Page 43 of The Tomboy and the Captain

I find myself hitting ninety on the highway with about five minutes to go before my exit when my phone buzzes with a message. I give the command for my phone to read the message, which it understands on my third attempt after first directing me to the nearest gas station and offering me reviews on the best insoles.

CHUCK:Party at your place, I guess. Help with keg?

Crap. How is there a party at my place? I still don’t even really feel like it’s my place. Unless . . .Matt.

I hit the call button to get Chuck on the line.

“Yo, so is that a yes on the keg? I paid for it, but I can’t get it to fit in my trunk.”

If Chuck has a Keg, that means it’s a team party with lots of guests. Probably the Greek houses, and as annoying as Matt is he seems to have this huge following of people who gravitate to him. They want to be around him, I suppose hoping his weird fame will rub off or something.

“Yeah, sure. I’m by your exit now. I stopped to see my Ma. I’ll be right there.” I end the call and take the exit for Chuck’s. He’s in the driveway waiting for me when I get there, and judging by the gaseous waves of cologne coming off of him I’d say he’s planning to hook up with someone tonight, which means yeah . . . big party. No matter how many times I tell the dude less is more when it comes to scents, he keeps doubling down with that rainwater fragrance he bought last year. He smells like a storm drain.

I cough.

“What?” He glares at me and I simply laugh. He knows what.

I drive him to the liquor store and we both haul the keg into the back of the Jeep and head to the house. All I can do is think about Laney and this serious talk I was planning for us to have, but instead, the house is going to be full of people, half of whom I won’t recognize.

The street is packed when Chuck and I pull up, so I end up parking at the top of the hill after dropping Chuck off with the keg. I hover by my Jeep for a few seconds, the pulsing music hitting my ears from a quarter mile away. Our neighbors are going to break this up soon, I’m sure. The sun went down thirty minutes ago, so at least it’s early yet. But if this drags on, people are going to be pissed. It’s a Sunday for fuck’s sake.

Ivy’s got to be mad unless she’s working. For Matt’s sake, I hope she is. If she comes home and walks in on this, he’s likely dead. And that’s just me basing things off of her reaction tome asking for coffee once. And Laney—I don’t know what her feelings are on parties like this. I know this weekend wasn’t her favorite pair of days, so maybe she’ll revel in the distraction.

I head down the hill and get my answer to most questions the second I walk through the door. Ivy and Laney are being held upside down by a few of my teammates and they’re chugging more than their weight in beer. Ivy’s the first to give in, and she taps out while Laney goes for five more seconds. I can tell the second the guys help her back to her feet that she’s tipsy but not totally tanked.

It's Sunday. I’m sure she has practice tomorrow.

“Aww, I hear you helped bring us more beer,” Ivy slurs as she falls into me, one hand on my chest and the other arm hooked around my neck.

“Oh, wow. Okay, I’m not used to you being affectionate, so how about we go sit down, huh?” She bobs her head up and down then begins to laugh hysterically. I guide my roommate and Laney’s best friend to the sofa, where she immediately starts kissing our backup goalie. I shake my head and hold out my palms when my gaze meets Laney’s from across the room.

She shrugs. Her eyes haze as she hooks a finger in front of her body, calling me to her. I step over the coffee table to get to her.

“That was impressive, I think?” I quirk a brow.

“Maybe, but I can only do that once.” She folds her hands on my shoulder then leans close, bringing her lips to my ear. “I’m pretty drunk.”

I laugh lightly and put a hand on her back to make sure she stays close to me and stays away from alcohol for the rest of the night. In fact, when some frat guy walks over with two red cups I tell him to go fuck himself before he has a chance to open his mouth.

“Ohhh, Cutter’s getting protective,” Laney teases.

I purse my lips and bite my tongue as I lead her into the kitchen. I pull out one of my super-hydrating waters with alkaline and force it into her hands.

“Drink.”

She meets my stare with a hard one of her own. I tilt my head slightly to the right in challenge, and she shakes me off finally and gives in.

“Fine. But we’re playing a drinking game after this. Me and you,” she demands. She takes a big gulp then hands the bottle back to me. She thinks she’s done but she’s not. She has practice tomorrow. And my gut tells me that she’s acting out right now.

“Come on, Cutter. Play a game. For me?” She puckers her lips, and while she’s rather adorable in her short red shorts and cropped white tee-shirt, she’s also trying to tank herself.

“No games tonight, Laney. I have a job to do.” Watching you and making sure you get your ass up in the morning, which you arenotgoing to want to do.

“Party pooper.” She stammers on that word, and it makes her giggle. Or maybe she’s drunk enough to find poop funny.

“Why don’t we get some air and bring the water with us, huh?” I thread our hands together so she doesn’t have much of a choice. But Laney is still Laney, and true to her core, she decides that now is the time she’s going to make a stand. At my expense. Always at my expense.

“Cutter, do you have feelings for me? Do you love me? Because you’re sure acting like you love me. And you know what that means.” Her red lips spread into a massive grin as she raises her hands and starts to sway her hips, taunting me along with every other person attracted to females in this house as her cropped shirt flirts with the bottom curve of her breasts. She’s not wearing a fucking bra.

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