AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“You know he fucks with you like that because he’s attracted to you, right?” She smirks through a sip of her beer and twists her finger in one of the blonde ringlets that frame her face.
“Yeah, I know. Boys pulling pigtails and all that. It’s all so basic. And I hate how much attention and funding and resources and?—”
“Yeah, yeah. It’s a man’s world and female athletes work just as hard, blah, blah,” Ivy cuts in.
I frown at her and she sighs.
“Sorry. It’s not that I don’t agree with your position. It’s just that I’ve heard it so many times, and I lifted a lot of heavy shit today so I was hoping to maybe enjoy some drinks without a lesson on the patriarchy. If that’s all right.”
She shrugs and holds her mug toward me. I stare at it for a few seconds then lift mine and clank it against hers.
“Deal. Just promise me one thing.” I lift a brow.
“What’s that?”
“You won’t start dating a hockey player while I’m living with you.” I give her a hard stare because Ivy is as much a playboy as Cutter.
She snorts out a laugh after a few seconds and answers, “That’s a deal.”
We both drain our mugs and slam them down on the bar, and I wave down the bartender for another round. He swaps our glasses out and Ivy starts to laugh.
“What’s funny?” She’s not drunk yet, so something must genuinely be tickling her.
“Nothing, it’s just that . . . I’ve already hooked up with most of the team anyhow. And I don’t like seconds.”
I shake my head and muse over her proud sexuality. Cutter McCreary might not be the biggest player at Tiff after all.
“Baseball players are hotter,” I add.
We toast to that, and don’t mention the men’s hockey team for the rest of the night. I just keep looking at them—athim, really. And his stupid hot face and even hotter body. That’s the beer talking, though.
2/
cutter mccreary
The freshmen don’t getit yet. You can’t celebrate a scrimmage win like it was a championship. You have a beer or two, then you go home and get your ass ready to fix whatever things Coach didn’t like during practice the next morning. I watched some of those young dudes down those beers they begged us upper classmen for like they were water. I’ll give them this, at least they showed up for skating this morning. Granted, they’ve collectively filled the trash bin Coach put out at center ice with vomit.
Coach blows the whistle a little longer to signalstopand a few of the freshmen collapse on the ice, pressing their bright red cheeks against the cold.
“That’s only going to get them more lines,” I mutter under my breath. Chuck, our goalie, coughs out a laugh and leans into me.
“As long as they don’t piss him off enough to earn all of us more lines.”
My mouth drops at his warning. I took it easy last night, but notthateasy. I stuck around Patty’s until Laney and her friend took off for the night. Not because I’m into her, but because that girl pisses me off. She blames me for her team losing their lockerroom three flipping years ago, and she won’t let it go. I was as surprised by the news as anyone when one morning the athletic director slapped the hockey logo on the door.
It doesn’t matter how many times I explain that to her, though. She needs to have an enemy and I’m that guy for her. So fine, whatever. I’ll be her enemy. She’s still the hottest girl on campus—maybe in Iowa. All legs, long brown hair, dark eyes, and a sexy, raspy laugh I only get to hear when it’s at my expense. Being her enemy is kind of fun, especially when her cheeks heat to a candy red because of something I said.
But does she have to make those little digs anytime the press interviews her about Tiff U athletics? I swear, Laney Price brings up my name more than anyone when it comes to pressers. If they win a championship this season, I won’t be shocked if her speech goes something like, “And no thanks to that loser Cutter McCreary for this trophy.” Even last night I thought about buying her and her friend a round as a gesture of goodwill, but I stopped short because I immediately imagined her pouring the drink over my head.
“Stoddard and Droshky, you’re on clean-up duty!” Coach shouts, and I breathe a sigh in relief. The two freshmen who fell to the ice first scramble to their knees, then skates, and make their way to the disgusting bin on the ice. They both wrap their faces behind their elbows and forearms as they drag it to the maintenance area to wash it out.
“Suckers,” Chuck says over his shoulder.
I snort out a laugh and drag my tired ass behind him into the infamous locker room. I stop in front of my locker and slip out of my practice jersey and pads. I’m not in game shape yet and I felt it today. Thankfully, Coach was too preoccupied with the rookies and didn’t fixate on how slow I was. I’m going to have to put in some extra time to get my legs and lungs in shape for this season.
I’ve put skating last the past month, taking care of things for my mom after her breast cancer diagnosis, even though she insisted I worry about my life. That’s how she is, though—the woman is going through chemo on her own and is so damn afraid of being a bother. My oldest brothers can’t help much from Colorado, and they have families of their own. The twins are in Bakersfield for their first AHL season so it’s not like they can put things on hold to come home to southern Iowa to take care of Ma for a few months. Since our dad passed last year, that leaves me. And I don’t mind. I’m just going to have to dig deep and put in some extra time to get back into form.
Chuck and I slam our doors in unison and head to the showers. It’s been a while since I really took note of this place, but so many things in here are still incredibly female-centric. Stalls instead of urinals. Oh, and a tampon machine that I’m pretty sure is still full. This wasn’t just for volleyball—women’s basketball shared this space too, along with field hockey. They all got moved to the new facility, but I guess volleyball got left behind. I don’t know the inner politics of college athletics. I do know that they pay my tuition if I keep slapping pucks in the net.
