Page 15 of Neo

In fact, it’s career suicide.

The kiss of death.

Having said all of that, though, there’s something about the girl sitting in the lower bowl section of the rink tonight that I can’t ignore. I wish I could, but she’s different. She’s reading a fucking textbook during the game, which means she’s really different.

Not in a good way, obviously, because what girl comes to one of our games and doesn’t cheer loudly, or flash her tits, or ask for my number, or at the bare minimum pay fucking attention?

Yeah, so you see, it’s pretty obvious why I definitely noticed her immediately.

It’s almost as if coming to the game was an afterthought and not the highlight of her night like it is for most VCU students, especially the women.

I mean even if she didn’t have the big book on her lap, she still sticks out like a sore thumb, because she isn’t dressed appropriately for a hockey game at all, wearing a short black denim jacket that skims over her breasts, stops at her waist, and doesn’t seem warm at all. Whether we’re located in the hot ass state of Nevada or not, doesn’t she understand that it’s cold in an ice rink?

Admittedly, it’s not just her peculiar reading habits or choice of outerwear that caught my attention. The girl is gorgeous in a very effortless kind of way, and at first glance, it feels as if she’s totally oblivious to it.

She’s wearing a black wool beanie which is struggling to contain a wild mass of dark coils which touches just past her shoulders, and she has a heart-shaped face with dark brown soulful eyes that seem like they’ve lived through five lifetimes.

Gorgeous.

I’m waiting for her to stand up to see what else she’s working with besides a beautiful face, but am not fortunate enough to get a glimpse of the rest of her, which only piques my curiosity even further. I love a well proportioned, squeezable ass, and something tells me she’s sitting on one of those.

But beyond the face, the body, and the book, the thing I find most alluring is her focus.

Her intensity.

Her desire to ignore everything else around her and just read whatever was in that book. Hell, it kind of reminds me of me when I lace up my skates and hit the ice.

When flirty ass Shane checks on whether she was injured from the hard check at the glass, I get the oddest feeling in my gut. Almost as if something was very wrong with him doing that. It makes zero sense because I don’t know this girl, don’t give a shit about this girl, and Shane is my best friend–so I chalk it up to my usual game day twitchiness. Which is why I was about to skate away and let the stadium staff do their jobs so we can finish the game, that is until she raised those lush brown eyes to meet mine.

Then I became fucking stuck.

“Who’s this?” I ask Kennedy, unable to help myself from asking the question.

I want to know.

A part of me needs to know.

Then maybe this curious pain in the ass part of my personality will be satisfied and move on to more important things.

“This is Violet, my roommate, and she’s not looking for any new friends, Neo.”

The unmistakable tone of warning in Kennedy’s voice is understandable. Based on her past knowledge of me, she believes I run through women on campus like I’m eating a bag of Skittles, enjoying every flavor in the bag. But what most people don’t understand except those closest to me is just because a girl throws her pussy at me, doesn’t mean I always take it…or even want it.

But once Kennedy introduces the book nerd as Violet, something in my brain clicks. I recognize the name. She’s more than just an acquaintance of Kennedy’s. She’s the new transfer student Shane told me about over chicken sandwiches one night. The mysterious friend from Kennedy’s high school who is suddenly now her new roommate. I remember being confused about it when Shane told me because we all know that Kennedy keeps a super tight friend circle and particularly likes her privacy.

Now all of a sudden she has a roommate?

And why this girl?

I doubt they have much in common.

I shake my head like something is rattling loose inside of it. It’s ridiculous that I’m even giving something like this any airtime. I have goals. I have a pro career that I’m in hot pursuit of. I don’t have time for curious distractions, especially soft, nerdy ones that are completely clueless to the effect she has on the guys around her. It’s hard to miss how the corny dude in the ugly Christmas sweater has been eye fucking her for the last ten minutes. I’d love to swat him like a fly with my hockey stick if I didn’t think it would get me thrown out of the game.

I keep my eyes trained on Violet but listen as Kennedy and Shane volley sexually charged words at each other. It would be better for everyone if they’d finally fuck each other and get it out of their systems, but I know that’s not ever going to happen. Kennedy will never let him get that close.

Just when I’m about to skate away in hopes that the stadium staff will get this night back on track, I do a double take once I hear Kennedy throw down the challenge for us to win. If we win, there’s a possibility I could see Violet later tonight. I shouldn’t give one hot damn whether I do or not, but I can’t help myself. For some reason, I do give a damn.

“Already done,” I tell them both, assuring a win. “And then we’ll see you both tonight.”

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