Page 87 of The Charlie Method

“What, you want us to fuck you in your car?”

My thighs clench.

“I mean, we could,” he says, “but that’s a real waste of a first time, don’t you think?”

“He’s right. A car quickie isn’t it, Charlie.” Will steps in to brush another kiss on my lips before guiding me into my driver’s seat.

He and Beckett move aside as I start the engine, but they don’t walk away.

“Are you just going to stand there and watch me go?” I ask.

“Of course,” Will answers. “We’re not leaving this parking lot until you do.”

I can still see them in the rearview mirror as I drive away.

Will, with his boyish smile that I’m starting to suspect is a cover for the kind of passion that would make a woman blush.

Beckett, all sex and smirks, the kind of guy who leaves a trail of broken hearts and doesn’t look back.

Even if they asked me to choose between them, I honestly don’t think I could. And now I’m cursing myself for taking a bite, because that sampler was the most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted.

How the heck am I supposed to resist the feast?

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

WILL

My wife will murder you without hesitation

IARRIVE AT THE RINK FOR MORNING SKATE WITH A PEP IN MY STEP. I don’t even care that it’s barely past eight. I’ve got Charlotte Kingston on the brain. Haven’t been able to stop thinking about the girl since Beck and I got home from our date last night.

Man, she can kiss.

I want to kiss her again. Everywhere.

But she left us last night with no clarity about whether she wants to pursue this. She wanted a good-night kiss, yes, but that doesn’t mean she’s interested in hanging out again. Taking things further. I’d love to blow up her phone asking to see her again, check how she feels about things, tell her how much I want her, but I don’t want to scare her away.

Beckett doesn’t want that either. He talked me out of double texting her after theGlad you made it home safe, thanks for tonightmessage I sent when we got home.

I would’ve loved to see her again tonight, but we’re playing the first game of a two-game weekend series later. Coach Jensen, who’s usually waiting for us on the ice at practice, is in the locker room today when everyone starts filing in. He’s accompanied by a tall man with salt-and-pepper hair and bright blue eyes who I’m certain I’ve seen before but can’t place. The newcomer wears a gray Briar U hoodie and has a whistle dangling around his neck.

Coach waits for the room to fill up before clapping his hands to get everyone’s attention.

“Shut up,” he barks, and within seconds, he’s met with silence. “I’ve got an announcement to make. This is Coach Hollis. He’ll be joining the coaching staff as of today. Coming on board for the rest of the season.”

Everyone waits for him to continue. He doesn’t.

“See you out there,” he says brusquely, then stalks off.

“He hasn’t changed one bit,” Coach Hollis says, beaming from ear to ear. He claps his hands too. “All right, I’ll keep it quick. I’m Mike Hollis. You can call me Coach or Hollis or Mike—honestly, I’m not picky. Names mean nothing.”

Beside me, Case lets out a soft snort.

“There’s only one thing that matters,” continues Coach/Hollis/Mike, “so I need all you boys to open your ears and really listen to me right now, okay? With your ears.”

Case and I exchange a look. I’m still not quite sure what to make of this dude. He seems…colorful.

And I suddenly remember where I’ve seen him. He was leaving Jensen’s office the day I came to talk to Coach about my dad’s intrusive interviews.

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