Chapter 7

Practice today wasfun and exhilarating, but multiple times throughout, my thoughts drifted to Ian and tonight. Thankfully, I didn't let that affect my play.

When the puck was flying my way, my head was in the game, but every time we broke for water or for the coaches to correct a play, I found myself thinking about what could possibly happen tonight.

A nervous andexcited energy runs through my veins as I head to the address Ian texted. I'm sure he's planning on telling me we can't be together, but that won't happen if I have any say in the matter.

I like Ian a lot, and I'm certain he likes me too. At least, he did when we were parting ways at the resort. While we did spend a lot of time fucking, we also got to know each other. We shared meals and talked about nothing and everything. We didn't really discuss our careers like we were both trying to forget about that stuff for a while, but we did have conversations about other things, like our favorite animals and what we would do with our lives if money wasn't a problem.

I learned so much about myself over those two days, and it was all thanks to Ian. There has to be a way to make this work. I just have to convince him it's a good idea.

When I pull up to the address, I'm surprised to find a decent-sized house. Honestly, I was expecting something on the smaller side, not a place big enough to raise a family. I fucking hope Ian doesn't have a secret family. That would definitely have me changing plans. I don't mess around with married men or anyone in a relationship, for that matter. I might be a manwhore, but I don't participate in cheating.

I take a deep breath, slowly blowing it out before walking to Ian's front door.

"Eight o'clock on the dot," Ian notes when he opens the door.

"Do you like my punctuality?" I ask.

"It's appreciated," he says, stepping to the side. "Why don't we have a seat in the living room? Like I told you in the text, this won't take long."

I follow him, staring at his lean back and pin-straight posture, like it always is.

He carries himself as a confident and dominant man, which in turn triggers me into a more submissive role that I don't experience with anyone else. Around anyone else, I act a lot like Ian does, with confidence and a swagger that has earned me the attention of many.

With my shoulders rounded, I sit next to him on the couch, so close our legs rub together. Obviously, I could have given him more space, but I didn't want to. I mean, at least I didn't perch myself on his lap, right? I might be submissive around him, but I'm still me, and I want to make my intentions known.

"I was hoping to talk in your bedroom," I tease, trying out the bratty side of myself that Ian told me he liked when we were at the resort.

Ian shakes his head, scootching away. "Ben, we can't do this," he states, and his words hit me square in the chest like a dagger.

My gaze drops to the floor. I might want to fuck him so bad it hurts, but I do respect boundaries, most of the time. "Why not?" I counter, needing to hear an explanation.

When he was leaving the resort and asked for my number, it sounded like he wanted something, but I wasn't ready then. Honestly, I'm not sure I'm ready now, but I do know I want him. I just don't know how much I can give. "You're not my professor."

Ian sighs. "You're right, but it's still ethically not right."

"Is there a rule against it?" I inquire. "Would you lose your job?"

He shakes his head, and my heart flutters with the smallest amount of hope. "You and I would have to fill out paperwork, but technically it is allowed. Most professors, however, don't cross that line."

"If you're not going to get fired for it, how come you're pushing me away? You know how good we are together," I remind him.

"Besides the fact that it doesn't look right, I don't have time for a boyfriend. I spend most of my nights grading papers and working on new lesson plans. I won't be able to give you what you need. You were right for not giving me your number when I asked because a relationship between us could never work."

"I don't need a boyfriend," I reply. "Like I told you at the resort, my life is crazy, but that doesn't mean we don't have needs. I was thinking more like a friends-with-benefits situation."

He stares at me for a moment, his gaze so intense it almost steals my breath. What is going through his head right now? Is he considering agreeing to this? Please, God, let him say yes.

"I don't think I can do that," he whispers, breaking the eye contact.

I want to beg, but I also have pride and am aware when enough is enough. I knew tracking him down in the hall today was a long shot, but it was also my last shot. If Ian doesn't want to be with me, I have to accept that.

"You have my number if you change your mind," I tell him, standing and heading toward the door.

When my hand touches the doorknob, I pause, wishing Ian would stop me, but he doesn't.

I have to be okay with that.

Maybe it's best that we don't pursue something new. That way, the memories of our two days together in paradise won't be tainted, and I can cherish them forever.

It's beena little over a week since Ian shot me down, and of course, he's all I think about, which is why I'm at a house party on a Friday night with a beer in hand, hoping to find someone to take home tonight. I mean, what better way to get over someone than to get under someone else?

"Ready for hockey season to start?" Michael Danvers, better known as Dano, a football player, asks as I scan the crowd.

"Yeah. We're already practicing our asses off, but I like the thrill of winning or losing."

"I like that too. I've been training all summer. I'm ready to show the coaches that I'm better than ever," he tells me with a big grin.

I clap him on the shoulder. "That's awesome. I'm stoked to see what you got. But if you'll excuse me, I'm on the prowl tonight."

He chuckles. "Get it."

I wander to where a group of puck bunnies is sitting, but I quickly make a beeline in the opposite direction before they see me. For some reason, the idea of taking one of them home tonight curdles my stomach.

Maybe I need more to drink. A little liquid courage never hurt anyone. So, I make my way to where a group of guys are playing beer pong.

"Mind if I join?" I ask.

"Fuck yeah!" one of the guys yells, letting me join his team.

Before I know it, the world is swirling around me, and I'm laughing at a dumb joke I don't really understand.

"Maybe you should slow down," one of the guys suggests a few games later, and I nod, but my head is heavy, almost like it's going to fall off if I'm not careful.

"Good ideeba," I slur, making him laugh as I walk away.

Now would be a good time to try the puck bunnies again. With my beer goggles on, they might be appealing. But I still don't want to fuck any of them. I want to be railed by a sexy daddy. Preferably the one who has been starring in all my dreams. So, I pull my phone out of my back pocket and send off a text.

Me: Heyyy, Profffessor Daadddyy.

There might be a couple too many letters in those words, but I shrug because who cares?

While I wait for his response, or lack of one if he chooses to ignore me, I head to the living room, plopping down in a comfy recliner. People are laughing, talking, and dancing around, but everything is kind of a blur. Maybe I drank a little too much. But you only live once, right?

My phone vibrates in my hand, and a sudden bout of giddiness rushes through me when I see who sent a text.

Professor Daddy: Are you drunk?

I giggle and shake my head, loving that I programmed Ian's name that way into my contacts.

Me: Nooo.

Me: I'm just hoppy!

I stare at my screen with squinted eyes. There's something wrong with that text, so I try again.

Me: Hippy

Nope, still not right. One more time.

Me: Happy!

I smile at my accomplishment. See? I'm capable of texting when I'm drunk, and no one will be the wiser.

Professor Daddy: Jesus Christ. Where are you?

I look around the room. Where am I again? This isn't my place, but I'm not exactly sure whose house it is.

Me: goood questionnn…

Ian's response is almost instant, and it makes me giggle again.

Professor Daddy: You're going to cause me to have an aneurysm. Tell me where you are.

"Duuude, where am I?" I ask a guy standing nearby, and he laughs.

"Parker's house," he supplies, and that name rings a bell.

Me: I'mm at Parrkker's houssse.

I'm busy texting when a puck bunny struts over and sits on the armrest of the chair I am sitting in.

"Hey, Coop," she purrs.

I smile at her, but it wavers when the putrid smell of her thick perfume hits me, and I fight back the urge to gag.

"Hi," I reply, trying not to show my disgust as my phone vibrates again.

Professor Daddy: Who's Parker?

Me: A foootball pllayerrr.

"I'm really looking forward to watching you play again," the puck bunny says, running her finger over my arm. Goose bumps break out across my skin, but not the good kind.

"Cool. Do you know Pawker's address? I getting ride," I tell her, and her smile grows.

"Could I share it with you?"

I shake my head. "Sorry. I too dwunk. I don't tink I can even get it up," I lie.

She pouts but gives me the address anyway. "Next time you're not so drunk, you should call me," she suggests. "Do you still have my number?"

I nod even though I'm positive I don't have it, then text Ian the address. I'm not sure if he'll actually show up, but it's worth a shot. If he doesn't, I'll just sleep in this chair. I'm sure no one will give a fuck if I do.

Apparently, I must have passed out at some point and am woken by a shaking. "Your ride's here," the dude who told me I was at Parker's house says, and I stare at him, super confused.

Did I order a ride? Maybe I did and just forgot. I am pretty fucking drunk.

"Tanksss, man," I slur, stumbling toward the front of the house.

I stare at the cars, searching for a ride share, when my eyes land on Ian who is scowling hard. Shit, he's clearly pissed off. How come I find him really sexy like this?

"You came!" I cheer, climbing into the passenger seat.

"I shouldn't have," he grumbles, pulling away the second my seat belt is fastened.

"Arrre yooou gonna get in twouble?" I ask.

He shakes his head. "I doubt it. Most people were too drunk to recognize me. Where do you live?"

I stare out at the streetlights, trying to recall my address, but it doesn't come to me.

"Dunno," I finally respond, making Ian sigh.

Leaning my head against the cool glass, my eyes become heavy. My head is fuzzy, and I can't tell if it's the car's vibration or the lingering effects of the alcohol. Vaguely, it registers I'm supposed to tell Ian something, but before I can figure out what that is, my eyelids fall, and I drift off.