Breakaway (Beyond the Play, #2)(19)

“I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, but I don’t like being used,” I interrupt. Her face falls, and I feel a twinge of sympathy. I don’t know her, but she wears her emotions on her face like a brand. It’s a pretty face, too, one I can’t stop staring at, even now. It’s clear that she really thought I knew her, but I don’t like what that implies either. Why would she want to hook up with one of her father’s guys, anyway? And why me? She said she knew about my reputation. I’ve never been ashamed about being a player; I’m upfront with everyone I hook up with and who the hell cares that I love sex, but now? It’s like she chose me because she knows I’m easy, and whatever her motives, this could fuck up everything for me. Nothing screams serious captain material like hooking up with the coach’s daughter in a goddamn storage closet.

And if my dad gets wind of this? I’ll never hear the end of it.

“I wasn’t trying to use you,” she says. “I thought I was helping. I needed it, and you did too. You said so.”

“I’m trying to make captain.” I can’t help it, I take a step closer, although my hand is still curled around the doorframe. “If your daddy dearest finds out, I’m screwed. I’m already stuck doing this stupid volunteer thing with you. He’ll bury me so far down the roster I’ll never make the NHL.”

“He wouldn’t do that,” she says. “And it’s not like I want him to know either. So quit looking at me like I forced you into something.”

I take a deep breath. She’s right; she asked, but I could have easily said no. I wanted it, and we had a good time together, and although I can feel my blood pressure rising the longer this conversation goes on, it helped. Tasting her, kissing her, coming thanks to a pretty girl—it loosened some of the pressure that’s been building in me for months.

“Sorry,” I mutter. I need to escape before I make a real ass of myself. Like argue with her a bit more, or even worse, kiss her. I still very much want to do that; the fact she’s Ryder’s daughter hasn’t magically erased the attraction I’m feeling. I peer into the hallway to make sure the coast is clear. “I’ll see you around.”

“You’re coming next week, right?”

I glance back at her. “I’ll come as long as your dad thinks I need to. But this” — I gesture between us — “isn’t happening again.”

“Cooper?”

“Yeah?”

She fiddles with a piece of her hair. “Good luck on your games this weekend.”

I huff out a breath. “Thanks, Red.”





10





COOPER





I blast Red Hot Chili Peppers the entire way home, singing along. Either I bellow the words to “Suck My Kiss” off-key or think about Penny Ryder, and the latter isn’t an option. Not now, and not ever.

When I pass by Red’s, my favorite bar—which just makes me think of her, go figure—I almost head inside for a drink. It sounds ridiculous even in my head, but I’m almost certain that hooking up with Penny brought back my game. I have the feeling that if I tried to chat up a girl right now, she’d be more than willing to entertain my proposition. It’s like I had a lock on my junk, and Penny helped me jimmy it open. But instead of stopping off at the bar, I keep driving.

When I get back to the house, I find Izzy vacuuming while she plays a Sheryl Crow album at top volume. She doesn’t notice me at first, thanks to the competing loud noises, so I just lean against the banister, taking in the rare sight of my sister acting domestic. She’s dressed in her nice pajamas, a silk nightgown and matching robe, and she’s pushed her hair back with a headband that, somehow, also matches. Did she buy the entire set at Pink or something? Unless she’s going to a sleepover, I’d bet that she has company on the way.

She notices me eventually and startles so badly she drops the vacuum handle. “Cooper! You scared me!”

“Sorry.” I walk over and tug on her headband. “Why are you cleaning?”

“Victoria is coming over.”

“Oh?”

She bats my hand away from her headband. “Just her. We’re going to watch Legally Blonde and drink margaritas.”

“Victoria is the girl you knew before McKee, right?”

“Volleyball camp, yeah. We’re on the team together.” She squints at me. “Why are you so interested?”

“I’m not.” Which is not a lie; I’m still thinking about Red—Penny—and what the fuck just happened. It was incredible, but now that I know it was Penny Ryder I ate out in a fucking storage closet… I just need to trust she has no interest in her father finding out. He’d chain me to the ice and make me the first official death-by-Zamboni murder victim.

The only reason it felt so good was because it had been ages since I kissed a girl, much less tasted pussy. Now that my game is back, soon she’ll be a distant memory. Working alongside her is less than ideal, but it’s only once a week, and hopefully Coach will free me of the obligation soon.

Izzy is still looking at me a little too closely. “How was the volunteer thing?”

“Great, actually.”

She raises an eyebrow. She’s good at that, the single eyebrow thing. It reminds me of Mom. “You were convinced it was going to suck. I thought you didn’t even like kids.”