The Play (Briar U, #3)(35)

I step toward the edge of the deck. “You assholes don’t deserve me as a captain,” I mutter, and then I dive into the water in my boxers.

Luckily, the temperature is like bath water, and as I swim for Pablo, I force myself to think good thoughts about my team.

Captain rule number a million: Patience. Always be patient.

With Pablo in hand, I climb up the ladder, dripping water all over the concrete deck. “Here,” I mutter to Foster, shoving the egg in his hand. “I’m going upstairs to dry off and change.”

Rupi’s unhappy gaze fixes on my underwear. “Hunter, I can see the outline of your penis.”

Yup, because the boxers are white, and they’re soaked and sticking to my flesh. I scowl at Rupi before gathering my discarded clothing and stalking into the house.

It’s late and the party is winding down, so there’s no line at the main floor bathroom. But the door is locked and when I knock on it, an agonized voice slurs, “Go ’way, I’m busy in ’ere.”

So I trudge upstairs and try the one in the hall. Door’s shut, but I jiggle the knob and find it’s unlocked. I push the door open in time to hear a husky groan and see Conor Edwards fisting both his hands in a tangle of blonde hair.

“Ahhh fuck, I’m coming,” he rasps, his hips pumping. And on her knees Michelle swallows every drop.

Jesus!!

I quickly slam the door, not caring if they heard it. I’ve witnessed friends hooking up before, but never had the honor of staring into their heavy-lidded eyes fuzzy with bliss as they climax. Goddamn Conor. Hasn’t he ever heard of a lock?

My gaze turns toward a bedroom at the end of the all. I know the guy who lives there—Ben something or other. And he has a private bath. My wet body is dripping water on the carpet. I need a towel and a wastebasket to toss my boxers in. Ben’s bathroom, it is.

But I’ve only taken one step down the hall when Ben’s door swings open and I witness yet another thing I shouldn’t.

Only this time it’s worse than Conor coming in some chick’s mouth.

Much, much worse.





12





Hunter





I’m up at six a.m. on Monday. We have morning skate at seven and I need to eat, because I always have breakfast before practice. And then a second breakfast afterwards in the hockey facility kitchen. Like a hobbit.

Hollis is already awake. He needs to make the drive back to New Hampshire today. Sometimes he leaves on Sunday night, but some weekends he simply can’t sacrifice one single second with his fair maiden Rupi and leaves early on Monday. I guess this was one of those weekends. But he’s in for a bitch of a commute at this hour.

“Hey,” I say as he staggers into the kitchen.

He grunts in response.

I head for the coffeemaker. I need a dose of caffeine to jumpstart my brain. “Want some?” I offer.

That gets me another grunt.

I decide to treat it as a yes. A couple minutes later we’re drinking our coffee while I scroll through my phone to check the meal plan for the week. Our nutritionist Karly has the team on a strict diet. Granted, we break it all the time, but as Karly always warns, ignoring her meal plans only does ourselves the disservice in the end.

I skim the options on the list and decide on an egg white omelet loaded with veggies. “You want breakfast?” I ask Hollis. “Omelets.”

He nods. “Yeah, one for the road might be nice. Actually, make that two.”

“You want two omelets.”

“I’m hungry.”

“I’ll start with one and then we’ll see if there’s time left. Coach will be pissed if I’m late.” I slide a cutting board and a knife across the counter. “Get dicing.”

Hollis chops mushrooms and green peppers while I prep the eggs. As we cook, the rest of the house remains eerily quiet and the sky’s still dark beyond the kitchen window. The darkness makes it feel like nighttime, and my brain is unwittingly transported back to Saturday night.

Fuck.

Nico absolutely slept with that chick I saw him exiting the bedroom with.

Or at the very least, he had his pants off with her.

And when you have a serious girlfriend, your pants should never come off in the presence of another woman.

The thing is… I didn’t actually catch him red-handed. I caught the potential aftermath. And I’m not about to stir up trouble in the relationship of someone I barely know. Demi doesn’t trust me enough yet to take my word for it. If I went up to a friend, like Dean, for example, and said, “Hey, Allie’s cheating,” he would believe me. Because Dean knows I’d have no reason to lie or play games. But Demi doesn’t know that. She would question my motivations, maybe even suspect me of trying to sabotage Nico so I could have her for myself, which isn’t the case.

“Hey Mike,” I say as I pour the first omelet mixture into the hot pan.

“Mmmm?” He’s busy chopping up a red pepper now.

“I’ve got a hypothetical for you.”

“All right. Hypothetical me.”

“What?”

“You know, like hit me, only with the word hypothetical instead of—whatever, just fucking say it.”

“All right. Let’s pretend someone you know is in a long-term, committed relationship, and you caught their boyfriend or girlfriend cheating on them. Well, possibly cheating. You’re not a hundred percent certain, but the circumstances were very suspicious and…” I set down the spatula on the counter. “You know what? Screw it. I am a hundred percent certain. I know when a dude just got sucked off. I literally saw Conor ejaculating three seconds before that.”