Page 6 of The Bro-code

That’s more like it.

The change of aircraft must be why the app on my phone didn’t let me check in, but I’m glad this was solved.

I collect the boarding pass and I can already taste the cinnamon rolls they have in the first class lounge. I’m hungry and I might even be a little naughty and have two.

Paired up with a nice glass of bourbon possibly?—

“Hey,” a horrified sound, half-scream, half-squeal makes me look at the person immediately behind me in the check-in line. “Watch where you’re going!”

Fuck me.

I’ll be damned if this isn’t the hottest girl I’ve ever seen in my entire life—and I’ve seen my fair share.

Petite but with luscious curves in all the right places, the woman I just elbowed by accident has the face of a goddess. Blonde hair slicked into a high ponytail that highlights her perfect facial features. Bright blue eyes fanned by long lashes, her nose a gentle slope that leads to a pair of lips that make me immediately wonder if they would be as soft as they look against mine. Or even better, wrapped around my cock as those big, sky blue eyes are fixed into mine.

Goddamn, Ryker. I chastise myself.

Remember the plan. Eat, sleep and breathe hockey this year.

You have no time for blonde goddesses, no matter how tempting they might look.

Women are nothing but trouble and you’ll be better off remembering what forced you to transfer.

I have no clue where this voice of reason comes from, but that’s good advice if I ever heard any.

The thing that my rational side hasn’t taken into account though is that our motto for this year—Eat, breathe and sleep hockey—doesn’t need to start until we set foot on campus.

This is a transitional moment that technically isn’t part of my senior year.

I know hanging onto a technicality might sound hypocritical, but if you’d seen the perfect specimen glaring at me right now, your cock would stir in your jeans too. Or you’d get wet, I’m all for equal opportunities and love is love and all of that.

I’m all for whatever rocks one’s boat and believe me this girl? I’m actually feeling a little like the Titanic right now.

And like the Titanic, I crash and burn from the get go.

As my eyes rove over the perfect girl in front of me, I notice the consequences of my bumping into her.

A giant smudge of lipstick that goes from the corner of her mouth almost all the way to her ear. It looks like she has a creepy half smile on her face.

“Why so serious?” I can’t contain the snicker that bubbles to the surface when my brain suggests that the lipstick smudge makes her look like The Joker from Batman.

I know that was definitely the wrong thing to say—I’m not that clueless—but I’m not prepared for the way those perfect lips tighten into a flat line.

“I believe the words you were looking for are ‘I’m sorry,’ after you moved like a bull into a China shop and made me ruin my makeup.”

God, she’s even hotter when she’s mad.

That must be why rather than uttering those three little words she was looking for, my dumb ass self ups the ante. “I would apologize if we were in the bathroom. But this is hardly the place to refresh your makeup. My mom says that putting your makeup on in public—like when you’re in your car, waiting at a red light—is un-lady-like.”

She waves her lipgloss wand toward me, brandishing it like a weapon. “Are you calling me white trash?”

Fuck, the blue of her eyes has gotten darker and the way her chest is jutting forward as she scolds me?

I’m digging her. And judging by the definite stir downstairs, my entire body is digging. Or it would like to do some digging into her.

Lewd, I know.

“I would be careful with that lipstick,” I smirk, taking a step back and looking for a way to turn this around and maybe ask her if I could buy her a drink. Or take her to the bathroom for a quickie, whichever she wants to do first. “You don’t want to accidentally jam it in my eye while you’re so… agitated.”

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