Page 141 of The Pucking Coach's Daughter

I swallow around his head, then pull back. His last spurts coat my tongue.

I climb up him and kiss him hard. He doesn’t fucking object when my lips part. He opens for me, and my tongue slips into his mouth. Mine tangles with his for a moment, the taste between our mouths rich and distinct.

Not bad, just… different?

When we break apart, I push off of him. Suddenly embarrassed at how forward I was. He’s still fully clothed, only his jeans and boxers around his thighs, and I’m… so naked it stings.

“Don’t retreat,” he says softly. “Don’t hide after I hurt you.”

I tip my head toward the bathroom. “Clean me up then, dream boy.”

He grins and bounds after me.

thirty-nine

penn

We fucked up.

I know it as soon as Sydney rights herself and hurries out the door, a haunted look in her eyes. We had a fragile amount of trust, and Oliver single-handedly shattered it.

No. I can’t blame just him.

It was pure terror in her eyes when she crashed into me, trying to escape, and instead of letting her breeze past, I stopped her. Turned her around in Oliver’s direction, put her on a path that messed with her in ways I don’t think I can fully fathom.

I hate that even now, hours later.

My roommate—a football player who I roomed with freshman year—is out. I’m on the couch, trying to shake the unnerved feeling of what we did this afternoon. We had a game and lost spectacularly. I have a bruise on my forearm from taking a direct hit. The angle was all wrong and came in just over the top of my glove.

Fucking stupid. My fingers went numb for a good few minutes, although it was shortly after that incident that Coach pulled me. I haven’t been able to look Oliver in the eye either.

He went to fight, as is typical after a hometown loss.

I came back here.

A bang on my door rouses me from my sulking. Whoever it is doesn’t give me a chance to get to the door, though. It swings inward, and suddenly Carter Masters fills the hall.

I glare at him. “Get out of my house.”

He laughs. “That’s the game you want to play right now?”

Well… “I don’t know,” I answer. “Want a drink?”

He shrugs.

I pivot and head to the kitchen. He trails after me, only pausing to kick off his shoes. At least he’s got that going for him. The galley kitchen doesn’t really fit two full-grown men in it, so he leans on the doorjamb and crosses his arms.

I busy myself digging in the fridge, pulling out two beers. He takes one. I take the other. We stare at each other a beat, and then he holds out his hand.

“What’s that?”

When I don’t make a move, he throws it at me. A quick jerk of his arm, his fingers uncurling to release the object.

It hits me in the chest, and I barely catch it.

The necklace.

Heat crawls up the back of my neck, attacking my ears. “You saw her?”