### Chapter 4 From the very beginning, popularity has been my steadfast companion. In the vast tapestry of my memories, I am constantly surrounded by friends and, let’s be real, women. Oh, the women! The flirty giggles of grade school girls slipping me those innocent "Do you like me???" notes when the teacher turned her back. The high school sirens who clamored for my attention, waiting their turn to share kisses on the lacrosse field under the dimming sun. And then came college, a magnifying glass on my desirability that I had never quite anticipated. Briar has been a game-changer, pushing me to new heights I never thought I could reach in attracting the fairer sex. Thus, it didn’t shock me when Allie threw herself at me last night. It was practically ordained, especially after she had the audacity to declare I have "perfect nipples." Yet, to wake up this morning beside her only to witness the sheer loathing on her face? Well, that was an entirely new experience. “Fuckin’ Corsen wouldn’t be able to stop a puck if it was moving two miles an hour in a straight path toward him.” My teammate’s groaned rant snaps me back from the abyss of my thoughts, and I suppress a groan of my own. Hunter, bless him, has yet to fully grasp the unspoken rules of bar etiquette. The purpose of being in a bar isn't to lament about a hockey game; it’s to score, plain and simple. But, being eighteen has its limits; I suppose he'll learn eventually. “Dude, the game was two days ago,” I tell him, shaking my head. “Let it go.” I scan the crowded bar, still hopeful for a glimpse of Tucker. The place is pulsating with the energy of hockey fans, a sea of teammates, supporters, and an ocean of puck bunnies all vying for a moment of attention from the players. Lots of appreciative female gazes flit our way, yet Hunter remains blissfully oblivious, eyes clouded with disappointment. “This is your fault, you know,” he accuses, dark eyes narrowing. “I didn't even want to play this year, but you just had to talk me into it. I could’ve been the star forward on the top prep school team in the country. And now? Now, I’m just another nobody wing on a sinking ship.” I take a thoughtful sip of my beer. “Anyone ever tell you that you’re a sore loser?” “Oh, fuck off. Like you enjoy losing.” “Of course not. But winning isn't the be-all and end-all,” I reply, leaning back casually. “And newsflash? Glass houses and all that.” “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” “It means, rather than throwing Corsen under the bus for letting in three goals, why don’t you focus on the fact that you didn’t score a single one? This isn’t prep school—college defenders aren’t as easy to dance around.” It’s harsh, but it’s time Hunter Davenport heard it straight. Coach has been taking it easy on him in practice—not because he’s not talented, but because he has a tendency to rely too heavily on self-confidence. The kid wants to be the next Sidney Crosby, yet he’s got a long way to go. “You’re saying I’m not good enough to play at this level?” His expression shifts from anger to distress, another prime indicator of his greatest strength: his desire to improve. “I’m saying you need to work at it. The other night? You made some rookie mistakes. Like when Fitzy got caught out of position after that power play—you decided to leap into the fray and bail him out. That’s not your job, man. You’re meant to trust your center to support your teammates.” Hunter swallows a quick gulp of his drink, the tension barely easing from his brow. “And let’s talk about your playreading skills, shall we? When Eastwood’s D-man made that slick pass leading to a breakaway, you should’ve anticipated where that puck was going. But nope, you totally missed the mark.” “I was watching the puck the whole time!” he protests defensively. “Forget the puck. Watch the player. Pay attention to where he’s looking, how his teammates are moving. Figure out who he’s targeting, and then intercept that pass.” Silence descends, though when Hunter breaks it, his tone is begrudgingly impressed. “You sure know a lot about this stuff, huh?” I shrug, a hint of modesty creeping in. Yes, I have a reputation for being more relaxed about hockey than others, but that doesn’t negate my understanding of the sport’s mechanics. I’ve been in love with the game for as long as I can remember, with a background of both hockey and lacrosse—though lacrosse was just a spring fling until hockey took center stage again. Both my dad and older brother put their blood, sweat, and tears into their games at Harvard; I could’ve followed in their footsteps, but for reasons, I chose Briar. An attempt to carve my own niche, I suppose. “Don’t get me wrong,” I continue. “I’m passionate about hockey, but it doesn't give me the same thrill now that it does for guys like Garrett and Logan. I genuinely enjoy practice—the drills and scrimmages—far more than the game itself. I have no intentions of going pro after graduation, much to my family's relief. They’re expecting me to follow in their footsteps to Harvard Law next fall. And honestly? I’m cool with that.” Hunter leans in, curiosity breaching his earlier frustration. “What else am I doing wrong?” A grin spreads across my face. “How about we do some one-on-one sessions this week? I’ll see if Coach will give the nod for extra ice time.” “Seriously? I’d appreciate that,” he stammers, relief spilling from his tone. “Only if you promise to shut up about hockey for the rest of the night," I interject, gesturing to the packed bar. “Look around, man. This place is a buffet of hot girls. Choose one to feast on, for goodness’ sake!” Hunter chuckles, his eyes glimmering with newfound energy. He scans the room, a predator sizing up his prey. “Speaking of feasting, how about that wildcat you rolled with last night? Ms. Hickey seems like a good time.” I stiffen, panic igniting in my chest. There’s no way in hell I’m letting this kid near Allie. He might be young, but he's on track to become a player even bigger than I am. Yet part of me wonders if he should be the one I’m worried about. Last night, Allie Hayes proved that she could leave an indelible mark—Jesus, that girl can work a guy over like nobody’s business. Damn it, and now I’m getting hard again just thinking about her. It’s been a while since I had such a sizzling hookup. Hell, my wrists still throb from being tied to the bed. But it’s a pleasurable ache, one that only draws me back for more. Tapping the same ass twice isn’t usually my thing, but with the memories of Allie etched into my brain, my body is eager for another taste of her “forbidden fruit.” “Sorry, Superstar, that’s off-limits,” I tell Hunter firmly. “Go find your own wildcat.” “Fine.” He grins, refocusing on the crowd. “Oh, wait. I think I know who I’m taking home tonight.” I follow his gaze to the long bar, where a tall brunette leans forward, ordering a drink. She’s rocking a short black skirt and high heels, her long brown hair cascading down like silk. The bartender looks as though he’s about to swoon, fully entranced by her presence—especially as his eyes drift down her shirt, which suggests she has a perfect rack. All I can see is her backside, and I admit it’s quite spectacular. Normally, I’d be all over a girl like her, yet tonight feels different. My mind keeps drifting back to Allie—and Allie’s, well, other assets. Who could forget her magnificent tits? Perfect handfuls, especially when her pale pink nipples hardened beneath my tongue. A profound sigh escapes me, and I discreetly adjust my jeans. Thoughts of last night need to die, for crying out loud. God knows Allie is working hard to forget it. “What do you think?” Hunter asks, eyes gleaming with excitement. “Out of your league,” I assess, a smirk gracing my lips. “I’m a hockey player. Nobody’s out of my league.” “True.” I chuckle. That’s the first lesson I imparted to him when I took him under my wing—never let confidence wane. But even so, the brunette has the intoxicating aura that suggests she could charm any guy in this bar, and I wonder if freshman Hunter has what it takes to cut it. Across the room, the goddess we’re admiring turns, and just like that, my admiration plummets to disgust. “Oh hell no. Stay away from her, kid. She’s toxic.” “Doesn’t look toxic to me,” Hunter retorts, eyes glinting with youthful naiveté. Yet I know better. Sabrina James is fiery hot, but I’d rather pour hot wax on my skin than dive into that mess again. Been there, done that, and trust me, I have the scars to prove it. Suddenly, someone shoves against my back, and I turn to see Tucker approaching, his black-and-silver jacket dripping. “Je-sus, it’s pouring out there.” He shakes himself like a wet dog, spraying cold water everywhere. “Hey, Fido, go shake off somewhere else,” I retort, trying to brush the droplets that splattered across my own face. Hunter, still entranced by Sabrina, doesn’t even notice the water pooling around our shoes. Tucker joins Hunter in ogling Sabrina. “Nice,” he remarks before grinning at me. “So, I take it you called dibs?” “Not a chance,” I shake my head vehemently. “That’s Sabrina, man. She already busts my chops in class daily. I sure as hell don’t need her doing it in social settings too.” Sabrina and I share too many classes as it is, with both of us eyeing Harvard Law. The idea of spending even more time with her makes me cringe. “Wait, THAT’S Sabrina?” Tucker exclaims, blinking in surprise. “I see her all the time but had no clue she was the one you’re always complaining about.” “Yup, one and the same.” A Southern drawl escapes him. “Damn shame. She’s a sight for sore eyes.” “What’s the story with you two?” Hunter chimes in. “She your ex?” I recoil in horror. “Fuck no.” “Then I won’t be breaking the bro code if I make a move?” “Move? Go nuts. But I warn you, that girl will eat you for breakfast.” Sabrina’s gaze suddenly cuts through the crowd, locking onto us with laser focus. She has an uncanny ability to sense whenever someone speaks ill of her. As our eyes meet, she smirks, flipping me off while turning back to her friend. Hunter groans, defeated. “Well, there goes that. She won’t even look at me after seeing me with you. What did you do to her, anyway?” “Absolutely nothing,” I answer darkly. “Bullshit. No chick throws daggers like that without good reason. Did you hook up with her?” Tucker chortles. “What do you think, kid? I mean, look at her.” “Looks can be deceiving,” I murmur. “Didn’t sleep with her?” Tucker challenges, head cocked with disbelief. With a reluctant sigh, I admit, “No, I did. But it was ages ago. I’m pretty sure hook-ups come with expiration dates, and three years is long enough.” The guys erupt with laughter. “Let me guess,” Tucker smirks. “You didn’t bother to call after?” “Nope,” I confess. “But in my defense, it’s hard to call a girl when she, one, doesn’t give you her number, and two, you don’t remember it happening.” Hunter’s jaw drops in disbelief. “How could you not remember that?” he practically drools while eyeing Sabrina again. “Our memories don’t always play fair. We were both wasted. Trust me, she didn’t remember much either.” “So that’s why she hates you?” he pushes. I wave my hand dismissively. “Nah. The beef started over something else, and I’m not going to get into it right now. It’s Saturday night, for Christ’s sake. We should be partying.” Tucker chuckles, heading toward the bar. “I’m grabbing a beer. Need a refill?” “I’m good,” Hunter replies, still fixated on Sabrina. As Tuck disappears into the crowd, I pull out my phone, glancing at the time—nine-thirty. Scrolling through my contacts, I stumble upon Allie’s number from when she planned Hannah’s birthday party this spring, sending out a barrage of messages with mundane details. While I hesitate, I notice her name saved in my phone as “Wellsy’s Blonde Friend.” Maybe that should change to “Bondage Girl.” I quickly send a message: **Me:** U make it back to the dorm ok? It’s a silly question, considering she left my place this morning, but I’m surprised when she replies almost immediately. **Her:** Yep. Here now. **Me:** Shitty weather 2nite. Prolly good ur staying in. She doesn’t respond, and frustration coils in my chest. Why am I even messaging her? I’m the king of casual hook-ups; I rarely want to repeat the act, and Allie is precisely the one I shouldn’t want a second round with. A good portion of my Scared Shitless list has Allie sitting squarely atop it. Wellsy won’t take it lightly if she learns I hooked up with her best friend. If Wellsy’s unhappy, Garrett’s unhappy, leading to a domino effect that doesn’t end well for me. Yet, my body is being an obstinate fool, craving her again. One more round wouldn’t hurt though, would it? Hell, maybe two rounds? But how many encounters will it take to erase her from my every thought? The moment she crosses my mind, my body responds like clockwork. Meanwhile, Hunter, now obsessed with a group of girls nearby, has gotten into his groove. I can’t help but feel a surge of pride as one mere nod from him sends the trio of girls strutting over. The kid’s got game. “Which one of you is going to buy us a round?” one of them teases, her tall, blonde frame oozing confidence in a sultry minidress that barely covers her assets. Just as Hunter opens his mouth to respond, the bar’s lights flicker ominously, casting a strange glow over the room. I frown, glancing at Tucker, who just returned with drinks. “Is it the Apocalypse out there or something?” “It’s coming down pretty hard,” he admits, shaking his head, wiping at the droplets on his jacket. The lights flicker once more, then stop altogether. With the realization that we may just face a blackout, I decide it’s time to bail. As much talk as I’ve made about partying, I’m not feeling it tonight. “Hey, I’m heading out,” I tell Tucker while clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Catch you back home.” I can’t help but notice the disappointed looks on the girls’ faces, but I’m confident they’ll find new targets in Hunter and Tuck. Exiting the bar, it only takes seconds for the rain to soak me to the skin. By the time I reach my Beemer, I’m dripping, leaving a wet trail across the leather interior. The lightning streaking across the sky is so blindingly bright, I might as well be using it for a flashlight as I flick on the headlights. Once more, I retrieve my phone. **Me:** Weather’s worse than I thought. Keep a flashlight near u in case power goes out. “God, I sound like I’m penning a survival manual,” I grumble. What possesses me to engage her? Allie responds coldly, **Thx for the tip,** quickly followed by, **Srsly, stop worrying about me. I’m reading on the couch. Under a blanket. Snug as a bug in a mug.** **Me:** In a rug. **Her:** ?? **Me:** Snug as a bug in a RUG. That’s how u say it. Five seconds of radio silence feel like an eternity, then my phone rings. I can’t suppress the grin as I answer. “Why would the bug be in a rug?” “Why would it be in a mug?” she counters, playful annoyance lacing her tone. “Because that’s a cozy place for it! If it’s in a rug, someone might step on it.” “If it’s in a mug, someone might drink it.” “Are we writing a bad Dr. Seuss book right now?” Laughter bubbles out. “It sure fucking sounds like it.” “Well, either way, I think my phrasing is superior,” she muses. But suddenly I’m tuned out, wholly focused on the pounding of rain on my windshield. It pelts down harder now, and just like that, the parking lot’s lights give out, throwing us into complete darkness. “Shit. Malone’s just lost power,” I say, now concerned. “Make sure you stay in, okay? And avoid wandering the halls of Bristol House if the power goes out.” “What, you think a serial killer will sneak into the dorm and hunt me down?” She chuckles, then adds, “Even if that happened, I’d probably handle him just fine.” I chuckle. “Uh-huh. Sure.” “Hey, I’m fierce,” she insists. “My dad put us through a rigorous father–daughter self-defense program when I was fourteen.” “Father–daughter self-defense? Is that a real thing?” “Nope. But we created one. My dad was always away, so when he was home, he’d come up with zany ways for us to bond. But he’s Mr. Macho, so it had to be things like fishing, riding dirt bikes, or wrestling.” I shake my head, amused. “I’m hanging up now. Gotta finish this play.” She pauses, sounding softer this time. “Drive safe.” “Wait!” I blurt, halting her. “What is it?” Staring out into the darkness, I feel something shift inside me. My heart thunders in my chest. I lick my suddenly dry lips and mutter, “I want to fuck you again.” I can hear her breath catch on the other end. Anticipation crackles through my veins. I picture the sweet arch of her back filling my hands, the way her nipples became taut little peaks under my tongue, and the feel of her hot, tight body enveloping me. An involuntary groan escapes my lips. Damn. I’m desperately infatuated with this girl, biting my nails as I await her response. After an agonizing silence, her voice cuts through the tension. “Goodbye, Dean.” Frustration boils over as the line goes dead, a storm raging on both sides of the call—a stark reminder of the tumultuous situation I’ve found myself in with Allie.