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“My name.”
“Preston,” she breathes.
“Fuck, you’re making me hard.”
She takes a step back from me. “Then stop doing this.” Bex motions her hands in front of her. “All of this. You. It’s so distracting.”
I laugh at her comment. “Touché.”
“I don’t see how we’re going to be friends,” she confesses.
“Me either. But we can try. We can be friends with benefits. No attachments. No breaking your last rule. What do you say?”
Taylor calls Bex’s name from the other side of the cafeteria ending our conversation. She flags Bex down and yells about it being time for practice.
“I have to go,” Bex says. “I’ll see you around,friend.” Her mouth curves up slightly when she says the last part.
“Smart ass,” I mouth.
She winks, and then she’s gone.
Bex must be enjoying my slow, painful torture. Women are so hard to read, and Bex is like decrypting an unsolvable cipher.
“Dude, you are so fucked,” Drake says to me when I take my seat at the table.
“Tell me about it,” I mutter.
ChapterFifteen
BEX
The week blows by in a blur of practices, late night texts from Preston, and tons of homework. Preston was equally busy with little time to talk. Our schedules are similar which makes it easier to align our non-date nights. Like tonight.
“Are you sure this dress isn’t too short?” I ask Taylor, who leans over to check out my backside.
“Nope. Your ass looks perfect in this dress. Parker will definitely approve.”
I shake my head, laughing. “I’m sure he will.”
Taylor chose a short, tight bandage dress from her closet paired with red heels. She even made me wear makeup. I feel so unlike myself in this outfit and layers of eyeshadow and mascara. I’m like Taylor’s very own Barbie doll. She knows I hate picking out clothes, so she offers to do it for me.
My mom was never around to teach me simple things like how to dress. She wasn’t even there when I got my period. I thought my dad was going to have a nervous breakdown when he had to deal with me crying on the bathroom floor freaked out by womanhood. But we got through all the weird, awkward times. Taylor helped me through the rest.
“This must be the house.” Taylor points at the last house on Greek Row.
A crowd of people pour out from the old Victorian. Much like the house Preston shares with his teammates, it has high pillars, a long, covered porch, and several floors. Except the lawn at the Delta Sigma Phi house is littered with trash—plastic cups, crushed beer cans, and even a lacy bra are on the lawn.
Interesting.
We walk past a group of drunk girls in short skirts and tight tops clasping red Solo cups of beer.
“I saw Parker with the twins,” a tall blonde says to her friend, slurring her words. “I couldn’t get anywhere near him.”
My Parker? What twins? Fucking hookers.
I attempt to eavesdrop on their conversation as we stroll down the walkway to the house. My mind drifts to a thousand different places. I’m a little jealous when I think of Preston with another girl, let alone two of them. Friends shouldn’t be this jealous even though we’re not technically friends.
I still haven’t given Preston an answer. I’m afraid to plunge head-first into this arrangement and lose myself and my heart in the process. I know from previous experience that hockey players, especially ones as hot as Preston Parker, are bad for me.
