Page 62 of Twisted Play
TRISTAN
Eva leaned against the wall,playing on her phone, when I emerged from the locker room, still damp from my shower, water dripping from my freshly rinsed cornrows. I took a moment to appreciate the curve of her hips under her athletic pants, her gorgeous tits stretching her t-shirt obscenely over her chest, and fuuccckkkkk, an ass that begged for me to dig my fingers into it.
Cole stomped out behind me, rubbing his golden hair dry, muttering about the inconvenience of taking her home. I stopped him with an arm across his stomach, ignoring the way I wanted to run my fingers over his hard abs. “Hey, I appreciate you doing this.”
He looked at me with surprise. “I wasn’t going to let her go home on a bus.”
“I don’t think she likes you.”
Cole’s sly smile told me there was more to his relationship with Eva than met the eye, but we didn’t have time to delve into it.
I cleared my throat, and Eva looked up at us. For a second, her eyes dragged over both our bodies, and I knewshe still wanted me, no matter what she might pretend. I just had to convince her I was worth the trouble.
“Ready?”
Eva nodded, and before she could sling her tote over her shoulder, I grabbed it. She couldn’t quite hide her surprised smile. Fuck yes—I’d break through those walls if it was the last thing I did.
“Where do you live?”
She named a neighborhood on the other side of town—a bad neighborhood.
“That’s—”
“Where I live,” she interrupted me before I could say something stupid.
When we arrived at Cole’s sleek sports car, she grinned, her eyes bouncing between him and the car. “Compensating for something?”
To my surprise, he laughed and opened the passenger side door, indicating for me to climb into the back seat. “Sparrow, you and I both know I’m not compensating for anything.”
Oh yeah, there was more to that relationship than met the eye. Insidious jealousy wormed its way under my skin. We’d never competed for a girl before. He didn’t have to. Why would someone as smart and classy as Eva choose a scholarship kid who could barely tie his own shoes, when she could pick someone like Cole, heir to billions and already drafted by an NHL team?
Eva climbed into the front seat, and Cole reached over to buckle her in.
“I can do it,” she protested. His lips tilted up into a smile that took my breath away, and it wasn’t even directed toward me.
“Sure you can,” he agreed, buckling the seatbelt thenstanding. He’d encouraged me to ask her out, and now he was flirting too? Fuck, it wasn’t fair. The one time I wanted something for myself, and Cole—well, Cole was being Cole—sneaky and smart and taking no prisoners to get what he wanted. He was playing games, and if I wanted Eva, I’d have to figure out the winning play, with himandwith her.
His words from the bar the other week played through my mind on repeat.What does Cole want?
Eva’d been clear she didn’t date, that she didn’t want anything serious with me. She’d been even more clear when she’d stopped reading my text messages.
And yet.
I hated that Cole got the time of day from her and I didn’t. She acquiesced to him but refused to date me.
“Enter your address,” Cole ordered, handing her his phone.
She looked at it with amusement. “You’re handing me your phone unlocked?”
“Go through it if you like.”
She wouldn’t find much—desperate messages from puck bunnies, a couple of group chats, and a whole lot of nothing else. Since rehab, Cole’s life was hockey, hockey, and hockey. No girls. No distractions. No fuckups.
We sat in silence as the computerized voice led us further and further from campus. First, the fancy chain restaurants disappeared, then the coffee shops, until more stores had bars across their windows than not. Eva sank lower in her seat with each block.
Finally, Cole pulled up in front of a dilapidated row house.
“Here?” I asked from the back seat. I recognized the signs of poverty—the carefully mended screen door, meticulously clean windows despite their age, the way someonemaintained the tiny front garden, despite a rickety wooden porch that had seen better days.
