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And a smile of satisfaction on my face.
CHAPTER 4
NOAH
“So, who was the lucky girl?” Mason asked me as we jogged along Greek Row.
He was a junior, and split his time between Lakers House and his home in Pittsburgh, a ninety-minute drive from Lakeshore.
We’d bunked together last year, and as a freshman, he’d taken me under his wing and showed me the ropes. Between him, Austin, and Connor, I had the best damn friends a guy could ask for. But Mason wasn’t like Austin and Connor. He was different.
I’d never truly gotten to the bottom of what his deal was—as far as I knew, nobody on the team had—but he was a good guy. Solid. Dependable. And a fucking beast on the ice.
“Some blonde from Beta Pi.” I shrugged. “But we only fooled around. I wasn’t feeling it. Went back to Lakers House to crash.”
“The fuck?” He grabbed my t-shirt and yanked me to a stop. “You, the infamous Noah Holden, wasn’t feeling it? Are you feeling okay?” He pressed a hand to my forehead. “Do I need to call 9-1-1? You do feel a little warm.”
“Because we’ve been running for forty minutes, asshole,” I grumbled, swatting his hand away.
He chuckled, and we fell into a gentle jog, cutting across the perfectly tended lawns outside the three sorority houses on campus.
“You could always knock and see if she wants round two.”
“Nah, man. You know I never go for seconds.” It was simpler that way. “Sam was the only exception, and look how that turned out.”
“We all saw that coming a mile off,” he chuckled again, grabbing the bottom of his tank and pulling it up to wipe his face.
Sweat rolled down my forehead, too, down my back and abs, but I liked the feel of it. The reminder that I was working hard and pushing my body to the brink.
I fucking loved working out. I loved a hard day on the ice with Coach Tucker and the assistant coaches yelling from the side of the rink, demanding more. My body craved the physical exertion, and my mind—thanks to years of childhood trauma at the hands of my piece of shit father—felt a strange sort of satisfaction.
My father was nothing short of an asshole, but at least I’d gained some redeeming qualities thanks to my shitty upbringing. I was dedicated, focused, and one hundred and ten percent all fucking in. It wasn’t only my dream to go pro; it was my plan.
My only plan.
Anything less was simply not an option.
“Well, yeah, we’re done. Pretty sure Sam left TPB with Ward.”
“You’re joking, right?” Mason scowled at the mention of Ward Cutler, one of our new right-wingers. He’d arrived early, and since I was around, I’d taken it upon myself to show him the ropes. “I hope you gave him shit for that.”
“Nah.” I shrugged. “He’s welcome to her. The sex wasn’t even that good.”
Mason snorted. “You’re a fucking dog.”
“Takes one to know one.” I winked.
He was as bad as me when it came to sex. But when the season started up, hockey players had intense practice and game schedules, classes to keep up with, and all the other shit college students had to deal with. Getting freaky between the sheets was a surefire way to burn off some steam and keep tensions on the ice low. Sex without any of the other bullshit that came with dating? Even better.
“How’re things with your new houseguest?” he changed the subject. To one I’d rather not talk about.
“It is what it is.”
“What the fuck does that mean?”
“Aurora’s fine,” I said, running a hand through my damp hair as we kept a steady pace, the balmy air filling my lungs.
“You’re acting weird.”
