Page 32 of Lovefool

I want to hold her. I want to dote on her like a loving…situationship? But everything is still so unresolved, and I don’t need to give my teammates ammunition to make kissy noises behind our backs.

I’m sorry, I mouth silently, to which she only shakes her head.

“Everyone’s keeping their clothes on tonight, right, Knox?” Crew grumbles, his arm draped over the back of his girl’s shoulders.

Knox salutes. “Anything you say, boss.”

There’s no getting out of this. My teammates have officially cockblocked me. Maybe I’ll forgive them in the distant future, but right now, I’m picturing myself kicklining into every one of their ball sacks.

Anxiety kicks off a ripple effect, tightening the knot in my stomach. My heart is doing one hundred in a residential zone, vertigo is prodding at my withering self-composure, and there’s no saliva in the bed of my desert-dry mouth.

Foster lowers his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “So, who wants to go first?”

13

TRUTH OR DARE

LAKE

Truth or Dare seems like the kind of game you’d run into more often in college. At least, that’s how I imagined it. A rite of passage of sorts.

Does this beat having to go home early and fall asleep in a cold, empty bed, assuming Sutton is too much of a gentleman to sleep next to me? Yes, yes, it does. Ugh, he’s so—he’s so respectful all the time! Can’t a girl just want to whore out occasionally? I need him to bust inside of me so hard that he changes my AncestryDNA results.

Unlike men, women have layers. The surface layer that I present to the greater world loves crossword puzzles and videos of baby animals. This is the deep, depraved layer of myself that shuns self-help books and wants to be choked. The dichotomy of woman.

I must’ve zoned out because the next thing I know, I’ve got every eye stuck on me.

“Well, which will it be?” Crew asks, spurring the gossip-hungry hyenas that wait patiently for a leftover piece of drama to tumbleweed into their cave. His friends perch on the edges of their seats in excitement.

If I pick truth, everyone will think I’m a wimp. If I pick dare, I’ll have to subject myself to whatever it is that the goddamn hockey team has cooked up for me. These guys beat each other up for a living. Their idea of a good time is probably getting a dentist’s consultation for the tooth they broke mid-brawl. My bones may be in jeopardy.

Bones or reputation, bones or reputation, bones or⁠—

“Truth,” I eke out quietly, anxiety ravaging the stronghold of my heart. I assume Crew is the most levelheaded of them all, considering he’s the captain, but he could have me answer something truly diabolical.

I’m terrible at hiding my emotions. Whatever I feel mars my face, and truth-seekers can usually pinch out more proverbial gold by using my nonexistent lying skills to their advantage.

I wait for the deathblow. My pulse is pounding like a war horse’s cloven hooves against a bloodstained battlefield, cortisol and alcohol are forming one hell of a cocktail in my gurgling belly, and I’m ready to dart for the nearest exit if it saves me from humiliation.

Footnote: don’t ever play Truth or Dare with hot people unless you’re pleasantly wasted.

Here it comes: the deciding factor if I’m cool enough to hang around Sutton’s friends. Please be a safe question. I need a win right now, World. Haven’t I been through enough?

Crew doesn’t even break a sweat. Then again, someone as good-looking as him probably never sweats. He shines. In fact, all of Sutton’s friends have been blessed in the gene department.

“Are you really a big fan of hockey, or is the school forcing you to make us look good?” Humor truncates his words, followed by the same award-winning smile that I see on the side of every bus.

Relief rains down on me, sloughing off the shoulders of a girl who tries too hard to be accepted—who compromises her comfortability to run with the wrong crowd. I thought for sure he was going to annihilate me with some load-bearing question, but unlike our gracious game host, he doesn’t nurse even the tiniest trace of mischief in those clear-blue eyes.

The truth scalds my tongue.

Even in good faith, this has to be about their reputations off the ice, no? I know my real answer. The school caught wind of Buford’s extravagant display all over social media after he dumped my ass, and Tamara is hopping onto that momentum. For the college’s sake, the articles will be more hockey-oriented, and sure, some of the student population is genuinely interested in the game, but others thrive off scandal.

I still hate hockey with all my heart, but Sutton has definitely made me hate it a little less.

“It’s, uh, growing on me,” I say, keeping the details to a minimum.

Sutton uncharacteristically drapes his arm over my shoulders as if he’s marking his territory. Or maybe I’ve been watching too many trashy rom-coms. What? Sometimes I need to unplug my brain at night.