AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Unloading is a lot easier than packing, and in less than an hour, Ivy and I have every box stacked at the foot of the bed and most of my clothes hung in the small walk-in closet. Her old roommate left behind a queen bed and one dresser along with some pretty wild pink curtains and a lot of hot-pink LED lights. As long as I have the basics, though, I’ve got all I need until graduation. Hopefully, by then I’ll be planning my next move to one of the start-up markets for the new pro volleyball league.
“You’re sure Matt is going to be cool with me taking the room?” Ivy shares this place with her brother. They’ve been trying to find someone to fill the empty room—and take on a third of the bills—for a few weeks. He’s been out of town for the last week, living his best summer with one last hurrah out inCalifornia. He got invited to some influencer camp for “wannabe frat boys,” as Ivy says. Her brother is actually pretty decent at the social media marketing thing, though. He went viral with a few posts on our college hockey team last year. I’d love for him to work something up for me this season and maybe up my profile before the pro draft.
“Oh, I told him. Not that he reads his damn messages. I swear if it’s not a hashtag or mention on some social account, he doesn’t consume it.” She rolls her eyes. “Seriously though, he is going to be so relieved. He literally has interviews lined up to find a new roommate this week. He was starting to freak out with rent coming due. Speaking of . . . rent’s due Tuesday.” She puckers her lips and holds out an open palm. I let her linger for a few seconds, but before she makes the actual grabby motion, I give in.
“All right, hang on. I have cash like you said.” I snag my wallet from the bare mattress in my new room and pull out the four hundred bucks I took out this morning. It’s a steal compared to what I was paying with Cam.
Ivy leaves me to unpack on my own, and after about two hours, I have most of the basics in place—workout things folded in the drawers, toiletries organized along with makeup. I bought a new comforter and pillow set, so the bed actually looks inviting, and I’m about to throw in the towel for the evening and collapse face first into it when Ivy raps on my door and pushes it open wide.
“Don’t you dare think you’re getting out of drinks at Patty’s.” She bends down and picks up the sneakers I just took off and set by the door, then tosses them on the bed.
“Aw, Ives, I’m beat! Raincheck?” I flop down on my ass to untie one of the shoes, knowing my friend isn’t really big on no for an answer, especially when it comes to free drinks. I promised her I’d pick up the tab if she helped with the heavylifting today. My shoulder is pretty much healed, but the last thing I want to do is set myself back by overdoing it with a few moving boxes.
“And throw a new shirt on while you’re at it. Maybe swap out that bra too. You look . . .” She swirls her finger in front of her as if trying to conjure the right word.
“Like I’ve spent the day moving my shit from one place to another?” I respond, slipping my foot into my shoe and lacing it.
“Yeah, like you moved here from an alley. Like that.” She snaps and leaves my room.
“That’s not exactly what I said,” I holler after her. Her snicker echoes down the hallway and back at me. I scowl but also sniff the sleeve of my shirt.
I take her advice and toss on my favorite cotton bralette and my Team USA crop shirt. I twist my hair up into a messy bun and splash a little water on my face both to wake up and to bring a little color back to my cheeks.
Patty’s is two blocks from the house we’re renting, which makes getting home after a few drinks a lot easier. And now that I’m sliding onto one of the stools and feeling the cold curve of the mug in my hand, I’m a lot less irritated at my friend for dragging me out tonight.
The Bears preseason game is on every TV in this joint but one—the tiny set boxed in between the mixed drink bottles behind the bar. While Ivy hits the restroom, I manage to convince the bartender to tune it into the volleyball World’s match going on right now, and I’m finally beginning to relax. I blow on one of the tater tots from the basket I ordered and test it with the tip of my tongue.
“Practicing for me later tonight?”
I drop the crispy snack from my fingers and cringe at the sound of my mortal enemy’s voice. Cutter McCreary has been a pain in my ass since our freshman year at Tiff University, whenhe led the charge for his precious hockey team to take over our locker room. I swear he did it because I refused to give him my number the night before at a party, where he acted like an entitled frat boy simply looking to hook up. He swears the locker room was in the works all along.
Thing is, I know guys like Cutter. They aren’t used to rejection. And when they get it, they act out. And our coach was promised our locker room was safe from budget cuts days before it was ripped away from us. Cutter’s response to that? He said the locker room wasn’t cut. It simply changed ownership.
Asshole.
“Shouldn’t you be figure skating or some shit?” I give him side eyes. His chest puffs up with a silent laugh.
“Cute, Laney. But nah, we just won our scrimmage against Northeastern. I guess you couldn’t get a seat for tonight’s game. Tiff hockey sells out and all. We don’t have all those open seats like you guys do.”
I meet his glare and tighten my lips to keep my words inside.Do not engage, Laney. That’s what he wants.
Cutter’s been the captain of the hockey team since his sophomore year after his older twin brothers were drafted. He’s obnoxiously confident, drowning in dimples, and literally the face of Tiff U. It helps that this town is hockey-crazed, and the team—and fine, Cutter—are good. Three-time conference champs. But so are we. And unlike the hockey team, Tiff women’s volleyball has been to nationals. We’re expected to go again this year, my year. Nobody talks about that, though.
“You know, Cutter . . . I bet it keeps you awake at night wondering what your so-called fans would think if you couldn’t skate and swing a stick at the same time.” I twist in my seat and cover my chest with folded arms just as Ivy walks up behind him.
“Oh, great. I leave you alone for thirty seconds and you’re already picking a bar fight,” she says, slipping into the spacebetween Cutter and me to grab her beer. She gives me a stern look as she backs away, which irks me because why would any so-called bar fight be my fault and not his?
“What?” I huff.
She purses her lips before bringing her mug to her mouth and taking a slow sip. Cutter chuckles and raises a hand to get the bartender’s attention. “Pitcher for the back. Make it two.”
Half a dozen of his teammates stream in and head toward the back tables, and the clack of pool balls being racked breaks through the pulse throbbing with heat in my ears. I blink a few times and will my attention away from my nemesis for a beat, but then his pitchers are delivered, giving him an excuse to slide from his stool and brush against my thigh with his bulky and admittedly hard body.
With one palm flat on the bar top, he bends down and leans into me, his breath warm at my ear. I shift my gaze to take in the sharp line of his jaw but keep my head still. My molars gnash together and I fantasize about turning with a hefty right hook so I can punch him in the dick.
“You know I am up all night, Laney. But it ain’t because I’m thinking.” The soft chuckle that slips from his lips and blows against my ear sends shivers down the left side of my neck. My shoulder scrunches up out of rote reflex, and I hate that he sees it. I wait until I hear his teammates cheer at what I assume is his presentation of two pitchers of beer before I shift in my seat and glance over my shoulder. The pub is filled with adoring fans, most of them women. And they’re all clamoring for Cutter’s attention. It’s nauseating.
Ivy bumps her elbow into mine to draw my attention from the back of the room.
