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Chapter Forty-One
Carson
I lift the bottle of water to my lips and take a swig. Asher and Crosby are perched on the edge of their seats as they duke it out in an intense game of NHL.
“Ha!” Asher crows as he dekes out Crosby’s goalie. “Suck it!”
“Fuck off,” the dark-haired guy grumbles. “It was a lucky shot. Everyone knows you have zero skills.”
“Ouch, that stings coming from the guy I just creamed.” He glances at the two girls who flank him on the couch. “I’ve got more skills than you’ll ever have. Right, ladies?”
Both of the blondes pipe up, attesting to Asher’s aptitude in the bedroom. Which, I’ll be honest, I have no interest in hearing about. Here’s a fun fact I discovered after moving in with the guy—he isn’t picky about where he has sex. I have a sneaking suspicion he’s christened all of the rooms. And I sure as shit wouldn’t shine a black light in the living room. I probably wouldn’t be able to sit on any of the furniture again. Hell, it would be tempting to burn the joint down to the ground in a blaze of glory.
Crosby scrunches his face. “Pretty sure I just puked in my mouth.”
“Aww, don’t be jealous.” Asher grins, throwing his arms around both females and hauling them close.
“Jealous of what exactly, I’d like to know,” Crosby shoots back.
“That the chicks flock to me in droves while running from you in terror.”
Crosby arches a brow as a slow smile tips the corners of his lips. “Yeah, that’s exactly what they do.”
This is probably my cue to leave. I don’t need to get in the middle of a pissing match about who gets the most pussy. Just as I rise to my feet, the front door opens and in walks Brayden with a backpack hoisted over his shoulder. When he catches sight of me, his footsteps falter as a scowl overtakes his features. Without a word to any of us, he stalks toward the kitchen.
Both Crosby and Asher turn and stare at me with curiosity.
“Brrr, that was a chilly reception, brah,” Asher says.
“Yeah, my nuts just froze off,” Crosby adds.
“Well, it’s not like you use them that often,” our teammate fires back with an overly cheerful smile. “They’re more ornamental in nature.”
Crosby glares before giving him a one-fingered salute.
My blond roommate chuckles before dismissing him and turning to the girls. “You two lovely ladies ready to get out of here?”
They scramble up like good little lap dogs. “Yeah, where are we going?”
“I’m hungry,” the other whines. “Can we get something to eat?”
“I was thinking we could work up an appetite first and then Uber something afterward. How does that sound?”
They both giggle before pawing at him. He gives Crosby a wink before wrapping an arm around each one and disappearing up the staircase.
My other teammate frowns before rolling his eyes. “It’s unbelievable how much pussy that guy gets.”
I shake my head, not understanding it myself. He drinks, smokes weed, and fucks like it’s his sole mission in life. And none of that stops the chicks from clamoring after him like he’s the last male specimen on the face of the Earth. It defies logic.
A brief silence falls over us before Crosby shifts on the couch and clears his throat. “So...” He nods toward the kitchen. “What’s up with you and Bray?”
I jerk my shoulders, not wanting to field any questions regarding that particular topic. Even though you can cut the tension with a knife in the house and on the field, we’ve managed to keep our issue between the two of us. Although, that doesn’t mean we’re not getting a lot of sideways glances and questioning looks.
“Nothing,” I mumble, hoping he’ll drop the subject.
“My guess is that he found out you’re screwing around with his sister.”
I straighten on my chair and growl, “We haven’t been screwing around.”
His expression turns to one of interest. “Oh? What would you call it then?”
I clamp my lips together and glare, refusing to get drawn into another conversation about Elle. Especially with Crosby. To my knowledge, the guy has never even had a girlfriend or gone out with anyone. He’s more like Asher than he’s comfortable admitting.
The guy fucks.
Pure and simple.
When I refuse to respond, he raises his brows. “Whatever it is, you’d better get it solved fast. Shit like that always bleeds over onto the field, and we can’t afford for that to happen. Not now.”
My shoulders slump. Crosby might not be someone I’d seek out for life advice, but he just so happens to be right in this instance.
Unconsciously, I glance toward the kitchen where Brayden disappeared a few minutes ago. It’s been days since the explosion at the cabin. I’d hoped that if I gave him enough time to cool off, we’d be able to sit down and talk this out like grown-ass adults. So far, that hasn’t happened. The guy won’t even look in my direction. He’s plowed into me a few times on the practice field when I haven’t been paying attention and knocked me on my ass.
