Page 12 of Off-Ice Misconduct
How Celeste felt because of what I did was horrible, and I want to make it up to her—if they’ll let me—but this is way overboard.
Our goaltender, Lars, shuts the curtain. “No fucking way. This is bullying. It was a misunderstanding at best. We don’t need their alliance, Ace.”
I nod slowly. I love the solidarity from my frat brothers, but something awful stirs within me. The idea of stepping down as president feels like … relief. They’re all looking to me for something, words of agreement, direction, news of another party. I’m thinking about how maybe my stepping down isn’t the worst idea. It’s the last year anyway. I had a great two-year run.
Except I can’t do that. Mom and Dad were the presidents of their houses when they went to this school, from the time they were elected, right through to their degree. I’ve got standards to live up to.
Right.
“We’ll give them the week, let them cool off. I’ll have a chat with Celeste, apologize—again—and I’ll have this all cleared up.”
Scratch reading. Scratch all my fucking homework. I’ve got to do whatever it takes to make this right. And then I stay the hell away from dating anyone. I’ll keep strictly to the Benduovr app for a few hookups to get me through the season. No one’s looking for love on that thing.
In fact, maybe that’s the perfect place to explore my new little sexual discovery. Someone to play Hot Professor with me. I definitely shouldn’t be thinking about playing it with one in real life.
Monday morning hockey practice is shit because of course it is, and then Coach calls me into his office. The team’s already late for breakfast, I’ll have to miss breakfast altogether if I don’t want to be late for his brother’s class, but I haven’t had the chance to resolve the breakfast issue due to the whole thing with Delta Gamma.
But you don’t disregard Coach, or he will bench you.
“I know, I was shit today, sir. I’ll do better next time,” I say, not making excuses.
“You weren’t your best, but that’s not why I called you in. What the fuck happened to your eye?”
He sits behind a standard wooden desk that’s got a lonely laptop on it. Nothing else. His office shelves showcase gleaming trophies, and the walls are laden with awards, plaques, and pictures of him with the team. It’s all hockey. Nothing that hints at his life outside of hockey. Does the man have kids? A spouse? Anything outside of this hockey team? Never thought about it until today, come to think about it.
Would he tell me about his brother?
“A girl with a solid right hook.”
He glares. “Were you doing something you shouldn’t be doing to her?”
Does he think I…? “Fuck, no. Not like that. I mean, I might have led her on, but I didn’t mean to,” I say in a rush. “She waspissed, and I’m a big guy, so I let her take out her frustrations on me. Not like I can’t take a hit, Coach.”
He swallows as he considers me. “Just because you’re a big guy, doesn’t mean you have to let anyone hit you.”
God. This whole thing’s getting blown out of proportion in so many fucking ways.
“I know that, sir,” I say as respectfully as possible, so I don’t get benched. He’s hesitant to bench me because he knows I carry the team, but he’ll still do it if I’m a shithead.
“You’re my star, McKinnon. You can’t get hurt like this.”
I get lectured about being more careful, and about team representation, because each member of our team—especially the captain—is a face, and we need to put our best faces forward so we’ll continue getting the donations we need. I listen, keeping my mouth shut, and I leave rubbing my temples before kicking up a sprint, racing across campus, so I’m not late to his fuckhead brother’s class.
My foot steps across the threshold as the bell rings. Will he call me on it? Haven’t even looked at the guy yet, waiting, wanting to view him all at once. God, there’s already a damn tingle in my gut. Why? Why this man? It’s not going to amount to anything good.
“Thank you for joining us, Mr. McKinnon,” that gruff voice says. It’s pure gravel. Like someone rubbed his vocal cords with sandpaper. My cock’s instantly interested.
I turn and?—
Fuckinghell.
He’s shaved, and it’s not a bad thing. Don’t get me wrong, I was digging the sexy mountain-man beard, but that jawline could cut glass, and his green eyes stand out now that my eyes aren’t drawn to the clawing mass that was on his face last week. His jet-black hair’s still a little long on top, and he hasn’t lost thewild aura that surrounds him, taking up most of the space in the classroom.
He’s looking at me funny. Oh, right. The black eye. “Stay after class, McKinnon.”
Those words in that tone sink into me like fire. “I’m not late,” I complain.Shut up, mouth.We want to stay with him after class.That’s how my body feels anyway. My brain’s still an indignant fucker.
“You’re barely on time, but that’s not why you’re staying. I want to speak with you about some interesting drawings you left me on Friday.”
