Page 16 of Troublemaker
And what the hell was that smell in my room? It smelled like…well, a little like me when I came, but harsher, darker, deeper, thicker.
Did I need to go to health services to find out if I had a yeast infection?
Still in my robe, I crawled on the floor, looking under the bed. Not there. I checked the laundry hamper too, and the bed, in case I was losing my mind, but deep down, I knew I wasn’t.
Which meant some asshole, somecreeper, had been in my room and stolen my recently-orgasmed-in panties while I’d been showering.
Who? Was someone in my hall fucking with me? Did I have a stalker? Was it one of the hockey players I’d been flirting with? My TA had canceled the study session today, so I’d come backearly. Angry, hurt, and needing to self-soothe, I’d taken care of myself, even though I’d hated myself for it. Hated that I’d tried to fantasize about someone, anyone else, and failed. Hated that even though I was surrounded by attractive guys all the time, the one man I couldn't have, shouldn't have, would never look at me like I was more than an annoying and immature child, was the only image I could get myself off to. And when I’d come, it had felt like there was someone in the room with me, watching, listening…
I shook that off. Someone was fucking with me, for sure, and I was going to go to hockey practice this evening like I always did, and I was going to find out if one of those sweaty, stinky assholes was behind it.
When I got to practice,Coach wasn’t even there. I tried to ignore the stomach drop of disappointment of not seeing him, telling myself it was better that I didn’t. Anyone else, I could have handled it. But with Blake, I knew I wouldn’t be able to hide my embarrassment after getting myself off to thoughts of him fucking me.
I skidded up to Emory on the ice where he was running drills with Mason.
“What are you doing out here, babe?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
I rolled my eyes. The babe was for show. Emory wasn’t into me. He had the hots for some older woman far out of his league, and even though he refused to tell any of us who it was, I had my guesses. But that didn’t mean he and his friends hadn’t decided to scare me or embarrass me.
“Did you take my panties?” I asked him point blank.
He skidded to a stop on the ice, dropping his stick and backing away from me.
“What the actual fuck?”
“Did you take my panties?” I enunciated, angry but also hopeful it was a prank and not something worse.
But based on the shock and confusion on his face, my gut told me otherwise. Dread pooled in my stomach.
“Just tell me the truth,” I asked. “Because my panties disappeared from my room while I was in the shower…”
Mason looked concerned. “Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
Emory shook his head. “Wasn’t me. I was…well I was busy all morning, and I wouldn’t know how to break into your room anyway. But maybe it was one of these other horny assholes.”
Lifting his hands to his face, he yelled, “Hey, you motherfuckers, stop what you’re doing and get over here!”
Oh no.
Oh no, oh no, oh no.
This could get messy.
“Emory,” I warned. “Please don’t.”
The whole team stopped practicing, skating over.
“What’s up?” Matt, Emory’s roommate asked.
“Did any of you go to Lucy’s room and steal her panties today?”
A loud, manly chorus of shocked “no” and “what the actual fuck, who would do that shit” echoed through the arena. Players circled me, eyeing me up and down, and even though a few of them smirked, most of them seemed worried.
“We wouldn’t do shit like that, but I tell you what, if we find out who did—” one began.
A whistle blew, interrupting us.
