Page 3 of The Goalie

“Last chance to run,” I said. It was supposed to be a joke, but it came out as surprisingly ominous.

She looked up at me, her eyes studying me. I was rooted to the spot under her gaze, unable to move if I wanted to. Then, without a word, she walked through the doorway, swaying her hips as she did so.

“Fuck me,” I muttered to myself.

God, I hoped she would.

2

Sam

If someone toldme I would be fucking a stranger in the locker room at Lucy’s asshole of a brother’s birthday party, I would have laughed in their face.

And yet, I let him lead me down an empty hallway and into the guy’s locker room. I was thankful Lucy ensured it smelled good and not like sweat and other disgusting male body odors. Sure, a hint of Axe body spray hung in the air, but it wasn’t overpowering. Instead, it was actually nice. It smelled clean.

The second the door closed, he spun me around so I leaned against the sink. I was thankful no one had been in here in a while or else stray drops of water would have lingered on the porcelain sink and gotten my white dress damp. He grabbed my cheeks and leaned forward. Before he could press his lips to mine, I raised up my hand, intercepting him.

“No kissing.”

I was way bolder than usual and it was because of the mask. I liked being anonymous. I liked that this guy probably had no idea who I was. And I didn’t want the kissing to shift the masks—his or mine—and take that away.

He paused, seemingly unsure. Then, the corner of his lips twitched up. I wouldn’t necessarily call it a smile, but it was something like it. In fact, it reminded me of Lucy’s brother, Dan. The guy was incapable of smiling. He always had to be jaded, brooding, and just an overall unpleasant person. All because he thought unhappiness equaled being cool or something like that. I didn’t actually like him enough to care. The fact that Lucy and he came from the same parents boggled my mind.

I shook my head of the thought. The last person I wanted to think about was Dan Holmes. Especially when I was about to have sex with someone else.

“Did you want to stop?”

I furrowed my brow and realized the stranger must have seen me shake my head and assumed I didn’t want to continue.

“Oh!” I exclaimed. “No, definitely not. I’m just…it’s nothing.”

Way to make yourself look crazy, I thought.

I hoped to rectify this situation that I was definitely losing control of by standing on my toes—even in heels, I needed to stand on my toes to reach the top of his shirt—and beginning to unbutton his shirt.

He dropped his face into my throat. Despite the fact that I clearly said no kissing, he trailed his lips up and down. I shivered at the contact. My neck had always been my sensitive spot and part of me enjoyed the fact that this guy was bad at following rules.

I let out a moan and then stopped myself. I didn’t want to make noise. I didn’t want us to get caught.

“What’s wrong?” He pulled away so suddenly, I didn’t realize what had happened until I felt cold.

“Nothing,” I said, dropping my hands once I finished unbuttoning his last button. “Why?”

“I want to hear you.” He took one hand and cupped the back of my head, gently tugging on the roots of my hair. “Don’t stop yourself from making noise.”

Under normal circumstances, I would have rolled my eyes at this guy. I mean, honestly. Was he overcompensating? Did he have something to prove? Why else would he want me to be loud where we could very well get caught? Was this some sort of fantasy for him? At the end of the day, I realized it didn’t matter. If he wanted to get caught, who was I to judge him? I told him we couldn’t kiss, and I was pretty sure we were both under the impression that our masks would be staying on.

His mouth found my neck once again. Instead of kissing me there, he gently nipped at my skin. I let out a yelp, opening my eyes.

Clearly, he liked things rough.

Which was definitely a good thing, because I did too.

I yanked his shirt off of his frame and tossed it to the ground. I hoped he didn’t have some sort of paranoia about his shirt touching the floor of a locker room. I pushed the thought away, deciding I didn’t care. There was a reason Josh broke up with me. He said I cared too much. If only Josh could see me now—having sex with a stranger who didn’t care if I made too much noise during sex. Which meant I shouldn’t care either.

My hands ran up and down the stranger’s torso. He was sprinkled with dark hair, though there wasn’t much on him to take away from his beauty. He had a nice six-pack that I caressed. He flinched underneath my touch.

I narrowed my eyes at a scar, just above the stranger’s heart. Why did it look so familiar? I hadn’t seen a lot of scars in my lifetime, especially blatant ones above a heart. This had to be at least an inch in diameter, his skin discolored. I wondered if he had had surgery there. Maybe it was something else.