Boyfriend Bargain (Hawthorne University #1)(4)

Lie.

Only Coach, Eric, and Reece know the truth.

Because if people discover I have real issues with anxiety, I’m done in the NHL, all my dreams destroyed.

Thus the new psychologist. The thing is, you can’t fix a guy with guilt so deep it cuts like a knife.

“Dude. You going to stand out here in the cold all night? Everyone’s waiting.” Eric winks and nods his head at the door. “Some girl is dying to get with you.”

I throw a look at him, taking in the styled dark red hair and short beard. He’s all decked out in his blue dress shirt, slacks, and loafers—his I’m gonna get laid tonight outfit. My best friend since summer training his freshman year, he’s a year younger than me and sharp as hell underneath that lighthearted playboy exterior.

“It’s just a party, man.” This comes from my brother Reece, who’s also dressed for pussy, his face angular and chiseled like mine. His blond hair is short, though, and he’s two inches shorter than me.

He and the team are the reason I decided to finish my senior year when I could have gone straight to the NHL. I want a championship for Hawthorne so bad I can feel it in my bones. We missed it last year, and damn, that sticks in my throat.

Reece gives me a come on look, exasperation on his face. “You need to lighten up. Just enjoy yourself.”

Enjoy myself?

My lips tighten. He doesn’t get that I’m tired of the attention. “You two go on.” I stuff my hands in my jeans. “I’ll call an Uber, and you can drive my Escalade back.” I’m thinking most of the Uber drivers might be in for the night by the time they leave.

Eric throws an arm around my shoulders. “Fuck that. These people need to see us. We won and they planned this to see you, the king.” He grins, wide and genuine, and I have to smirk at the missing tooth from tonight’s game. He’ll get it fixed in a few days, but right now he doesn’t even care, just riding high on our win.

I look back at the Kappa house. Lately these victory parties just remind me that I don’t deserve accolades.

I’m a fucking terrible person.

And I’m slowly losing my mind.

I resist the urge to just take off running, to let my body exhaust itself until I can’t feel anything but the burn of exercise. I wish I could just be normal and take this knot in my gut and make it work for me, not against me.

I know the truth, though, straight from the head doctor: You have an issue. This is your new normal.

I inhale several deep breaths and let them out slowly.

“All right.” I give Eric a nod and he opens the door, music spilling out.

We walk in and gaze around the darkened room, and I feel the weight of every person in it staring at me. I straighten my shoulders and give a defiant glare back, putting my mask on, pretending I don’t have a care in the world.

People swarm around us and I push through, trying to feel the excitement I used to from the attention, but all I have is dread in my stomach—

Until my gaze sweeps the room and meets hers as she peers around a column.

Her.

Her.

Her.

I narrow my eyes, my heart accelerating, my brow knitting.

I’ve seen her before in passing, those wide, intelligent eyes and that full, pouty mouth with the slight indentation in the middle.

I’ve never seen her here, though, and not with her hair down and glasses gone.

Fuck me.





3





Sugar





Inside my small crossbody purse, my phone vibrates, diverting my attention away from the party, and I pull it out. It’s been doing this for the past ten minutes, and I’ve been ignoring it, but now that Zack has arrived and the wait is over, I’m nervous it might be Mara trying to get in touch with me. She’s raised me since my mama died, and it gnaws at me that once she’s gone, I won’t have anyone left at all, except for the relatives in LA—that’s Lower Alabama—and I don’t want anything to do with my father’s people.

It’s my ex, Bennett, who’s sending me messages, and a long sigh slips out of my mouth as I scroll up to see several texts. My hands tighten around the cell.

I’m knocking on your door. Where are you?

Please, babe, open the door. BTW, this dorm sucks balls.

Jesus…fuck…where are you? I need some closure.

Shit. Just call me, text me. Anything. Please. What you saw that night…I’m sorry! I can explain it.

My heart drops, feeling like someone tossed an anvil on it. We’ve only been broken up for a month, and here I am, still missing the cheating bastard. Familiar anger rushes to the surface and my gut churns at the memory of seeing him with another girl in the parking lot of the bar where he plays with his band. I recall the steamed-up windows of his Land Cruiser, her legs straddling his in the driver’s seat—

Why didn’t I see what a liar he was?

Sexy tattoos and a guitar, Sugar. I was blinded. I got sucked in and drank the Kool-Aid. I think back to the phone numbers I’d find crumpled up in his pockets, the long, hungry looks girls gave him when he was on stage, the way they swooned when he sang a slow song—one he supposedly wrote for me. He was a ticking time bomb, just waiting to explode, and well, I guess he did—inside some chick in the parking lot.

I chew on my bottom lip and push thoughts of him away.