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From the first time I saw him on campus, my mouth was salivating, begging for a taste. Until I found out he’s a total manwhore. He’s so ridiculously good-looking, with short, dark hair that brushes his forehead, blue eyes that pop against his tanned skin, and tattoos that cover his forearms like artwork carefully designed for his perfect body. I try not to glance in his direction, but he makes it hard not to sneak a peek.
A blur of colored jerseys skate past us before someone takes a shot on goal that hits the post and bounces to the left of the net. Drake attempts to capture it with his stick, but a player wearing a red jersey is faster.
I’m still staring at Drake when Bex presses her hand to the Plexiglas in front of us, stumbling over her high-top Chuck Taylors. They’re navy with white laces to match our Strickland Senators uniforms.
“You should get that to your dad,” I say to snap Bex back to reality.
We need to get out of here before we slobber all over ourselves and trip in a puddle of our own drool.
“Right.” She makes a beeline for her dad who’s talking to a player in the box.
As we pass, a few of the players glance in our direction. One of them waves to us, though I can’t see his face. Bex returns his gesture. I stand there, stunned like some idiot drunk on hot men.
Coach Bryant pushes open the door that leads to the ice, and Bex hands him the wallet.
Smiling, he takes it from her. “Thanks, honey. You’re a real lifesaver.” His gaze falls from Bex to me. “Hey, I haven’t seen you in a while. How have you been, Taylor?”
I roll my shoulders. “I’ve been around. Busy with school and basketball.”
“Still working on your jump shot?”
I bob my head. “Yep. I got it down pat now.”
He winks at me, and then turns to Bex, his gaze intense as he takes in the sight of her busted lip. “How was practice? Looks like you got a nice shiner forming on your cheek… and your lip. What happened? You look like you went a few rounds with Hopkins.”
I love his reference to Bernard Hopkins, a legendary boxer from Philly. My dad was on the All-Marine Boxing Team back in his day, which is the reason I don’t fight like a girl.
Bex laughs at his joke. “Practice was fine. Could have been better. But, at least I’ll have a cool battle scar.”
He inspects her face, shaking his head. “I wish you’d be more careful. You can be so rough.”
“Basketball is a rough sport,” she counters. “I’m not some delicate flower, Dad. I can take a punch, or in this case, an elbow.”
Ain’t that the truth?
He sighs. “You were never delicate, that’s for sure. Are you staying until practice is over?”
She shrugs. “I guess we can hang around a little while longer. Not like we have anything better to do.”
Speak for yourself, Bex.
“That’s the spirit.” He slaps Bex on the back like she’s one of his players. “I could use another set of eyes on the team. This game is going to be tough for us.”
“I wouldn’t miss it.”
“Me neither,” I add.
He angles his body toward the ice, biting his cheek as if he’s nervous about his first game as the head coach.
Bex seems to note the quick change in her dad’s behavior and taps him on the shoulder. “Everything will work out. I have a good feeling about the game.”
He grins. “Me, too.”
Like me, Bex is tall. She’s maybe three inches shorter than her dad, their eyes nearly level to one another. I assume she inherited her blonde hair and blue eyes from her mom, but she has his height and athleticism.
We’re both five feet ten inches. Neither of us had an easy time in middle school or high school considering we were taller than most of the boys in our grade. Our height makes dating much harder. A lot of guys are intimidated by taller girls. They look at us as if we’re less feminine because of our size.
Coach Bryant blows the whistle around his neck, raising his hand to signal for the players to come over to the bench. “I have to get going, honey,” he says to Bex. “Take a seat over there.” He points to the first row of seats in front of the glass. “I’ll meet you there after we’re done. Maybe we can get dinner if you want. Taylor, you can come, too.”
Good, no cafeteria food.
I smile in response.
“Yeah, that sounds good, Dad,” Bex says, and then he goes back to coaching his team.
She tugs on my arm, steering me toward our new seats. After we sit, I glance over at the bench, not the least bit surprised to see Preston staring hard at Bex. Like he wants to eat her. Claim her. Do something really dirty to her. Holy hell, his eyes are so intense, my body trembles. Drake looked at me the same way earlier this week in the cafeteria.
