Page 19 of Don't Let Me Go (Don't Let Me 2)

Once I’m by his side, Coach announces, “This is Blakely Thorne. She’ll be shadowing Russ throughout the season. Don’t give her any shit, all right?”

The guys laugh, each and every one of their focuses shifting from Coach to me. If I hadn't been raised with three older brothers, I might be intimidated by the amount of testosterone wafting throughout the room, but I’m used to it.

In fact, I thrive in it. It’s familiar. Comfortable, even. Which is weird but true. I’m used to being one of the guys. Once they realize I’m not like other girls they’ve met––and I have no intention of jumping into bed with any of them––they’ll stop looking at me like I’m a piece of meat, and we’ll get along just fine. But until then, I’ll have to put up with the snide remarks and flirtatious comments. Thankfully, I have thick skin. Well, unless Theo’s involved. But I digress.

Wiggling my fingers in a small wave, I say, “Hey, guys! Thanks for having me.”

Tukani, one of the goalies, says something in a low voice to his buddy, and the guy chuckles, his gaze flicking over me from head to toe. His mouth curves up on the side.

My eyes hurt from keeping them in place when all they want to do is roll like a damn bowling ball at Tukani’s attention, but I stay strong. When a shadow from the entrance to the rink comes into view, I’m grateful for the distraction.

That is, until I recognize who it belongs to.

Theo stops short, realizing he’s interrupted one of Coach’s speeches and squeezes the back of his neck.

“Sorry, Coach. I was taking a few extra laps.”

“Taylor,” Sanderson acknowledges. “I was just introducing the newest member of our staff.” He motions to me with a quick wave of his hand. “Blakely will be shadowing Russ during the season.”

I haven’t seen Theo since his party. I’ve been avoiding him––and what happened––at all costs. But now, he’s less than ten feet away, and the reminder of our kiss hits me square in the chest.

I still can’t believe it happened. But the memory’s richer than any fantasy I’ve ever whipped up, and boy have I whipped up a few doozies over the years. If I close my eyes, I’m pretty sure I can still taste the bastard. Feel the way he grabbed my waist. The way he took what he wanted without giving a damn about the consequences. The way he felt in my hand when I reached down and––

I snap myself out of it, digging my nails into my fisted palms. But I’m too much of a coward to meet his gaze. Instead, my attention bounces around Theo’s face while attempting to look indifferent in his presence when it couldn’t be further from the truth.

How the hell does a guy look this attractive? It isn’t fair.

All sweaty and lickable. His soft, curly hair clings to his forehead as he rubs the back of his hand against it, wiping away the moisture. The guy isn’t as big as Shorty, one of the defensemen from last year who went pro, but he’s definitely the largest member on the offensive side. And boy, those muscles do him good.

He must drink a lot of milk.

That’s a lie. He’s only ever been a sucker for Crush and protein shakes, but, apparently, I need to give the sugary drink another go––sans vodka, of course––because the guy’s a freaking babe. My gaze finally meets his. He’s staring at me. His jaw is tight and his brow pulled low, showcasing the stubborn, unreadable ass who only really comes around when I’m in the vicinity with him.

And I’m not crazy.

Even Mom noticed when we were in high school. How he changes when I’m around. How he can go from fun-loving, bullshit-talking Theo, to broody, overprotective asshat in two seconds flat as soon as I enter the room.

It’s ridiculous.

And with me shadowing the team, I’m sure his friends will love it.

Great.

“All right, I think that’s it,” Sanderson concludes. I force myself to stop checking Theo out and turn back toward the coach, though I can feel Theo’s hot stare on the side of my face. Clearly, my presence caught him off guard. And clearly, he isn’t a fan of it.

Coach claps his hands together and adds, “Now, get dressed and get outta here. I’ll see you tomorrow for practice.”

The team gets back to work, dispersing and dropping towels in some kind of twisted game to see who can make me uncomfortable first because they sure as hell aren’t rushing to get dressed.

I roll my eyes, unable to hold it back any longer while pretending being given front row seats to a dozen penises is just an average Tuesday afternoon for a girl like me. In reality, it couldn’t be further from the truth, though I’d never admit it out loud.

When Colt catches onto his teammates’ game, noticing the fact the majority of them are taking their sweet time in covering up their birthday suits, he scoffs, but he doesn’t give them any shit for it.

He knows as well as I do it’ll only egg them on. He also knows I can take care of myself. One swift knee to his groin in middle school was all it took to prove to him––and everyone at my school––I can handle myself. Colt hasn’t overstepped his bounds since.

“Hey, big brother,” I greet him while pretending to be oblivious to the penises around me.

“Hey, Baby Thorne,” he teases before deciding, “I like the nickname.”

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