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Beckett sighs. “You make it sound so fucking nerdy.” He implores Gigi with his gray eyes. “I just need you to know—I’m a fuckboy. I get a lot of sex. A lot of it.”
As if something occurs to him, Beck’s accusatory gaze swivels back to Shane.
“Wait. Are you saying you knew that these two were boning?”
“Of course,” Shane shoots back. “Do you really think I’m jerking off in libraries like some creepy sex addict? I was covering for these assholes.”
Beckett releases a huge sigh of relief. “Oh, thank God, mate. Because I’m the one who told Coach about your porn problem.”
Shane hisses out an outraged expletive. “That was you?”
“Look, it seemed like a serious problem,” Beckett says defensively. “The fact that you’re getting off to porn in a library and then just acknowledging it to a group of people like jerking off to porn in a library is a normal occurrence—”
“Yeah, but I wasn’t doing that!”
“Cool, great. And now we all know you’re not a pervert.”
“Will.” Gigi grows tired of their exchange and refocuses her attention on Larsen. “You cannot tell Case about this.”
“Same goes for you,” Will tells her.
“You being friends with Beckett Dunne is nowhere near as catastrophic as me hooking up with Luke Ryder. You get that, right?” She stares at him. “Because I don’t think you’re grasping the gravity of this.”
“I mean, mine is kind of bad,” he insists. “Do you think I want to like an Eastwood guy?”
“Thanks,” Beckett says dryly.
“That’s not on the same level. At all,” Gigi stresses. “This could really hurt Case.” Her voice is soft now.
That sobers him up. “Okay, yeah. No, you’re right.”
Head bent, she covers her face with her palm for a moment, strands of dark hair falling onto her forehead. Then she sighs and looks up.
“Please,” she says to Larsen. “Just keep this between us.”
“Fine.”
“Will.”
“I said fine.” His mistrustful gaze shifts from Gigi to me. “It won’t leave this bathroom,” he promises.
But I don’t have a good feeling about it.
CHAPTER THIRTY
RYDER
This is your stop
“ALL RIGHT. HERE’S ONE. YOU’RE GIFTED A PET TIGER—”
“Nice,” Nazzy says.
“What’s his name?” Patrick asks.
Beckett rolls his eyes as he tapes up his stick in preparation for tonight’s away game against Brown University. “He doesn’t have one.”
“What kind of tiger doesn’t have a name?” demands Patrick.
“That’s a good point,” Shane tells Beck.
“Are you jackasses going to let me finish or no?”
“Fine, go,” Nazem says, waving his hand in permission. “We get a pet tiger. A nameless pet tiger.”
I snicker under my breath.
“Anyway,” Beckett continues, “this tiger is great. Round the clock protection, top-notch wingman because all the chicks want to rub his ears or whatever. Basically, he’s a net positive in your life.”
“But…?” Shane asks, because there’s always a but in these things.
“But for three hours every day, you have to hear him bitch,” Beckett finishes.
“About what?” Rand asks curiously, pulling his jersey over his chest protector.
“About everything. I’m talking the most mundane, trivial, petty stuff.” Beckett nods. “Basically, for three hours every day, he turns into Micah’s girlfriend.”
“Fuck off,” Micah says, flipping him the bird. “Veronica doesn’t complain that much.”
Shane cackles. “Dude. All she does is complain.”
From the locker at the end of the row, Jordan Trager turns with a scowl. “Why are you assholes always doing this thought experiment shit?”
“Oh, that’s actually a funny story,” Nazem pipes up, tossing out a rare olive branch. For the most part, the Eastwood and Briar guys religiously avoid each other. “We were on the bus coming back from a game against Dartmouth, and there was an incident—”
“I don’t give two shits about your funny story,” mutters Trager. “I’m just saying, this is fucking childish.”
“Says the guy with the cartoon tiger tattooed on his back,” Beckett replies with a chuckle. “Staring at that godawful thing is what gave me the idea for that thought experiment.”
“You’re seriously trashing my tattoo?” Trager snaps. “A man’s tattoos are sacred.”
“So are a man’s eyes, and your tattoo is hurting mine,” drawls Beck.
Across the room, I notice Will Larsen trying to hide a smile.
The memory of last night’s mayhem promptly returns. Finding Larsen in my bathroom was…bizarre. His secret friendship with Beck is of no concern to me, though. I only care that he keeps his goddamn mouth shut about seeing Gigi there.
I notice Austin sitting on the bench, his curly hair falling into his face as he tightly laces up one skate. He’s been quiet lately. He’s always leaned toward the shy side, but he’s usually a lot more talkative during practice and in the locker room.
I realize it probably falls under the purview of cocaptain to check in with everybody, so I clap a hand on his shoulder and lean toward him.
“You doing okay?”
Pope gives me a suspicious look. “Yeah. Why? Did I do something wrong?”
“No. Nothing. I was just checking in.”
