Shutout rules of the gam.., p.4
Shutout: Rules of the Game Book 2, page 4
“His name is Tyler.” A frigid gust of wind kicks up as I climb into her white Range Rover, issuing a brutal reminder I still need to hit the mall for a proper winter coat. “And it’s temporary.”
“It’s a live-in booty call, Sera. Think of how convenient that could be.”
I cross my legs in the passenger seat, trying to ignore the way my body eagerly responds to her suggestion. “That would be a terrible idea.”
“Please. You told me all about what happened in that bathroom. With chemistry like that, you two are totally going to fuck again.” She throws the SUV into reverse, and the rear tires fishtail as she pulls onto the street.
“Doubtful. The only thing Tyler seemed to care about was making sure we don’t tell Chase.” I was in full agreement because I have no interest in him becoming even more overprotective than he already is. I’m not even sure what he’d do if he found out. Send me to a hotel? Stand guard outside my bedroom? String a little bell along the top of my door?
Other than the brother issue, Tyler seemed completely unfazed when he learned my identity. Like our bathroom hookup wasn’t memorable or noteworthy at all. While that bruises my ego a little, maybe it’s ultimately a good thing. It means it’ll be easier to move on without any awkwardness.
Though if I keep drooling over him in the kitchen, it might remain awkward no matter what.
“If anything,” I add, “I should find someone else to distract me from him.” Entertainment in the form of another warm, willing male would get me out of the house, keep me occupied, and most importantly, take my mind off Tyler. It’s a solid enough plan. Unfortunately, I have zero desire to follow through with it—especially after seeing him shirtless in the kitchen.
Abby laughs. “Come to our next mixer and we can make that happen.”
For some reason, the offer doesn’t sound as appealing as it usually would.
She tugs off her knit purple beanie, freeing her unruly copper curls, and launches into an update on her love life. She’s caught in the middle of the most complicated love triangle I’ve ever heard. Or maybe it’s a love quadrangle? Love square? There’s a hefty amount of history between all of the parties involved, and I could use a flow chart to help keep it straight.
When she wraps up her story, she remarks, “You seem off today.”
I feel her gaze on me as I look out the window, watching the snow-covered trees fly by in a blur. “I’m okay.”
In truth, I’m thinking about my mom. They caught her cancer early and she’s expected to make a full recovery, but it’s hard not to worry. Since they live over an hour away, my stepfather Rick has been taking her to chemotherapy and I’ve been receiving regular updates. I’ll be coming to her next follow-up appointment later this month and attending as many as I can after that. Maybe that way, I’ll at least feel like I’m doing something to help.
Abby barrels toward a red light and I claw at the seat nervously, my gel nails digging into luxury leather. Her SUV skids for a few feet before coming to a stop halfway into the crosswalk. It snowed again last night, and the plows haven’t come by yet. Given that she drives like a speed demon even in the poorest of conditions, I’m rethinking my decision to carpool to the gym.
The rest of our drive goes much the same. I exhale a sigh of relief as she veers into a parking stall, marking an end to our frightening journey.
She kills the ignition, shifting to look at me. “You’re going to reaffiliate with Kappa, right?”
“Soon.” As a transfer student, I’ve been given the choice between switching to early alumni status with my sorority or joining the Boyd University chapter. Reaffiliating seems like the obvious choice, but there’s something holding me back from fully committing.
“I can get them to rush the application,” she sings.
“It’s on my to-do list.”
What I don’t tell her is that every time I go to draft the request email, I freeze. Maybe it’s too much change all at once.
CHAPTER 6
99 PROBLEMS
TYLER
This is the longest round of Screw Your Neighbor I’ve ever played. Or maybe it just feels that way because I’m trying to stay on my best behavior and I’m not doing a great job of it. It’s taking all of my effort to keep my attention focused on the game.
Laughter erupts from the adjacent living room where Seraphina is standing with Bailey and Siobhan. Something inside me stirs, and I grip my beer tighter, channeling every shred of restraint I have to keep myself from looking at her again.
Proof the universe likes to fuck with me? She’s wearing one of the tiniest dresses I’ve ever seen. It’s purple, and it looks like it’s been painted on. I’d like nothing more than to be the one to peel it off at the end of the night. Since I value having my limbs in working order, that obviously isn’t an option. But you can bet your ass I’ll be thinking about it later when I’m alone.
My strategy of pretending we never fucked is failing miserably.
“How are you liking Boyd so far, Reid?” Siobhan drapes an arm around Dallas’s neck, lowering to sit on his lap. We have more than enough chairs for everyone; they’re just attached at the hip. Her plane landed while we were at practice this afternoon, and she was at our place by the time we got home. I’m just glad my room is in the basement, so I’ll be spared hearing them “catch up.”
Reid snatches his beer off the table like the very question makes him want to drink. “Been a big change, but the team seems solid so far.”
That’s a rehearsed answer if I’ve ever heard one. He sounds like he’s being interviewed by a reporter on TV. There’s definitely a story behind why he transferred. I’ve heard rumors ranging from “family reasons” to a disagreement with team management to my personal favorite: having allegedly beaten the shit out of one of his teammates.
“It sure is,” Dallas says cheerfully. If he picks up on the evasiveness in Reid’s response, he doesn’t let on. He retrieves the pile of haphazard cards and shuffles them for his turn as dealer. “We’re going to crush Maine this weekend.”
Unsurprisingly, Dallas is the one who talked us into inviting Reid tonight. He coined it “Operation Bury the Hatchet” and rightfully pointed out it would be a dick move not to include him when the rest of the team was already coming. Hard to argue with that, so Chase and I relented. I sort of figured Reid wouldn’t come anyway, but to my surprise, he did. At least he came bearing a case of top shelf beer, so points for that.
Ever since Reid showed up at the door, Dallas has been running interference like a man on a mission, hell-bent on smoothing over any past grudges for the sake of team harmony. It’s been fine, I guess. At least his presence has taken some of the heat off of me, so no one’s noticed how tense I am. Tonight is the only night this month I’ve scheduled to let myself cut loose and I’m more on edge than ever.
Dallas leans forward, distributing cards around the table. My willpower glitches, and I steal another glance at Seraphina. She takes a sip of her White Claw, bringing my focus to her perfect, full lips. I shift my weight in my seat, mesmerized. It’s impossible not to think of all the other ways I’d like to put her mouth to use.
Almost like she can sense me looking at her, she glances over and our eyes lock from across the room. She flashes me a flirty, knowing grin that I feel myself instinctively return.
Fuck. Way to be obvious, man.
Taking a deep breath, I force myself to look away and refocus on the conversation at the table. Sort of. Everyone is talking about some new movie, but I’m not following along enough to say which.
One by one, everyone else gets eliminated from the game until it’s down to me and Chase. It’s a miracle I’ve made it this far with Seraphina distracting me from across the room. What I still don’t understand is why I’m so affected by her. It was just sex. It didn’t mean anything. It never does. I’ve never thought twice about it after with anyone else.
“Suck it, loser.” Chase throws down the winning card and reclines in his seat with a smirk.
“Yeah, yeah.” I wave him off. He’s the worst winner in the history of mankind. Dallas just so happens to be the worst loser, which means our house is rife with competitive clashes all the time. Neither has any chill. “Be right back. I need to grab my phone.”
I set down my beer and push back my chair, heading for the kitchen to retrieve my cell from where I left it charging on the counter. Realistically, I don’t give a flying fuck about my phone. I probably won’t even look at my texts. It’s mostly an excuse to compose myself.
When I step through the doorway, I find Seraphina standing on her tiptoes, trying in vain to retrieve something from one of the upper shelves of a cupboard. My gaze instantly drops to her full, round ass, watching the already-short hem of her dress inch up as she strains to grab whatever it is she’s reaching for.
Letting out a cute little sound of frustration, she leans forward and tries again, causing the fabric to ride up a little more. All the blood in my body rushes to my cock, and I fight to contain the groan rising in my chest.
Because I can’t guarantee I won’t do something foolish, my first instinct is to leave. She immediately turns around and notices me, which means I can’t without looking like an asshole.
A smile forms on her lips. “Hi.”
“Hey.” My voice is huskier than usual. Fuck, I even sound turned on.
“Could you help me for a sec? I’m trying to get the straws.” She points to a yellow cardboard carton, then gestures to herself, and I seize the invitation to check her out again. “I can’t climb on the counter in this.”
“Sure.”
Seraphina moves over a few inches, barely making enough room for me to grab the box she indicated without bumping into her. I draw closer and her perfume wafts over to me, the sweet scent giving my dick all kinds of wrong—but also very right—ideas.
My arm brushes her shoulder as I reach up and grab the box off the shelf, setting it on the counter.
“Thanks,” she says. If I’m not mistaken, she sounds a little breathier than normal.
“Don’t mention it.”
Tension coils between us, and the air crackles with electricity. We’re standing close; arguably too close if she were anyone else. Despite that, neither of us takes a step back. I couldn’t make myself move away if I wanted to.
Her glossy pink lips pull into a sultry smirk, and her dark, thick lashes lower, giving me a deliberate once-over. When her gaze lifts to meet mine, her amber eyes shine mischievously. I can tell she’s holding back to see what I’ll do.
And fuck me, I really want to do something I shouldn’t.
“Hi!” A shrill greeting carries through the air, jolting me back to reality.
We’re interrupted by a busty redhead with nearly waist-length hair who rushes up and throws her arms around Seraphina. She’s petite, at least half a foot shorter, and wearing a pink dress that’s equally as scandalous. Based on her voice alone, I’m pretty sure this is the same girl that picked Seraphina up at the house a few days ago. She’s reportedly one of Sera’s best friends, which is why I can’t explain the uneasy feeling in my gut the moment my eyes land on her. Admittedly, I am irritated by the interruption, but there’s something deeper to it than that.
A well-groomed older guy walks up and wraps his arms around Seraphina, drawing her into a hug. Now I’m even more irritated. His hand lingers on her lower back as he brings his mouth to her ear, saying something only she can hear. She laughs and shakes her head, swatting his arm playfully. The way he’s touching her is familiar, bordering on intimate, and it’s highly aggravating. His wearing a designer suit at a house party aggravates me even more.
After a quick round of introductions, I learn they are Abby and Rob, and decide I like neither. This is further cemented when Abby tugs Seraphina away with Rob trailing behind them.
Several people try to catch my eye as I squeeze through the crowd, taking a seat at the table where Dallas and Chase are hogging the food Siobhan set out. She claims it’s to help soak up the alcohol, but I think she likes the excuse to play hostess. Either way, I’m thankful for it tonight. I’ve never been one to eat my feelings, but it seems like a safer bet than the alternative.
“Isn’t that Rob dude a dickbag?” Chase asks. His jaw is tense, the cords in his neck tight.
“Who is he, anyway?” I reach for my half-empty beer, trying to sound neutral. “Your sister’s ex or something?”
“Abby’s older brother. I’ve been looking for an excuse to beat his ass for years. He constantly hits on Sera, even though he’s way too old for her. The guy is like twenty-nine or something. I mean, he’s a fucking corporate lawyer, and he’s hanging out with a bunch of chicks who still use fake IDs to get into bars.”
It takes every ounce of restraint I have to keep a straight face. I knew I didn’t like him.
Chase grabs a handful of tortilla chips before he continues. “Plus, Sera’s been out every goddamn night this week. What’s wrong with staying in every once in a while?”
Never thought I’d see the day where Chase sounds like a grouchy middle-aged father, but here we are.
Dallas smirks. “Gee, sounds familiar.”
“I’m not like that anymore.”
“Yeah, but you’re also older than she is. Look at what you were doing in the middle of your sophomore year.”
I suck in a sharp breath, bracing myself. A year ago, Chase was still single, getting wasted on the regular and fucking random chicks like it was going out of style. It’s not a flattering comparison.
Chase shoots upright in his seat, snatching his beer off the wooden table. “What the fuck, Ward?” He drains the remaining third in a few gulps before slamming the bottle back down. “Are you trying to make me feel worse?”
“That’s, uh, not what I meant.” Dallas reaches for a handful of potato chips from the bowl on the counter and takes a bite into one, gesturing with the remaining half. “What I was trying to say is I’m sure this whole partying thing is a phase. Lots of people go through it and come out perfectly fine in the end. Like you did.”
A for effort, but he’s leaving out the part where Chase only turned it around because of Bailey. If he hadn’t met her, I’m not sure he’d still be on the team. Or in college, for that matter.
Chase’s eyes lock onto the empty bottle in front of him, and his expression grows distant. “I worry, you know? I feel responsible for Sera. Always have since our dad died.”
An unfamiliar feeling settles in the pit of my stomach: sympathy. He almost never talks about their father. It must be hard as fuck not having him around. I don’t know if I’d be where I am today without mine. He’s been there for me through everything, from my first pair of skates to the draft.
“Seraphina was okay at ASU without you,” I remind him, trying to set his mind at ease. “I’m sure she’ll be fine at Boyd. From what I know, it’s a lot tamer here than it is there.”
He sighs, shaking his head. “Maybe so, but I’ll have gray hair by the end of the semester at this rate. She’s such a goddamn handful.”
Chase isn’t wrong. Until recently, all of my problems were hockey related. Now, as Seraphina giggles on the other side of the room in her should-be-illegal scrap of fabric, I have ninety-nine more. And they’re all the words “Seraphina Carter” repeated ninety-nine times.
CHAPTER 7
HISTORICALLY ACCURATE
SERAPHINA
I’m never listening to Abby again.
Thanks to her, I’m wearing a lavender dress that’s more like a shirt. She assured me over FaceTime that it was perfect, but I discovered only too late that I can’t sit without the possibility of giving onlookers a peek at my Victoria’s Secrets. It wouldn’t be as big of a deal at a club, but it’s inconvenient at a house party. What am I supposed to do, remain awkwardly standing all night?
Fully worth it to see the way Tyler’s jaw dropped when saw me in this dress, though.
“I’m going to marry her.” Chase leans a shoulder against the stainless refrigerator, watching his girlfriend Bailey on the other side of the room.
Those are four words I never thought I’d hear leave his mouth. But times have changed, because the birthday boy is a little drunk, a lot in love, and the result is pretty endearing—even for him.
A grin tugs at my cheeks. “Oh yeah? When are you going to do that, Romeo?” Seeing my hulking, trash-talking, pain-in-the-ass brother whipped over a girl is so amusing it almost takes my mind off my wardrobe miscalculation.
“As soon as she’ll let me.” Chase shifts to face me, tilting his head. “What about you? Were you dating anyone back at ASU?”
This is further confirmation he’s several drinks deep. Generally, my brother would prefer to pretend that I lead the love life of a nun. Deep down, he knows that isn’t the case, but the denial seems to help him sleep at night.
“Single as a Pringle. Same as always.” I haven’t had a boyfriend since starting college, nor have I wanted one. Based on what I’ve seen of my friends’ experiences, college guys get complacent, gradually putting in less and less effort until you both resent each other and even the sex becomes a chore. It strikes me as a waste of time and energy, at least in this phase of my life.
I have, however, had a generous handful of hookups and a couple situationships. I doubt my brother wants to hear about those.
“Just stay away from the team,” he mutters, bringing his amber bottle of beer to his lips. “Most of them are assholes to chicks.”
There we go. The reason for this line of questioning has suddenly become crystal clear. Overprotective big brother mode: Activated.
“That won’t be a problem. I’m not into athletes, especially hockey players.” My cheeks heat, and I take a sip of my vodka Sprite to hide my face. While this claim is historically accurate, it feels borderline dishonest right now. They must put something in the water at Boyd because at least half the guys on my brother’s team are hot. In addition to Tyler, they have a new transfer who looks like he could moonlight as a male model. He’s a gazillion feet tall, has tousled sun-streaked hair, and a dimple in his cheek to die for.
