Page 24 of Frozen Hearts
Ignoring the ice, I grab the bottle and turn, leaning my back against the bartop as I suck down the bitter liquid, half-watching the next fight as it commences.
Only once it’s over do I take my eyes off the ring and look around the warehouse, noticing how everyone gives the three of us a wide berth. I’m sure it’s partly to do with how I nearly killed some guy, but I can’t help remembering how the feisty girl who crashed into me last week pointed out the obviousfuck offI keep stamped on my forehead.
It brings a reluctant tug to my lips, which I quickly squash with another pull from the beer bottle. Women only ever fuck shit up. A lesson I learned the hard way five years ago. One that is still biting me in the fucking ass today.
I allow one psychotic chick into my bed, and I nearly get disinherited and lose all hope of a future in football.
Sure, sounds like a fair trade.
Now, I don’t allow any woman into my bed. A singular moment of pleasure is not worth a lifetime of consequences. I haven’t had sex in five fucking years, and I don’t see that changing any time soon.
Most girls at Halston thought I was just playing hard to get, constantly turning them down and ignoring their advances, but I didn’t give a single fuck about them. I was protecting myself.
I fight, drink, and draw; those are the only three pleasures I need.
So the fact the feisty hazel-eyed girl is infiltrating my thoughts is disturbing.
When she crashed into me outside the admin building, I pegged her as just another desperate chick. I chewed her out before storming away, and when we collided again outside the dining hall, I thought for sure she was going for attempt number two… until she showed me the fierce temper that matched the color of her hair.
She shouldn’t have been alluring, dressed in a hoodie that practically drowned her and left me to imagine the curves that hid beneath. But she was. I wanted to bend her over my knee right there in the middle of campus and tint her ass red with my handprint until my jeans were soaked with her arousal.
And that thought alone is fucking terrifying.
“Yo, man, what are you thinking about?” Logan asks, interrupting my thoughts as he nudges me with his shoulder. “You look pissy, but in a weird, turned-on kinda way. It’s freaky.”
I shake my head, snorting a laugh. “Nothing.”
He simply shrugs, used to vague non-answers from me by now.
Bringing his beer bottle to his lips, he takes a swig before confessing, “I kissed my Stats tutor.”
“Of course, you did,” I mutter as Grayson snorts, the two of us sharing a look. Typical Logan behavior. I’m only surprised he stopped at kissing her. I have no doubt it will only be a matter of time before he gets her into his bed.
Glancing his way, I notice Logan’s lips are tugged tight in a frown as he picks at the label on his beer bottle. “Was it not good?” I question, realizing he didn’t just mention it to brag. “You realize you don’thaveto kiss her. I’m sure she will still tutor you even if you don’t stick your tongue down her throat in every session.”
“That’s the thing,” he mutters, looking thoroughly put out as he terrorizes the label, ripping it into shreds and dropping it onto the floor at his feet. “It was good. Really fucking good.”
“Then what’s the problem?” Grayson asks, arching a brow.
Logan shakes his head. “I don’t think she wants me to do it again. She completely shut down afterward. Refused to discuss anything that wasn’t Statistics.”
I scoff. “You’re Logan Astor. There isn’t a person on campus who doesn’t want to suck your face. She’s probably just playing hard to get. Making you work for it.”
Fucking women.Always playing some sort of head game. Always with some ulterior motive.
“Nah, man. I don’t think so. Not her.” Lifting his eyes, his conflicted gaze meets mine. “She’s not like the usual puck bunnies or girls on campus. She’s shy. Reserved. Innocent.”
Yeah, right. It’s probably all an act. In my experience, all girls are the same. They’re all out for one thing—themselves. They don’t care what they have to do or who they have to exploit so long as they get whatever they want.
And they say men are dickheads. Women are ten times more manipulative.
Yet, green-brown eyes and auburn hair swim to the forefront of my mind.
I scoff internally.Yeah, right. She might seem different, but I bet she’s just like all the others.
7
RILEY
