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To tell you the truth, I don’t know why there’s a rivalry between the basketball and hockey teams, either. It’s been that way since I came to Ridley. I just accepted it as natural, even though I don’t know how it started. I just know that all the basketball players always acted like dicks to us, and we made the reasonable decision of responding in kind.
Then again, maybe it’s something the younger players are starting to grow out of. If Shane says the basketball players he’s met are cool, then maybe there’s hope for peace between athletic teams in the future.
“Come on, co-captain,” Shane nudges me. “Let’s bury the hatchet with those guys.”
“I’m not co-captain,” I say. “Let Liam have all the responsibility.”
It might as well rest on the guy who’s practically married to Coach’s daughter, after all.
“Say what you want,” Shane replies. “But we all think of you as co-captain.”
Just a year ago, half the team still called me rookie, and now most of the players are looking up to me as one-half of the team’s leaders. Kinda crazy to think about.
“So, we going in or what?” Shane says. “I wanna get laid tonight.”
“Yeah, fine. Let’s go.”
“You could stand to get laid yourself, co-cap.” Shane clasps me on my shoulder while we’re walking up to the door.
I arch an eyebrow, realizing he’s right. Honestly, the realization is something of a shock. I haven’t had sex all semester so far. Which is … weird. Downright bizarre. A little bit concerning, honestly.
I know my dick still works, because it twitches every time I catch a glimpse of Phoebe when we happen to be at the rink at the same time, or when I see her on campus.
Shit. Catching a glimpse of Phoebe is just about the only time I can remember my dick twitching lately.
Talk about concerning.
Shane’s right. I need to get laid tonight.
It doesn’t take more than three minutes inside the house for me to realize that it won’t be a difficult thing to accomplish. Girls are blasting me with fuck me eyes, one “pretends” to bump into me, and another coos “Hey, Hunter,” as I walk by her towards the kitchen with Shane to get a drink.
Yet, despite all that, I don’t feel the twitch in my cock that I know it’s capable of.
Shane obviously doesn’t have that problem, as about thirty seconds after we grab our drinks, I turn to say something to him, and see him snuggled with up a curvy brunette. Her dress is so tight that it looks painted on, and Shane is clearly enjoying what she’s showing off.
I sip on my drink and leave him to have his fun. I wander around the party, and I let my eyes wander, too. There’s no shortage of girls in here who I know are knockouts—but, for whatever reason, they’re just not doing it for me.
I can tell that the girls here are beautiful, and I can sure as hell tell from the way many of them look at me that it wouldn’t be difficult to end up with one—or more—of them naked in my bed tonight.
But none of them really appeal to me. None of them make me want to let my eyes linger on them for more than a second as I scan the room, finishing my drink.
Then, something does catch my attention. An unmistakable flash of red hair. A color I couldn’t mistake for anything else.
It’s the motion of the hair that first catches my eye and makes me whip my head to the side. Sleek, ginger locks flutter as the girl they belong to quickly snaps her head back to down a shot of liquor.
And it’s now that my cock reassures me that it’sdefinitelystill capable of twitching.
Phoebe wears a pair of short jean shorts that show off every fucking inch of her long, luscious, shapely legs. She has on a horizontal striped t-shirt that hugs her body, revealing about two inches of her creamy skin above the waist of her shorts.
When my eyes lock onto the indentation of her hip bones, my cock reminds me that it can do a lot more than just twitch. I’m suddenly stiff as a fucking board in my pants, my ab muscles hard as concrete. My blood pumps thick and hot as I feel a buzz of desire rippling over me.
Phoebe laughs, empty shot glass still in hand, and I snarl as I shoot daggers out my eyes at the guy she’s talking to.
I look back at Phoebe. She looks … drunk.
Too drunk.
Her eyes are glossy, and her cheeks are flushed. She turns to pick up the bottle of liquor that’s on the table next to her, and just taking one step to the side causes her to stumble.
