Page 90 of The Worst Kind of Promise
Wrong. Wrong on so many levels.
But before I get the chance to plead my case, Gage doubles down on me. “You have been quiet this whole time.”
Fuck! Say something, Kit. Anything.
Sweat beads down my forehead, dripping into the creases carved by my brows. A blustery panic lashes through me, inevitable, like an accompanying scintillation of lightning after a howl of thunder. “Nuh-uh,” I hedge.
Nuh-uh. That’s all I have to say? Seriously? What am I, twelve?
“You’re hiding something,” Gage argues.
“I’m not.”
“You’ve been acting weird this whole summer.”
“I haven’t.”
“Then you’re responsible for the underwear.”
“Anyone on the team can be responsible. Ask the other guys.”
The rest of the group is quiet, eyes locked on us, watching us fight like children watching their divorced parents fight.
Gage crosses his arms over his chest. “So you’re saying that you haven’t been with anyone this entire summer?”
Shit. Is that what I’m saying? I hate lying to them. I hate lying about how important Faye’s been to me. They have me backed all the way into a corner, and I don’t know what to do. I should just come clean. Maybe it’s time.
I gulp so loudly that it sounds like a foghorn in my ears. “That is what I’m saying.”
No, dude! That was your chance!
Gage starts to say something—probably trying to see how long he can poke me before I snap—but Fulton cuts him off with a frustrated growl.
“Kit’s right. Anyone who has access to the rink could be responsible for the underwear. No use in arguing over it.”
When the guys egress from our huddle, I expect Gage to be glaring at me from behind his helmet’s cage, but it’s Hayes who’s giving me a strange look. Not a pitiful look or a suspicious look, just a confused one. Azure eyes bore into my soul, searching for the truth, searching for the friend he’s known for the past four years.
I’m not going to be able to keep Faye a secret for much longer.
34
ONCE A LIAR, ALWAYS A LIAR
FAYE
He spanked me with his hockey stick, simultaneously thrusting his steel rod of pleasure into my hot, wet pocket.
“Hot, wet pocket?” I recite aloud, immediately cringing. “Aaand I need a break.”
I close the hockey book Kit gifted to me, setting it back on the nightstand to revisit it…at a later date.
If Kit ever spanked me with his hockey stick, he wouldn’thavea hockey stick anymore. At least he didn’t underline that part. He did, however, underline the part where the girl’s riding the guy and wearing his hockey jersey. That was hot. And something I might have to try for scientific reasons.
I throw my legs off the bed, contemplating what I should make for lunch, when a stocky giant stampedes through the door, nearly making me jump out of my skin. The partition swings all the way back to the wall, hitting it with a wham noisy enough to alert the whole block.
“Jesus, Kit!” I screech, hand over my heart.
He grimaces. “Sorry, had a shitty practice.”
