Page 35 of Kitty Season
“Technically you’re not with me, remember? This is a hook up deal. You could be with Brady if you wanted, which it sounds like you might, since you almost kissed him.”
She almost kissed him.
With that thought, a twinge of jealousy, at least my own version of it, tugs at something in my chest. Which is stupid. I’m setting her up to move on, I remind myself for the millionth time. Breaking up with her for her own good, because in the long, and hopefully, happy tale of Quinn Harris’s life, I will be regarded as nothing more than that hot college guy who fucked her like no other. Just a hockey boy blip on her radar.
Someone like Brady, someone safe, with prospects, who will be able to give her what she deserves. The type her dad would be proud to have on his daughter’s arm. He’s her future.
And she wants him. Her attitude towards Plum is proof of that.
Hmm.
I click my tongue, mulling over the possibilities like an evil genius. Someone bring me a cat to stroke.
Maybe this is what I’ve been waiting for. I could start it off as a three-way hook up deal. I could train him. Teach him exactly what she needs. Not only would Brady satisfy her seemingly bottomless pit of want, but maybe provide a little fun for me too. Then slowly I can extract myself from the situation leaving them for their cookie-cutter happily ever after.
It’s perfect.
Slightly nauseating and crushing should I have a heart, but perfect.
Yup. That’s what I’ll do.
I am going to set up my girl and my enemy.
Fuck I hate my life.
If Quinn notices my suddenly sour, somber mood, she doesn’t let on. “Yeah, well, all of that’s irrelevant. We’re talkingabout Brady and his over-sexed teacher … stalker that’s working well outside of her wheelhouse.”
“Oh, you mean the teacher your dad hired to take care of the mental health of his team? Sheesh, I’d hate to stir the pot, but I’d say she’s doing a wheely thorough hand job. Hands on job, I mean.” I earn my second elbow in the ribs, and it’s that which convinces me I’ve forced myself to be jovial enough. The tugging inside my rib cage has intensified to the point of pain, bringing a wave of fatigue with it.
Instantly exhausted, I’m ready for this—no longer fun—conversation to be over. In truth I’d love to curl up in bed with Kitty, my latest comic and mug of cocoa, but that’s not good for either of us. “Now, if all you’re going to do is bitch about Plum and bruise me, I’d say it’s time to call it a night.”
“Troye.” Quinn sighs, as I stand and sulk to my room.
“Not now, Kit. You can let yourself out.”
Never in my life have I been happier to see the matted hair, crusty-eyed, walking zombie form of Noah Petterson. Well, I’m 90% happy. That hair does remind me of Poppy. So much so my fingers itch to rub it for luck.
Though half asleep, he struts towards me and Cory, a toothy smile nobly attempting to force its way past the fatigue an almost three week road trip followed by a red-eye from Florida has evoked.
I’m here to collect Boy Wonder himself because Lotte is stranded in traffic on the wrong side of Boston. Cory’s here because he was the first sucker with a license I could find.
Unsurprisingly, “Where’s Lot?” are Noah’s first words. “No offense boys,” he continued, eager eyes reaching past me in search of his fiancee. “But Brades your shade of blonde does nothing for me, and Malkovich, your man boobs aren’t the set I’ve been gagging to see all night.”
“I do not have man boobs.” Cory, who totally does, crosses his arms over his chest like he’s about to be sent down a water slide … or be placed into a coffin.
“Good to see ya, mate.” I chuckle. “Lotte and Quinn got stuck in traffic coming back from her appointment at the neurologist. She’s going to meet us at home.”
His disappointment is obvious, but lasts mere seconds before he regroups. “Right then. Let’s get crack-a-lacking. I’ve got two buttholes to shake and a little wifey-type to sweep off her feet.”
“Hey,” Cory protests. “This butthole is the one driving you to that wifey. You could be a little more grateful.”
“I could, but …” Noah’s voice trails off as he disappears into the crowd, so we can’t hear if anything comes after the but—but knowing my former captain, that’s probably a good thing. When it comes to Lotte he has a one track mind … not a clean one.
It’s odd how good I feel loyally following behind him. Goalie to his center, I watched him make all the right plays, and can’t help but wonder how it will be to have Troye taking his place.
We’re halfway through spring vacation, and Friday will be Becker’s first game as a Bear. So far, the break has passed with less than a handful of words exchanged between us, and with Quinn slipping in and out of the house like she was running a covert operation.
It’s her birthday in a few days. Saturday to be exact. As if I needed a reminder of it, Troye cornered me in the kitchen this morning, wearing a lopsided smile and white boxers that left little to the imagination. He wanted to talk to me about a special gift he was planning, but I made a run for it before he could grunt out another word.
