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“So, half the team,” I say dryly. “We’ll need two booths.”
“This is the nice time of year,” Raf says. “Red’s is quiet.”
“Not that we’re not fans of your brother’s hockey crew,” Hunter says with a grin.
That grin is a peace offering. The okay to disappear for the afternoon. I nod, then jog across the diamond to the locker room.
* * *
By the timeI reach the tiny corner of campus where this dorm is situated, I’m sweaty again; the drive wasn’t long enough for the A/C to kick in. Regina meets me at the door, looking just like my vague memory from ethics class—the lemon blonde hair, the tilted smile—wearing an orange sundress that clings to her body enticingly.
“Sorry that there’s no air conditioning in this building,” she says, grabbing my hand and dragging me to the stairs.
Her room is on the third floor. The building, which must be mostly empty, echoes with our footsteps. She’s wearing flip-flops, the soles smacking against the worn wooden floor, which is wet for some reason. Mia doesn’t strike me as a flip-flops kind of girl. I’ll bet she wears sandals if it’s too hot for close-toed shoes. I do know that she paints her toenails a uniform black.
I give myself a mental shake. Now is definitely not the time to be thinking about Mia di Angelo’s toenails. Not when Regina-whatever-her-last-name-is is making bedroom eyes at me. Her eyes are brown, and pretty I guess, but a much lighter shade than Mia’s. Mia’s remind me of freshly tilled earth. Beautiful in the most natural way.
Before Regina even opens the door to her room, she plays with her dress straps, letting them slip down her toned arms.
“I went to your game the other day,” she says, her smile turning sly as she drags her nails down my chest. “Do you have a bruise from that catch?”
I lean in, almost brushing her lips but not quite. “Yes.”
“Want me to kiss it better?” She turns her head, her minty breath washing over my ear before she takes the lobe into her mouth. Heat sparks through me at the teasing, the temptation, even if it’s with the wrong girl. Her hands find the hem of my shirt, tugging on it, until I get the hint and pull it over my head. “That’s not the only part of you I want to kiss, Sebastian.”
This is easy—so easy. No thinking required beyond deciding whether I want to let her suck my cock, or if I want to fuck her properly. I made sure I had a condom in my pocket before I got out of the car. I hitch her leg around my waist, groaning as she kisses me. I can’t help turning it into a comparison, again. Her kiss is too wet. Her breasts feel nice pressed against me, but are nothing compared to the perkiness of Mia’s. She smells wrong, too, citrus instead of jasmine.
She gets the door open, and as soon as we’re inside, sinks to her knees, her eyes bright as she flicks her gaze upward. She reaches for my waistband with her long pink nails.
I stare at her, frozen. “Sweetheart—”
Someone screams.
The sound pierces the air, sending me scrambling. I nearly knock Regina over in my haste to get to the door. She calls after me, but I ignore it, thundering down the stairs two at a time. My heart is in my throat, beating in time with my breath.
I know that scream.Delightedin that scream. But this isn’t a sound of pleasure. This is panic.
And it belongs to Mia.
7
SEBASTIAN
Even as wetas a sewer rat, Mia di Angelo is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.
My heart rate, which jacked up the moment I heard her scream—that very fucking familiar scream, one that I’ve heard in my nightmares and my dreams alike—slows as I take in the scene. I grip the doorframe, willing myself to breathe normally.
She’s not hurt. Not being axe murdered. Just soaked, standing in nearly a foot of mucky water in this tiny dorm room, surrounded by all the belongings I’d once been familiar with from the suite she shared with Penny. A bead of water runs down her cheek. She wipes at her face furiously, her chest heaving.
Relief runs through me in a torrent. She’s scowling. Practically snarling. She looks like an angel, her beautiful dark eyes shining with emotion. She reminds me of Tangerine when Cooper gives her a bath, petulant and displeased with the entire situation, but at least she’s physically okay.
I give her a grin, since I figure that’s the most likely way to get a reaction from her. “Go for a swim, di Angelo?”
“What thefuckare you doing here?”
“I was in the neighborhood.”
She gives me a once-over. I tense momentarily, remembering the feeling of her lips on my Celtic knot tattoo—the symbol over my heart that I share with my brothers.
