Chapter 38 - Hunter

C oach kept me tonight after the game under the guise that he wanted to talk about future prospects, but I honestly think it was to check up on me. It bothers me how everyone just walks on eggshells around me. Everyone except him . Oliver. It's funny because he's the reason I'm going through this in the first place, but he doesn't act like I'm broken. Maybe that means he just doesn't give a shit, but even I know that's not true. He cares—enough for the both of us.

I've been asked how I'm holding up more times than I can count, and I always reply the same thing. That I'm fine. Tonight was no different, and since Coach believed me, he started giving me shit about how I've been playing, which was honestly a much-needed reprieve from being treated like I'm broken.

Now I'm at this party I don't want to be at, if only because I don't want to go back home to see Ollie. At least, that's what I'm telling myself instead of the truth.

The truth is that every time I'm away from him, my skin feels taut and itchy, and my fingers tingle with the longing to reach out and touch him. The truth is that I wish more than anything we could be snuggled up on the couch, my face buried in the crook of his neck, my arm slung over his waist and wrapped tightly around him. The truth is that I can't do any of those things. And that fucking hurts. Which is why I have to stay away, so I don't end up doing something stupid.

This party is at one of the frat houses on Greek Row, and it's as obnoxious as always. Lots of keg stands, liquor, and beer pong. A few people dry humping on the couches, and others on the coffee table snorting lines of coke. None of it interests me. In fact, I don't even know why I'm here.

Someone slips an arm around my waist and I smile, twisting around only to come face-to-face with a grinning Malia. My smile immediately drops, and I pry her off me. I don't know what the hell she's thinking, especially after everything we said to each other at the last party. The last thing I've been expecting is for her to try to talk to me. I thought everything was said and done at this point, but I guess I was wrong.

"What are you doing?" I yell over the music.

"Let's go outside," she replies. "We need to talk."

Talk.

What kind of talk? Is she here to make fun of me again or complain about me not having sex with her? Surely, she doesn't want me back. I was an asshole to her.

Either way, I follow her outside after doing a quick sweep of the room with my eyes. I was supposed to come here with Connor and the rest of the guys, except they're in the pool right now with a bunch of topless girls. That used to be my scene, once upon a time. It was not that I ever found it arousing, but I always had to pretend it was. Now I can't be bothered—couldn't be fucking bothered with pretending either. They all believe it's because of my mom's death, that it's changed me, or that I'm just having a hard time. But the truth is, I don't know why I ever tried to prove to everyone how gay I'm not . It's not like they ever suspected, but after Ollie…I guess, I was confused.

It's a chilly October night. I don't know how people are in the pool, maybe it's heated. Maybe I should join them. I can't do this with Malia anymore. It's pretty obvious I'm not attracted to her after all.

"This is better," Malia says as we stand outside watching the people in the pool. I don't look at her once, and she huffs. "Are you gonna look at me? We need to talk."

I turn my head toward her and roll my eyes. I shouldn't be an asshole to her, she's been nothing but nice to me. But I just can't pretend to give a shit anymore. I'm done . "What is there to talk about, Malia?"

"I want you back." She bites her bottom lip like it would entice me. As if she's flirting with me. "I miss you."

Well, I don't miss you.

All I can think about is the way I cuddled Ollie to sleep a few nights ago, our two kisses, how I've missed him…and I can't do it. I can't go back to her and pretend that everything is fine. I can't think of him anymore while I fuck her. I can't imagine it's his ass gripping my cock, not when I could have the real thing. Fuck, who am I kidding? I'll never again let myself have him. That would be the ultimate betrayal to my mom.

"We can't, Malia." I sigh and look at her apologetically. I hope she can see I'm not trying to hurt her, I just genuinely can't do it. "I'm sorry."

"Why not?"

"It's not you." I hit her with that line, even if it's the truth. She looks annoyed before I even finish the sentence. "It's me."

"Clearly, asshole," she growls and I wince. "I mean, look at me. Who wouldn't want this?"

Me .

"I said I'm sorry, okay?" I run a hand through my hair in frustration, trying to keep myself in check before I say something stupid. "I'm in love with someone else." And there it goes.

"Who the fuck could you possibly be in love with?" Malia looks like she's smelled something awful, the way her nose scrunches up with the question. I'm trying to keep her from putting two and two together, but damn, it's hard when I— "You don't even hang out with anyone." Yep .

"It doesn't matter," I tell her. "I gotta run. I'm here with someone else."

"What the fuck?" she growls, grabbing my arm and digging her fake nails into it. "You don't deserve me anyway. I can't believe I wasted so much time on you!"

"You're right." I nod, prying her off me. "You're too good for me. Sorry, Malia. I really am."

I walk away with one thought: I don't deserve her, and the person I want doesn't deserve me.

Fuck Conrad for forcing him into my life again, and fuck Oliver for tempting me with the forbidden. He knows I can't have him no matter what I want. And I know I need to stay away now more than ever, especially when he's seen my weakness. He is that weakness and will exploit it any chance he gets since he can't wait for me to fall from grace. He can't wait for me to give in to him just so he can rub it in my face. I bet he doesn't even care about me anymore.

My phone buzzes in my back pocket, and I take it out.

Ollie

Are you coming home tonight?

I stare at the text message for the longest time, and then I reply, because I don't have any self-control.

Hunter

Probably.

With that, I pocket my phone and make my way back inside. The throng of people grinding and dancing is annoying, and I push past them as quickly as possible. The smell of sweat and drugs and sex is intense, and I hurry up the stairs if only to get away from it.

Leanne is at the top of the stairs, her long brown hair loose down her back. She's wearing skimpy shorts, a crop top, and some Vans. I bet any other guy would be salivating over her, but I feel absolutely nothing. My cock doesn't twitch, and my belly doesn't fill with butterflies. Instead, a feeling of dread spreads through my veins until I feel like I'm being poisoned with it.

She's staring right at me though, and I feel obligated to say hello.

"Hi," I tell her as I reach her, and her brown eyes sparkle as she looks up at me. All I can notice is that they're not blue. No, hers are brown and bloodshot from what I imagine is alcohol consumption or worse. "Wanna dance?" Dancing is the last thing I want to do, but it feels like the right thing to say. If only so I don't look like a weirdo at this party. I am the captain of the hockey team after all, and I have an image to uphold.

"Nah." She says, then looks behind me. I look over my shoulder to see if someone is there, but it's only the bathroom door. "Wanna hook up?"

"S-sure." I can feel the blood draining from my brain, and I'm suddenly lightheaded. If I say no, I'll look bad. What if she thinks I'm gay? What if she tells everyone? So I nod, "Okay."

I follow behind her as she knocks on the door and opens it. Thankfully it's empty, but it already smells like pussy in here, which makes me wrinkle my nose. I need this to work, though. I need to get turned on by her, not because I'm thinking of someone else. So I'm going to try my damn best not to.

She closes and locks the door, and before I can take my next breath, she pushes me against the door. My head hits it with a loud thump, and the breath escapes from my lungs. But I plaster a smile onto my face, and when she lunges herself into my arms, I force myself not to grimace. But her smell is all wrong, something like flowers and alcohol. She doesn't smell like vanilla cupcakes. It's not him.

Fuck.

I grab her ass and grind her against my dick as she slams her lips to mine, but when she sticks her tongue down my throat I almost gag. I breathe in deeply through my nose in an attempt to quiet my thoughts and just focus on the moment, but I'm really not into this—into her. But still, I keep grinding her against me in hopes that the friction will wake me up. Not surprisingly, it doesn't happen.

Leanne pulls away, her cheeks red, her chest heaving. She grins at me, but when she looks down at my pants, she notices my dick isn't hard, and she frowns. Her hand reaches out, and she palms my dick over my pants, rubbing it aggressively. This is all so wrong, goddamnit.

"Do you want to finger me?" she asks, and I cringe.

Not particularly.

"Sorry, I'm no good at it, babe," I lie, considering I've had my fair share of practice. I just don't want to do it.

"That's okay." She smirks. "You know what I'm good at?"

"What?" I appease her by asking, even if I want to tell her I don't care.

"Sucking dick."

Leanne falls to her knees in front of me and unbuttons my jeans, pulling my flaccid dick out. Honestly, it's embarrassing. What's more embarrassing is how she takes me in her mouth and it doesn't stir to life. It's all wrong, all fucking wrong. I don't want her—or this.

I shove her back lightly and she comes off my dick with a loud pop, and I grimace. "Sorry, Leanne." And I mean it. "I think I just had too much to drink. Maybe next time?"

"Sure." She forces a smile onto her face. "Next time."

There will absolutely be no next time. Not in this lifetime or the next. However, I paste a fake smile on my face, tuck myself back in, and then exit the bathroom without a second glance. I almost feel bad for her, that is, until I realize who's waiting for me at home.

Is my dick broken, or does it only work for him? I guess I'm about to find out.