“Well,” I say, clearing my throat. “I’d better get to bed. I’ve got an early day tomorrow.”
“Sure,” Jack says. “I should probably do the same.”
I jangle the key chain in my hand, smiling shyly. “Thanks for the ugly gift.”
“You’re welcome,” he laughs. “Anything for my new bestie.”
“Don’t make me regret it,” I tell him.
He crosses a finger over his heart. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
It isn’t until I’m safely back in my room that I allow myself to glance back at the truly horrible little key chain, smiling despitethe fact as I think about Jack picking it out because itremindedhim of me.
So I guess this makes it official, I think. Without being able to pinpoint where and how exactly it happened, I am apparently friends with Jack Baker. But that’s not the worst of it, unfortunately.
Because I’m still sort of thinking about his nipples.
Twelve
Jack
We manage to eke outa win against Dallas in the next game, but just barely. Doesn’t help that Coach benched me again in the third period, all because of my stupid arm. I tried my best to pretend it wasn’t aching, but after Dallas’s center slammed into me in the middle of the second period, it was sort of hard to ignore.
It makes it that much worse that Abby was here watching, and I can’t say why.
I’ve been thinking about last night on a loop—about the moment where she almost fell—leaving me to hold her for at least a minute while she smiled and teased me. It was like she was an entirely different person, that Abby.
Not to mention the run-in at the bathroom. I haven’t been able to getthatout of my head for even one single second. It’s a miracle I was able to play at all, given that every time I close my eyes I see the outline of her nipples through thin, wet cotton and miles of creamy thighs poking out of much-too-small sleep shorts.
Whether she looks like Ian or no, it seems my body has firmly decided that Abby is hot as fuck, and that it might even want her.
Which is a completely stupid decision for it to make, considering that she’s Ian’s sister and my roommate—although that first reason should probably be struck from the list, considering the unholy things Ian is doing tomysister on a daily basis.
I catch sight of Abby sitting with Dee when I move down the chute with the rest of the team, noticing her laughing at something Dee has said. Her real laugh—not the polite one she gives sometimes when she thinks she has to. I’ve seen the difference between the two now, and what’s more astounding, I’ve even been the one to bring the real one out of her. It’s a good feeling, what that does to me.
The guys are already horseplaying around when I get back into the locker room, Jankowski giving my ass a hard slap when I pass by. “Good game there, Baker.”
Yeah, until I got benched,I don’t say.
Coach chooses that moment to follow in after us, waving his hands to settle everyone before he gives his postgame spiel.
“We played some good defense out there,” he says. “You boys managed to hold it together long enough for Jankowski here to score that final shot.”
Rankin groans, murmuring, “I’m sensing a ‘but’ here.”
“But,” Coach stresses, “we won only by one point, and it was a close fucking game. Too close for comfort. We need three more wins against Dallas before we can move on to the second round, and I don’t want to see us knocked out in round one. That’s going to mean that we play a little harder, work a little more, really give it our all out there.”
I wince, feeling guilt flood me. It’s common knowledge now,my injury. After the last game, I was sort of forced to tell the guys about it after being benched for an entire period, and while most of them sympathize, I can’t help but feel like they all blame me for how close the game was. If I’d been out there, maybe—
“We’ve still got a ways to go,” Coach says, interrupting my thoughts. “But I have faith in this team. We’ve won before, and we can do it again. Don’t count yourselves out, got it?”
“Yes, sir,” we all say in unison.
Coach gives us a nod before he saunters off to his office, leaving us a sweaty, tired mess behind him as we all start to peel out of our layers.
“So, drinks tonight, yeah?” Sanchez suggests.
Ian rubs at his neck. “I don’t know. I was kind of thinking of heading on home.”
