The Goal (Off-Campus #4)(39)

If he does that, I honestly don’t think I would say no this time.

“Apparently all the bunnies hang out outside the locker rooms,” Carin whispers to me as we file into the main lobby. “So let’s wait for him outside. It’ll be less crowded.”

“The bunnies?”

“Puck bunnies. Hockey groupies. Whatever you want to call them.” She shrugs. “You know, the chicks looking to get nasty with a hockey player.”

“Ah. Gotcha.” I shrug back, because I have nothing against girls who want that. After all, my own requirement for hookups is athletes only.

But when the athlete I’m waiting for finally emerges from the building, he’s not alone.

My spine stiffens as I watch Tucker pause on the steps with his arm slung around a short blonde. He’s in his hockey jacket and she’s bundled up in a bright red parka, but the way my stomach twists up with jealousy, you’d think they were buck-naked and brazenly fucking on the stairs.

“Let’s go,” I hiss to my friends.

A firm hand circles my wrist. “They’re just talking,” Hope says quietly.

My cheeks hollow as I grind my teeth. “He has his arm around her.”

I am not about to make a fool of myself over some hockey player, especially one who says how much he wants to go out with me and then comes out for a postgame celebration with his arm around some other girl.

I sneak another peek. Yep. Arm’s still around her. And he’s laughing at whatever Blondie’s saying.

My molars are being crushed to dust, but I can’t seem to look away. Blondie wraps both arms around Tucker’s waist and gives him a tight hug. She tips her head up at him. He smiles down at her.

And then my heart is shredded to pieces, because Tucker’s head is dipping toward hers. His mouth drops lower and lower and lower, until finally he kisses her…





13




Sabrina


…on the forehead.

Tucker kisses Blondie on the forehead.

And then ruffles her hair as if she’s a toddler.

“Damn. She got the forehead kiss?” D’Andre murmurs. “That’s rough.”

Whatever. It was still a kiss! And I don’t even want to know who this chick is anymore. I feel stupid for coming tonight.

Tucker is Mr. Popular, with his swarm of admirers and impeccable manners and that reddish hair that makes him look like he belongs in some old-timey family sitcom where life is perfect, perfect, perfect.

I’m the overachiever, the bitch who studies her ass off and works every second of every day to try to climb out of the gutter she was born in so she can stand next to all these Briar kids without feeling inferior.

“Let’s go,” I repeat.

My friends must realize how serious I am, because they all take a step forward. We’re about two feet from the base of the steps when I hear my name.

“Sabrina!”

Crap. I’ve been spotted.

“Wait up.” His voice sounds closer now.

I turn to Carin in a silent plea for help, but she simply grins. When I turn to Hope and D’Andre, they’re pretending to be studying her phone. Traitors.

Sighing, I swing around and meet Tucker halfway.

He’s visibly thrilled to see me, his eyes bright and his sexy mouth curved in a smile. “What are you doing here?”

I say the first lame thing that comes to mind. “I was in the neighborhood.”

“You were, were you?” His smile widens. “And did you happen to catch any of the game while you were in the neighborhood?”

“All of it, actually. That was a nice assist.”

“I thought you didn’t know anything about hockey.”

“I don’t. I’m just repeating what the announcer said on the PA.”

“Tuck!” someone from the group of players calls. “You coming?”

He twists around to shout back, “I’ll meet you there!” Then he’s smiling at me again. “Want to come back to my place to celebrate the win with us?”

I shake my head. “I have to get home. I work tomorrow. Besides—” Don’t say it… “I don’t particularly feel like—” Don’t fucking say it, Sabrina! “—being a third wheel,” I finish, and want to punch myself for it.

His dark auburn eyebrows shoot up. “What are you talking about?”

I clench my teeth.

“Darlin’,” he prompts.

“Little Red Riding Hood over there,” I mumble, jerking my head toward Blondie, who’s now chatting with one of Tucker’s friends. “You two looked like you were on a date.”

“A date? Um, no.” He starts to laugh. “That’s Sheena, a friend of mine.” He pauses. “Well, an ex.”

I pounce on that. “See!”

“See what? She’s an ex, but she’s also a friend. I’m friends with lots of my exes.”

Of course he is. No girl on this damn planet would ever Carrie Underwood this guy and key his truck or bash it in with a baseball bat. He’s too fucking nice. It’s impossible to hate him.

“You’re jealous,” he teases.

“No,” I lie.

“You totally are.” Delight dances across his face. “You like me.”