Hockey. Of fucking course it had to be hockey.
I came to Covey U over St. Michael's because my sister Noelle told me it was a football school. I didn't think I'd have to deal with her crowd here. I mutter obscenities to myself as I push my wet hair out of my face.
“Shit, I’m sorry,” says the man who dick-slapped me earlier, his voice deep and genuine and… way too close.
I don’t dare look up. I can’t risk another dick-to-face collision.
A cold chill runs across my chest, and that's when I realize my nipples are on full display.
Is this the world's ‘fuck you’to me for daring not to wear a bra today?
I cross my arms over my small chest, hoping there are so many dicks flying around that no one will notice my unintentional campus dress code violation.
“I won!” the Neanderthal on top of the fountain says, pumping his fists in the air, completely unbothered that his dick is flying free. Thankfully, the granite horse is covering it, so that's one less cock I have to look at.
He cackles and points at the one who pushed me into the water. “Let's fucking go! I beat Mr. Stanley Cup.”
Neanderthal Two, AKA eel dick, grumbles under his breath before standing and holding his hand out to me.
Seriously?
He wants to help me now.
I ignore the guy and keep my eyes down while awkwardly crab-crawling through the water in search of my book. When I find it floating—sad and bloated—near the fountain’s edge, I want to cry.
My favorite book.
Inconceivable.
“Please, let me help you,” the persistent naked man offers, his voice right behind me now.
“Help? I do not think that word means what you think it means.”
He moves forward, making it impossible to ignore his tree-trunk thighs and abs for days. Thank goodness his Bauer is strategically placed just inches away from my emotionally unstable face.
“What the hell is even going on?” I ask, wringing out my dress as though that’ll do anything besides make me look more pathetic. Water drips from my fingertips. My shoes squish when I shift my weight, and as much as I like being the center of attention on stage, I don’t like this.
“It's the annual hockey fun run. Surprised you haven't heard of it. It's a pretty big deal across campus.”
“Let's not talk aboutbigthings right now, Neanderthal Two, and no, I haven't heard of it. I was just minding my own business, finishing a chapter of my book before meeting my roommate for coffee after her gym session. I didn't think I'd have to worry about a dick-to-face collision while sitting on the fountain edge.”
“Neanderthal?”
“You play hockey. It's a fair assumption.” That makes him smile, his dimple popping. It infuriates me.
“I’m so sorry, Laura,” the guy says softly as more naked men sprint past, slipping and sliding through the water like overgrown toddlers. “Let me buy you a new book. And a dress. Whatever you need.”
“It was a special edition,” I mutter, glaring at the waterlogged novel clutched in my hands. “So add import fees to that.”
Then something clicks.
“Wait a minute. How do you know my name?”
His smile flattens before he lets out a hesitant laugh, and I hate how much I like looking at him. He's not hot, or cute… he's beautiful. His jaw is chiseled, his eyes are bright, and he’s got the kind of face that you remember. You know, the type that ruins standards for every other person out there?
He shifts awkwardly, lifting the hand not protecting his junk to scratch the back of his neck. “Uh… we're in the same class. English Lit 101.”
“Oh.”
