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Hunter’s brow lowers, legitimately befuddled. “You don’t?”
Apparently, there’s a big trend on TikTok where girls ask the men they know how often they think about the Roman Empire. Kennedy brought it up just a second ago, and Hunter was the first to answer.
“How many times a day?” Kennedy asks, skeptically.
Hunter tilts his head to the side thoughtfully, then shrugs. “I’ve never really kept count. A dozen?”
Grant arches an eyebrow. “You think about the Roman Empire a dozen times a day?”
Hunt arches an eyebrow right back at him. “You don’t? You’re from Britain, after all. That was part of the Roman Empire! You never think about Hadrian’s Wall?”
“Hadrian’s what?” Ryder asks, nonplussed.
“Hadrian’s Wall. When the Romans conquered Britain, they couldn’t conquer further north up around Scotland. So they built a wall to keep the northerners out of their territory.” Hunter’s tone implies he can’t even believe Ryder doesn’t know this.
“Those Scotsaresome wild bastards, no doubt about it,” Grant chimes in.
“Listen guys,” Hunter begins, sitting up straighter next to me and sweeping his gaze over the rest of us, like he can’t understand how he could be alone in thinking about the Roman Empire every single day. “You’re telling me that when we’re on the ice playing defense, closing in on the player who has the puck, you never think about Hannibal’s double envelopment maneuver from the Battle of Cannae for inspiration?”
After a beat of silence, all the guys respond “No” in unison.
Hunter deflates as he lets out a long sigh, shaking his head. “Some people,” he mumbles to himself, disappointed.
Hunter’s as big of a slacker academically as any of the other guys on the team—well, okay, definitely not as big as Ryder before he met Candace—but he really is into the subject he’s majoring in, History. Seeing Hunter lounging on the couch alone, reading a history book, is a common sighting at the Ice Box.
Speaking of books,Malicious Heartsis burning a hole in the book bag that’s between my feet. I can’t wait to pop it out and start reading it and see the reaction of the guys.
I actually started reading it on Saturday. The day after Zoey and I hooked up—for thelasttime.
So far, I’m surprised how much I’m enjoying it. The male main character, the Mafia heir, Sebastian, is a real bastard. But it seems like he’s got a good heart underneath it all, it’s just buried under a ton of trauma and bullshit. The female main character, Laura, is interesting, and I’m sympathetic to the fucked up position she finds herself in.
And even though Laura and Sebastian don’t get along at all, each resenting the other for the situation they’re in, the reluctant chemistry they have when they’re alone together is sizzling.
Maybe girls are onto something with these books.
Then, she steps onto the bus.
My eyes are riveted ahead as I watch Zoey climb up the stairs. She shrugs off her winter jacket, and I swear, none of the girls I see dressed to impress at a club or a house party look anywhere close to as good as she does in a pair of loose blue jeans and an oversized Ridley U hoodie.
I know I’m supposed to be over her after that last, ultimate hookup on Friday night. But, fuck, is this what being over someone is supposed to feel like?
It’s fine, though.
I mean, objectively, she’s beautiful. That’s never going to change. Whether or not I’m over her, I’m nevernotgoing to think she’s stunning. I’d have to be blind. The important thing is that I should now be able to control my desires and my impulses when I’m around here.
That’s all we need. And I’m pretty sure I can do it.
When she glances down the aisle at me, I reach into my bookbag and pull out the book. I quickly hold it up for her to see and flash her a smile. Her cheeks flame red and a smile lifts on her face. She laughs, mouthing “You’re crazy” to me.
She’s a couple seats ahead of me, sitting next to her dad, Coach Gordon.
Even though they’ve occupied about ninety percent of my conscious thoughts—and one hundred percent of my dreams—since Friday night, I try really hard not to let myself indulge in memories of that hookup. If this whole blowing off steam idea is going to work, I need to train myself to keep my thoughts appropriate when I’m around her.
It occurs to me that, if that’s my goal, maybe it’s not the best idea to read a steaming-hot spicy romance book that she loaned me.
But the point of reading it isn’t anything erotic, the idea is to show Zoey that she shouldn’t be embarrassed about something that brings her joy; to make the point that anyone should be able to read the kind of books they like wherever they want.
Even though Zoey and I are now strictly co-workers, friends at the very most, I still appreciate how she lent an ear at the library when I told her about my art. I’ve been feeling better about it ever since, even starting to think more and more about finally sharing it with the guys.
