Yeah, no. Not a single twitch of interest in my dick, despite the filthy description of the scenario she offers.
The old me would be all over that, but I need to stop her right there because I don’t want any of it. Her hair is the wrong shade of brown and her face shape is different from Maya’s. She’s hot as fuck. We had fun once upon a time, but she’s not the girl for me because she’snotthe person I can’t stop thinking about.
I ease her off my lap and get up. She hurries to follow me to the foot of the stairs, smothering an eager giggle. I block the way up, bracing my forearm against the wall.
“You know the rule. No sleepovers.”
Laurel’s inviting smile falters. “I know.” She traces her nails down my chest. “It’s not your bedtime yet. We can have fun, superstar.”
I gently wrap my fingers around her wrist to stop her from clawing my zipper down in the freaking entryway. “No thanks. I’m not interested. Do you need me to get you an Uber?”
“What?” Laurel blinks at me in disbelief.
Sighing, I nod to the hall leading back to the living room. “Hang out if you want. Hell, find another guy. I’m heading up to bed.” I hold up a hand when she makes to join me. “No, Laurel. I’m going alone. I don’t think me and you will ever happen again.”
“Find someone else? What are you saying, Easton?”
Shit, her eyes begin to shine with tears. “I’m saying I’m not interested in anything with you. Not anymore. I’m sorry.”
I watch several emotions play out on her features, evolving from rejection to annoyance, wary of how she’ll react. Finally, she huffs and pulls out a lip gloss from her small purse.
“You should’ve said something sooner. I wouldn’t have wasted my time shoving my boobs against you all night if it wasn’t leading anywhere, asshole. Fuck this, I’m going to get Theo to rail me after I give him a strip tease for his birthday.”
She flips her hair and strides away to find Boucher. I stand on the bottom step, blinking. Shaking my head, I go upstairs to my room and lock the door behind me.
“Good for her,” I mutter.
It’s been a long ass day, but seeing the black and white cat sitting at my window makes me smile. The stray climbs to the roof of the wraparound porch every night and waits for me.
She paces in front of the window as I open it. With a happy meow in greeting, she enters the room and hops on my bed, curling up like she owns the place. The landlord the college rents the house from for the team would shit a brick if he found out I let her in my room. He’s already given me an earful on loop since freshman year when I started feeding her and sitting on the porch to brush her until her coat gleamed.
I probably should think of a name for her other than stray, kit-cat, and my pretty lady. Some of the guys have their own names for her. Keller used to call her Casper for her ability to sneak up on him before he went pro and left Heston early to play for the Islanders.
After closing the window to keep out the chill, I sprawl on the bed. Kit-cat doesn’t take long to demand my attention by sniffing my arm and kneading my shoulder. My worries drift away for the time being, eased by the comfort of petting her soft fur.
“We should give you a name. A real one.” Her nails prick into me as I rattle off some options. “Luna, because you’re always out all night. Or what about Princess Potato? Okay, ow. You don’t like that one. No need to attack my hand with your love bites, jesus.”
I wriggle my fingers to play with her for a few minutes, dragging my hand in quick movements across the sheets for her to hunt before she calms down again. I skim my knuckles along her back, then massage her ears.
“I think I’m in over my head.” All I get in response is a continuous purr while the cat leans into my palm for more petting. “There’s this girl. Maya. I think I really like her, which is new for me. It’s impossible for me to stop thinking about her.”
Kit-cat settles on my chest, curling into a crescent-shaped weight keeping me in place. Within moments, she’s dozing. I can’t move or I’ll wake her up—those are the rules when it comes to pets sleeping on you.
It’s not like I’m in the mood to go back downstairs anyway.
Pulling out my phone, I open Instagram and search for Maya. I find her on the third try after skimming through two other Maya Donnelly accounts. The latest photo is one with her brother from the night we met, taken before the game against Elmwood.
Another surprisingly familiar face jumps out—Reagan. I didn’t know they were friends since I’ve never seen Maya around The Landmark on nights I’m there. Has Reagan mentioned her? She must have, right? I’m kicking myself for missing out when I could’ve known her sooner.
My thumb hovers over the screen. I could ask, but Reagan might be suspicious if I come on too strong with everything I want to know about her friend out of the blue. For now, I hold myself over with glimpses of her life through her social media.
Maya’s feisty personality shines in her posts. She makes silly faces. Dances around with Reagan. Hugs an old man with the biggest smile I’ve seen on her yet. I pause on a shot from the summer where she’s on the quad by the dorms giving the viewer a sultry smirk, holding a dandelion over one of her eyes. In every photo, I feel her love of life.
I breathe in sharply when I scroll down. “Yoga pants. Fucking hell.”
My dick wakes right up, thickening as I admire the snug fit over her curvy thighs and ass. My fingers twitch with the needto grab her legs and wrap them around my hips to feel them quivering while I fuck her.
Shit, I need to calm down. It feels too weird to jerk off when my cat’s cuddling with me. I run through hockey drills in my head until my erection is gone.
