8. JT

CHAPTER 8

JT

The first thing I notice when I wake up is the noise.

It’s music, kind of. Some asshole has the volume cranked as high as it’ll go, and it’s one of those songs where all the lead singer does is yell. He’s backed up by electric guitars screeching and grinding while a crazed lunatic is wailing on the drums.

The second thing I notice is the sharp pain in my shoulder. I spend most of my waking hours training for and playing hockey, so I’m no stranger to injury or discomfort. But this feels weird. I peel my eyes open and…this is not my room. It’s not my bed—it’s not even a bed.

I’m lying naked in a bathtub.

And that’s when it hits me: Maggie’s gone.

I don’t know her last name, her major, or even where she’s from. But I know she was here with me last night. I know the way her body feels next to mine, the way she moans when I’m driving into her, the way she bites her lip when she’s trying not to come.

The pain in my shoulder persists, and that’s when I realize I’ve wedged myself up into a corner and that the faucet is burrowing its way into my deltoid. Carefully, I exit the tub and snag my basketball shorts off the floor. Pulling them on, I slip my feet into my slides while simultaneously looking around for any trace of the girl who flipped my world upside down last night.

The door is closed, but the makeshift barricade is gone. The first aid kit is still on the floor, an empty condom wrapper lying beside it. Oh shit—I panic until I see that the condom itself is in the tub. At least I had enough forethought to take it off. I grab some toilet paper and discard it as discreetly as I can under the bandage wrappers in the trash can. After washing my hands, I put everything back where I found it, or at least where it would logically go. I highly doubt these guys do an inventory of the bathroom in their basement, but I don’t want to be a dick.

I take one last glance around, hoping for some clue my Cinderella left behind, but there’s nothing. It’s still early, though, so unless she snuck out in the middle of the night, she might be around. Her ankle’s got to be throbbing by now, and there’s a good chance it’s swollen, too. I meant what I said last night: I’ll carry her sweet ass around campus just to keep her from hurting herself further.

But first, I have to find her.

The music gets louder the closer I get to the main floor, and when I walk upstairs, I play it off like I’ve been passed out on one of the sofas for the past few hours. From the looks of it, that’s what these guys have been doing. And some of them look like they’re still drunk, so I’m pretty confident no one knows exactly what Maggie and I were up to last night.

It’s not that I care what a bunch of frat boys think of me. It’s the idea that one of them could talk shit about Maggie that has my blood near boiling.

“Briiiick!” Ollie’s voice is way too chipper for ass o’clock. I can hear him loud and clear, but he’s nowhere to be found.

“Dude! You want a smoothie?” he asks, popping up out of goddamn nowhere like a whack-a-mole .

If only I had a mallet.

In typical Ollie Jablonski fashion, he doesn’t wait for an answer. He just plows ahead. And in this case, that means turning on the blender.

A collective groan rumbles through the room. No one’s too happy with Ollie right now, but as he pours me a glass, I have to admit the guy makes a hell of a blended beverage. I drink it down, trying not to guess what the hell is in it, then set my empty glass on the counter. I’m about to tell Ollie I’m heading to the gym for a workout when a meaty fist lands on the counter next to my hand next to my abandoned cup.

“Shut that fuckin’ thing off,” the guy with the fist grumbles. “But first, gimme some. My head’s fucking pounding.”

Ollie just laughs. “It’s all that tequila, Toad. That shit’s your kryptonite.”

“Aw, fuck. I drank tequila last night? No wonder my mouth tastes like I licked my own asshole.” Toad hangs his head and mutters his thanks as he takes the drink Ollie offers. He doesn’t notice the shot of liquor Ollie mixed in, and I’m sure as hell not in the business of telling Toad any secrets, including the fact that I heard him take an hour-long piss last night while I was balls deep in the hottest girl I’ve ever seen.

He makes short work of the smoothie, slamming the cup down like he’s playing beer pong then emitting a mighty belch before stumbling off to find his bed or maybe another toilet.

He’s a class act, this guy.

Ollie’s busy making more drinks, so I take the opportunity to quietly duck out of the room. Unfortunately, my luck seems to have run the fuck out.

“Brick, where the hell you goin?” Ollie calls. “Gimme a hand, dude. My smoothie business is booming.”

“Can’t,” I answer. “I gotta get to the Den for a training session. ”

Ollie buys my lie and I swear I hear him mutter something like, “Goalies are fuckin nutjobs.”

I take no offense. First off, he’s not really wrong. And also, if he thinks I’m crazy for running drills at this hour, he’s less likely to follow me.

And that’s a good thing, because Ollie’s not invited on this field trip. Once I’ve cleared the front door, I scan the yard in search of a curvy little blonde whose hips and ass were made for my hands.

This place is empty. There’s no one out here. It’s just a graveyard of party remnants. There are kicked kegs and plastic cups. Lawn chairs and beach towels. But no Maggie.

Before I left the house, I gave the living room a long glance, but she wasn’t there either.

I have no clue how she made it very far on her busted ankle, and that has me a little concerned. That’s what has me bounding up the steps to the main drag and jogging back to campus.

I’m on a mission to find my Cinderella. I’m nobody’s Prince Charming, but that’s a plus in this scenario because that guy was a fuckin idiot. I’m serious. He was madly in love with the girl, right? Hunted her down for the sole purpose of making her his bride. But he didn’t know what she looked like?

A fucking idiot, I’m telling you.

I mean, how do you come back from that? I’ve never had a long-term relationship, and the only real role models I had growing up were the people I watched on TV, so I’m no expert. But I’m pretty sure no woman on Earth would let a guy get away with that bullshit. Cinderella should have called his royal ass on the carpet, in my opinion. And when he came back with some piss-poor excuse like he was drunk, or he couldn’t stop staring at her tits long enough to get a good look at her face, she should have shoved that glass slipper where the sun doesn’t shine, and the little bluebirds don’t chirp.

I’m just sayin’.

There’s no sign of Maggie on my run, and since she didn’t know her friend’s address, I’m running out of ideas on where to find her. Truthfully, that’s probably for the best. Do I want to see her again? No doubt. Do I want a chance to make love to her in an actual bed? Damn right.

But unlike that Prince Charming dumbass, I’m not going to stoop to the level of knocking on every door on campus searching for her. I hate to admit it, but if she wanted to see me again or even wanted some help getting home, she wouldn’t have left me the way she did.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and for a brief second, I wonder if it could be Maggie. We didn’t exchange numbers unless I was so blissed out after the best orgasm of my life that I started chanting my digits in hopes that she’d remember them. Or maybe she tracked me down? We didn’t exchange last names, either, but hockey’s become a popular sport here at BU since we started winning, which means we’re all pretty well-known on campus.

I pull out my phone to see a group text from Coach.

Coach Baylor: Reminder: Team meeting at ten a.m. Don’t be late.

I don’t believe in signs, but if I did, this one would be flashing neon.

I’ve got a couple hours, so I turn and head in the direction of the dining hall, effectively ending my quest to find Maggie.

Hockey is all I have time for. It’s all that matters to me. It’s the only thing I’ve ever loved that’s loved me back. It’s the sole reason I’m here. It’s the thing that’s keeping me from repeating the mistakes of my parents, the thing that’s going to get me out of the shithole I grew up in and on to greener pastures.

The cafe is pretty deserted, but that just means that I’ll get my food quicker. Soon enough, I’m sitting at a table with enough food in front of me to feed a family of four. I’m spearing a piece of sausage with my spork when I spot a mane of blonde hair. I’m about two seconds from standing and declaring my true love when the girl turns my way.

It’s not Maggie.

Not even close, except for the hair. And even I’m aware that long blonde hair is hardly a unique feature for a college girl.

My phone buzzes again. Coach wants to know if I can meet up before ten, and of course I say yes. I’ve got nothing else to do, and strategy sessions with Coach Baylor always help me get my head on straight.

That’s clearly what I need since I’m sitting here trying to erase Maggie from my brain. She left no trace behind, so it’s clear that what we had was one and done. And even if she was interested in hanging out again, I have no time for relationships unless she wants to date between three and four a.m.

But she ran off before I even woke up. No note, no nothing, just a clear indication that she’s not interested in any more than what we shared last night. And after the way I grew up, there is only one thing I know about relationships and that’s that I don’t want anybody who doesn’t want me.