Page 9 of Icing the Play

“Yeah, we had a few classes together, and he helped me get through physics class.” Warmth floated through my insides. We’d clicked. Not as well as him and Tyler, but in school, we always helped each other.

“Cooper here always had a girlfriend.” Hooking a brow, Myles drank his beer. “But they never lasted long. A new one showed up every few months, right?” He narrowed his eyes at me.

My gaze shifted to JJ, who gave me a pointed look.

“Did it change in college? Do you have someone back home?” Myles scraped his teeth under his upper lip.

“Nope. It sort of continued that way. But I’ve been, uh, single for about a year now.” I snuck a glance at JJ. I knew he wanted me to come clean with Myles, but I wasn’t ready. The two of them hitting on each other just seemed weird.

“Oh.” Myles focused on my mouth and then cleared his throat. “Anyway, how about our old chemistry teacher? Mr.Olson? He was something.” With a chuckle, Myles sipped his drink.

“Yeah? How?” JJ edged in closer to him.

“He was always blowing shit up. I think he got a kick out of scaring the hell out of us.” Myles shook his head.

“Yeah, sure was fun, though.” I wagged my brows at Myles and topped off everyone’s beer with the rest of the pitcher. I had to go home and sleep off this buzz.

After grabbinga pizza and drinking some waters with Myles and JJ, I found my car in the team lot and drove to my apartment. JJ and Myles had promised to text and keep in touch, but hadn’t made a date. Which was good, I guessed. Actually, I wasn’t sure what my feelings were with the situation now that I’d seen them together.

I parked under my covered spot, grabbed my backpack from the passenger seat and strolled down a walkway under tall trees to my apartment, the sunshine fading quickly from the clear, blue sky. The fucker better have cleaned up after himself tonight.

Swinging the door open, I stepped inside. The aroma of beef caught my nose, and I flicked my gaze to the kitchen to the right of me. Heat flooded my chest. “God damn it.” I ambled to our older kitchen with golden wood cabinets and white appliances. Dude must have used every pot imaginable to cook pasta. They were everywhere, with food stuck to the bottoms. I grabbed a paper towel from a dispenser in the corner and scrubbed a spot of red sauce from the glass burner. “Fucker.”

“What did you say?” Tony strutted into the room, his t-shirt pulled tightly over his belly and shorts slung low on his hips. He swiped a lock of brown hair from his brow and narrowed his dark eyes at me. “Sorry, man. I haven’t had time to clean it up yet.”

My gaze caught on the clock on the stove. “It’s seven. Whendid you finish cook—” Fuck it. I huffed. It wasn’t worth arguing with the guy. “I already ate.” I tossed the dirty paper towel into a trash bin next to the end of the kitchen island.

Tony scratched his belly. “Good, I’ll clean it up later then.” He ambled to my black leather couch, dropped into the end of it and pushed a plate on the coffee table, still half full of dried-up food, and then picked up a book.

The dude was a fucking slob. “Isn’t that your dinner from yesterday?” I slipped my backpack off my arm at the end of the couch as my gaze snagged a lump of…something, on the leather. “Fuck.” Rushing into the kitchen, I wet a paper towel and jogged to the couch. “What did you get on my couch?”

“Nothing, it was there.” He smirked at me. “You must have spilled. I don’t know, this morning?”

I rubbed at the lump, and the towel came up red. “It’s fucking meat and red sauce, same as what’s on the stove over there.” I scrubbed the old food, and a stain remained in the leather. “Dude, you fucked up my couch.” The one my parents gave me when I moved out. Scowling, I straightened and glared at him. Now, Tony would come to mind every time I saw it.

“Sorry. Damn, it’s just an old fucking couch.” He snickered. “When you get your NFL contract next year, I’m sure you’ll be able to afford a new one.”

I dropped my jaw open. “So that makes it okay to fuck up someone else’s shit?” I fisted the paper towel and planted my fist on my hip.

He lowered his brows. “Chill. I didn’t mean to spill on your precious couch.” He scoffed and shifted, shaking his head. “Maybe you should stay away from the steroids?”

I saw red. Jabbing a finger at him, I said, “I don’t take fucking steroids.” They’d kick me off the team if I did. It wasn’t cool to body shame people…I was better than that.

“Could have fooled me.” He jumped off the couch with his book and stomped past me. “I’m going to study in my room, since you’re being such a dick.” With a huff, he left.

“God fucking damn it.” I scanned the mess in the room. His shit was everywhere, clothes, half-full glasses with god knows what. I hated living with this guy, and it had only been a month. We might kill each other before winter break. But then, I’d be traveling with the football team soon enough and I’d get some relief.

CHAPTER THREE

MYLES

Iskated across the ice, running drills with our first-string center, Neuman, passing between pucks laid out across the ice. As he fired off a pass at me and headed toward the net and Sutton, our new goalie, I shuffled the puck between my blades and shot.

Sutton picked the puck out of the air with his netted glove. “Dude, you were supposed to pass.”

“Cummings, what are you doing?” Coach Finley skated toward me. “Neuman was right there. He could have sunk it in behind Sutton.”

Huffing out a laugh, Sutton said, “Hell no, I would have seen it.”

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