The thought of summer makes me smile despite my soreness.Most students flee Berkeley Shore as soon as finals are done. What’s left behind are quiet walkways, serene nights, and the kind of trouble only unsupervised college students can create.
The coffee finishes brewing, and I pour myself a mug before making a second pot for the walking dead that’ll stumble downstairs eventually.
The first sip is heaven, warming me from the inside and chasing away the final cobwebs of sleep. I shift from one foot to the other, wincing as the movement sends a sharp reminder of last night’s activities radiating down to my bare feet.
Okay, decision made. I’ll go to work. Can’t let a night of spectacular sex derail my summer plans. Besides, Miranda will unequivocally roast me if I call out the day after winning the championship. She already thinks hockey players are prima donnas.
“Urghhhhh.” A zombie shuffle from the doorway announces Drew’s arrival. He’s wearing boxers and one sock, and his hair has me wondering if he stuck his finger in a socket at some point last night. “Why is the sun so loud?”
“Morning, sunshine.” I pour him a mug without being asked. “Fun night?”
“I think I made out with a traffic cone.”He accepts the coffee with an appreciative smile. “Or maybe that was Jackson wearing one of those dunce hats. Hard to tell.”
“The traffic cone would have better breath,” I offer.
Drew snorts, then immediately regrets it, clutching his head. “Fuck. How are you even vertical right now?”
Because I worked out nine months of sexual frustration in one night, I don’t say. Instead, I shrug. “Captain’s constitution.”
“Bullshit. I think you’re secretly a robot. It’s the only explanation.” He takes a long sip, then peers at me over the mug. “You disappeared pretty early.”
Here we go.I keep my expression neutral. “Yeah, needed to decompress. Big night and all.”
“Uh-huh.” Drew’s hangover hasn’t affected his abilityto see through my bullshit. “Is that why you’re standing like someone shoved a hockey stick up your ass?”
“I’m standing normally,” I lie.
“Bro, your toes are gripping the floor.” His eyes narrow. “Holy shit. You got laid!”
“Keep your voice down,” I hiss.
“Oliver Jacoby finally got his dick wet!” Drew crows, then winces at his own volume. “Who was it? Please tell me it was that guy from the app who’s been sending you dick pics.”
“How do you know about—never mind.” I shouldn’t be surprised that Drew knows. He knows everything, the gossipy bastard. “Yes, fine. I hooked up with someone. Can we move on?”
“Move on?Are youinsane? Our captain, our fearless leader, our monk of a man, has finally rejoined the land of the sexually active. This is better than winning the championship!”
“It’s really not that big a deal,” I say, though the soreness pulsing through my body suggests otherwise.
“Nine months, Oliver. Nine months of jerking off. I was starting to think you’d taken a vow of celibacy.” Drew’s grin is far too wide for someone allegedly dying of a hangover. “Give me the dirty deets. Was he hot? Did he treat you right? Do I need to threaten anyone?”
Warmth blooms in my chest at the hint of protectiveness beneath his teasing.
“He was hot. He treated me exceptionally well. Multiple times.” I can’t help the satisfied smirk from popping up. “And he left before morning, so no threats necessary.”
“Multiple times?” Drew’s eyebrows shoot up. “Damn, Cap. When you break a dry spell, you really break it.”
“What can I say? I’m an overachiever.”
Drew laughs, then sobers slightly. “For real, though, you good? Nine months is a long time, and sometimes getting back on the horse?—”
“I’m good,” I interrupt, meaning it. “Sore as hell, but good.”
He nods, satisfied. “You deserve it. This year’s been insane,and you’ve been the glue holding us all together. About time you did something for yourself.”
I smile wider. “Thanks, man.”
“At least now I can stop fielding questions about whether you and Mason are secretly fucking.”
