Page 60 of Kitty Season
Maybe both.
Quinn’s gaze follows mine and her wicked smile softens. “I’m exhausted, let’s take a break. Who’s up for pizza?”
Relief washes over Brady, the bulky shoulders hiked around his ears, fall to their natural position. “Pizza sounds good. I’ll go. You guys stay here.”
Appreciating the view, I drop next to Quinn, and together, we watch the man mountain slide backwards off the bed. Mumbling to himself, he holds one hand over his junk, an act as useful as concealing an eggplant with a mint leaf. With the other, he fishes something off the floor, then backs out the door.
He’s so freaking cute.
Cute? What the fuck?
I squish whatever the fuck that was down and roll to face Quinn. “Is it everything you wanted?”
“Everything and more.” With a deep exhale and smirk, she shimmies closer, and tucks into my side. She’s so soft and warm. So mischievous. Proving that, she sinks her teeth into my neck, and rolls on top of me. “Maybe we could start getting you ready for Brady while we wait, ‘cause I know you want him as much as I do.”
Quashing my emotions comes so naturally, the denial slips out without thought. “It’s not him so much as that he’s a hot guy, and I’m into sharing a hot guy with a hot girl.”
Quinn rolls her hand in front of us, in akeep it coming,kind of way. “And?”
“And nothing. He’s hot. That’s it. No more. No less.”
“Well, what if I want more—wait … What was that?” That, if I’m not mistaken, is trouble in the form of an opening and closing door. “Shit! My parents!” Quinn scrambles to her feet, tossing on the jersey she flicked up with her toes, super hot. Choking on inappropriate laughter, I choose the safety and convenience of ducking under the quilt.
Nothing happens. No parents enter. No voices join Brady’s. Come to think of it. There’s no noise coming from outside at all. This is either the most sound proof bedding in existence or something is wrong.
“Shit.” I toss back the quilt at the same time as Kitty reenters, rivulets of tears streaming down her face.
“Your dad wants to dual me or some shit, doesn’t he?”
She shakes her head and forces a smile. “As fun as that would be, no. Brady’s gone.”
Three days have passedand I have yet to lay eyes on Basse. How he’s managed to avoid me when we live together, go to the same school and play on the same team is anyone’s guess. But he has. Probably a good thing too, since I’m busting to kick his pretty little ass.
“He’s out with a virus.” Had been the official line from Coach, the team doctor, Cory, Shane, Professor Plum and the Coach White, our physio.
Not that I cared enough to ask around.
Even if I did it was only because of the team. And Quinn. Running off like that before I got the chance—I mean, before Quinn got the chance to be with him the way she wanted, was just rude.
Personally, I’m totally fine with it.
Doesn’t bother me at all.
Like I said, it’s Quinn and the team I’m worried about.
Nothing to do with me.
“If he doesn’t show today, he’ll be a scratch tonight and let the whole team down. I shouldn’t be surprised. He ruined your birthday, may as well ruin our hopes of making the Frozen Four. What a fucking prick.”
“He’s not a prick. Don’t call him that.” Quinn—the great Brady defender—moans. Along with a swag-load of Bunnies, over-controlling dads and long-suffering mothers, she’s tagged along to watch the last open practice session of the season, claiming my final college hockey days are unmissable. I’m pretty sure she’s more interested in seeing Skip on the ice than me, but she’s stubborn as fuck. Me arguing she should stay away wouldhave only made her more determined. “Maybe he’s just a sweet guy who also happened to be a virgin, that we freaks, freaked the fuck out. I think you’re just butt hurt ‘cause he left before hurting your butt … withhisprick.”
If I rolled my eyes any harder, they’d fall out my ears. “Sweet virgin or not, that theory you keep peddling is fucking ridiculous. The sex was about you. I wouldn’t give it a second thought if it weren’t for you. I can hardly remember what we did, but I’m sure if I could, you would be all I could remember. I’m totally fine with it. Doesn’t bother me at all. ”
“Do you think if you say that often enough, and loud enough, you’ll believe it?”
My undoubtedly brilliant comeback dies on my tongue when the man himself rolls into view looking like an Abercrombie & Fitch model, stick over shoulder, skates slung over stick, that anaconda tucked into the tiniest shorts I’ve ever seen.
“And people give me heat over my Spider-Man boxers. At least they’re under my pants.” Cory bitches, pointing at said tiny shorts.
