The Goal (Off-Campus #4)(16)
I think you’re the most fascinating guy I’ve ever met.
I think you’re amazing in bed and I want to fuck you again.
I think if I was capable of having my heart broken, you’d have the power to break it.
“I think I made myself clear that night,” I finish. “I’m not in the market for a relationship, or even a fuck buddy. I wanted sex. You gave it to me. That’s all it was.”
I don’t miss the disappointment that floods his eyes. It brings a pang of regret and makes my stomach twist painfully, but I’ve already set this course and now I need to see it through. I’m very good at staying the course.
“I know you athletes are stubborn as hell and that you don’t give up when you want something, but…” I take a breath. “I’m asking you to give up.”
His jaw tightens. “Sabrina—”
“Please.” I cringe at the desperate note in my voice. “Just give up, all right? I don’t want to start anything up. I don’t want to go on a date. I want…” I rise on wobbly legs. “I want to get to class, that’s all.”
After an interminably long silence, he gets up too. “Sure, darlin’. If that’s what you want.”
It’s not a taunt, nor does it contain even a hint of promise, as in sure, darlin’, I’ll give up—for now. But expect me to keep chasing you until I wear you down.
No, there’s a finality to his words that makes me sad. John Tucker is clearly a man of his word, and while I ought to admire that, I’ve suddenly become a hypocrite, because now I’m the one feeling disappointed.
“I’ll see you around,” he says gruffly.
And then he strides off without another word, leaving me to stare after him in dismay.
I did the right thing. I know I did. Even if I had oodles of free time to pursue something with him, there’s no room in my life for someone like Tucker. He’s sweet and earnest and clearly has money, whereas I’m bitchy and stressed and live in the gutter. He can talk all he wants about connections at first sight, but that doesn’t change the reality of this.
I’m not the girl for John Tucker, and I never will be.
6
Tucker
Practice is shit. The team’s just not clicking this season, and Coach Jensen is riding us mercilessly now that we’ve got a few losses tarnishing our record. Yesterday’s loss bummed us out pretty hard—we were up against a Division II team who should not have wiped our asses all over the ice like that.
The new defensive coach, Frank O’Shea, is only making things worse. I’ve been thanking my lucky stars that I’m not a defenseman. O’Shea seems to have a vendetta against Dean, constantly calling him out and harping on his mistakes.
Dean’s cheeks go redder than apples every time O’Shea opens his mouth. According to Logan, the man used to be the head coach at Dean’s prep school. They obviously have a past, but whatever it is, Dean’s not sharing. But he’s not happy, either. Not only are the d-men constantly ordered to stay late, but apparently Dean got forced into coaching the kiddie team at the elementary school in town.
I skate to the bench after my shift and heave myself over the wall, then squirt some water in my mouth and watch Garrett’s line fly across the blue line. Today’s scrimmage is non-scoring so far. Seriously, that’s how bad we suck. We can’t even score on each other during practice, and it’s not because our goalies are in top form—none of the forwards can get their shit together, myself included.
A whistle blows. Coach starts screaming at one of our junior d-men for icing the puck.
“What the hell was that, Kelvin! You had four passing opportunities and you decide to ice the fucking thing!” Coach looks ready to pull his hair out.
I don’t blame him.
“I could’ve made that pass if I was out there,” Dean grumbles beside me.
I glance over in sympathy. One of O’Shea’s first orders of business had been to rearrange the lines. He’d paired Dean up with Brodowski, and Logan with Kelvin, when we all know that Logan and Dean are unstoppable together.
“I’m sure O’Shea will realize his mistake soon.”
“Yeah right. This is punishment. The motherfucker hates me.”
My curiosity is once again piqued. “Why’s that again?”
Dean’s expression goes cloudier. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Not sure if you know this,” I say pleasantly, “but secrets kill friendships.”
That makes him snicker. “You really want to talk to me about secrets? Where the fuck were you all weekend?”
I instantly shutter my expression. I’m cool confiding in my friends about my love life, but I don’t want to discuss Sabrina with Dean, especially when I know his opinion of her. Besides, what the fuck is there to talk about, anyway? She shot me down. I asked her out and she flat-out told me no, it was never gonna happen.
If I thought there was even the slightest chance that she wanted me to chase after her, maybe I wouldn’t have taken no for an answer. Maybe I would’ve shown up after her classes a few more times, bought her a couple more sandwiches, wooed her with my charm and worked the southern accent whenever I felt her drawing away.
But I saw the look in her eyes. She meant what she said—she doesn’t want to see me again. And although I have no problem being the pursuer, I’m not going to chase after someone who’s not interested.