Preston,” he says. “Not Peter. No one calls me by my first name. But I’m sure you already knew that.”
I roll my eyes at the arrogant jerk.
But I’m sure you already knew that, I repeat in my head in a sardonic tone. Fucker. Who does he think he is?
My dad will have a stroke if he sees me talking to one of his players, let alone his precious Preston. After winning the Frozen Four last year, my dad swears Preston will take them all the way again, especially after he won MVP, and from what I’ve heard, Mr. MVP has no problem doing the same with the girls on campus.
I can’t be one of them.
I will never be one of them.
So, why do I want to be one of them?
“Nice meeting you, Bex,” he says, and then struts—yes, fucking struts—down the aisle to his locker.
I look over my shoulder at him, still in shock. My lips part when he removes the towel from his waist and hangs it over the top of his open locker door, acting as if I’m one of the guys. With his back slightly turned to me, I can’t see all of him. Although, I do have an excellent view of his perfect ass.
Holy mother of… someone help me.
My mouth is still open in horror. Shock. Curiosity. Take your pick. I blink a few times to make sure I’m not imagining him. Maybe all the steam from the showers is getting to my head. Preston and his insanely gorgeous body could be a mirage. It has to be. Because a guy like Preston would never look at me the way he is right now. Nope. Never.
He knows damn well what he’s doing when he slips into his boxer briefs and winks at me. Preston sure can fill out a pair of underwear—like holy shit he sure can.
And I’m still staring.
Like some pervert.
It’s like watching a train wreck, a really spectacular one. That’s the reason why I’m too stunned to move. Which makes this even more embarrassing. Because I’m not supposed to be in here.
Every guy is now staring at me. Some of them are dressed, some are shirtless and in boxers like Preston. Most of them don’t seem to give a shit that a girl is standing in the middle of the locker room, wearing tight shorts and a basketball jersey.
I bite my bottom lip without even realizing and draw blood. Preston mimics me, taunting me with his muscular body and rugged good looks. He’s the spitting image of his father when he was younger. The sexy smirks, the killer abs, all of it. I know this because my father was obsessed with Alex Parker while he was in the NHL. Now he’s the head coach of the Philadelphia Flyers—my dad’s favorite professional hockey team. My dad’s just as crazy over his son. And now, for obvious reasons, so am I.
After an intense stare down, I shake my head at Preston, finally having enough sense to walk away. What’s wrong with me? I’ve never acted so ridiculous around a boy before. Well, Preston isn’t a boy. He’s all man, with his chiseled jaw, thick chest, strong arms, muscular legs, and sexy smirks.
I can’t get any of it out of my head. I may never forget how good Preston looks almost naked. And now I find myself wondering about the rest of him. This is so bad. Like the worst thing ever. Because I cannot break my dad’s rules.
At the end of the long hallway, I find my father’s office. Coach Bryant, Head Coach, is written on a gold plaque on his door. It’s ajar, and when I push it open, my dad is in front of a flat screen television hung on the wall with a remote in his hand.
My dad loves two things—hockey and me. When he can combine them, he’s at his happiest. I love seeing him in his element. Ever since my mom left us ten years ago, he hasn’t been the same. He’s poured his life into hockey.
That’s why I followed him to Strickland University instead of my first choice, Villanova. Also, the tuition here is free. One of the many perks of my dad coaching the Strickland Senators.
I inch my way into the room. “Hey, Dad.”
