Defending Donovan Read online

  She gives me a look that says she knows I have a point. Because of her past, hockey players are off-limits to Bex.

  “It’s not just his rules,” Bex admits. “After what happened with Kellan, I have no interest in dating, let alone his players. I still don’t. Kellan left a lasting effect on my life, one I never want to repeat.”

  In high school, Bex dated Kellan Lehane, her father’s star player who attempted to ruin her life by posting naked pictures of her online. To this day, she still hasn’t been able to get all of them taken down. She’s constantly humiliated by what happened, even though it’s not her fault.

  Her dad is overprotective because of Kellan, and since he plays hockey for Boston College, her dad still faces him on the ice every year. It’s like the reminder of Kellan never fades for Bex and her dad. He’s always there in some way to torture them.

  I frown at the thought of Kellan. “Yeah. I still can’t believe you have to deal with everything that happened with him. It’s been four years.”

  “Some mistakes can’t be undone.” She sniffs as if fighting back tears.

  I get the urge to hug her, though I know Bex would push me away. My bestie has a rough and tough exterior. She acts as though she never needs anyone. Sometimes, she confesses that Kellan still has a hold on her. He’s the reason she hasn’t dated anyone on campus. For as long as I’ve known Bex, the memories of her past have messed with her head.

  He shouldn’t be allowed to keep controlling her life when he’s no longer in it. But the scars are still there. That’s why I worry about her hanging out with Preston Parker. Though, I am excited at the promise of Bex moving on with someone new. It’s about time she dates. She’s allowed Kellan to keep her from living her life for too long.

  I cup her shoulder. “I’m sorry, babe.”

  She sighs. “Kellan was—”

  “An ass,” I finish for her.

  Once we reach the parking garage, Bex removes a set of keys from her bag and clicks the remote to open her dad’s car.

  She retrieves a men’s leather wallet from the cup holder. “I have to run this over to my dad. It won’t take long. Do you want to tag along? We can grab something to eat from the cafeteria afterward.”

  My nose wrinkles in disgust. I hate eating in the cafeteria. They serve only junk and fried crap that ruins my mojo for basketball. And the last time I let someone talk me into going to the cafeteria, Drake knocked me on the floor and then proceeded to act like a pig.

  “No, to cafeteria food. A definite hell yeah to sneaking a peek at the men’s ice hockey practice.”

  “Awesome.” She shuts the door with a smile and locks the car. “I was hoping I wouldn’t have to face the guys alone, especially not Preston.”

  “Are you kidding me? As if you even had to ask.”

  Because Drake will be there.

  She chuckles. “Don’t act like this around the guys. Their egos are big enough.”

  “Gotcha. Don’t feed the players,” I quip. “Duly noted.”

  She shakes her head, entertained by my usual goofy comments. Someone has to lighten up the mood. Bex can be such a downer sometimes.

  Five minutes later, we reach the ice rink on the other side of campus. Before we enter, I fix the dark strands which have fallen in my face with my fingers. I look like a mess, my forehead coated in sweat and my hair a little frizzy from the unusual heat. I’m from Southern California and used to warmer weather but not the humidity. Why is it so hot this late in the year?

  I remove my pink gloss from the inner pocket of my bag and apply a thin layer to my lips, smacking them together loudly as I look over at Bex. She’s a real tomboy. Anything to do with makeup or hair scares the crap out of her. It’s as if she’s allergic to anything girly.

  I turn to face Bex, greeted by a strange stare as she takes in my features. “How do I look?”

  “Fine.” Her tone is cold, devoid of any emotion. “Stop worrying about your appearance. A guy should like you even on your worse day. Otherwise, he’s not worth your time.”

  “I wish I could be more like you, Bex. You never care what anyone thinks of you.”

  She shrugs. “It’s simple. People will either like you the way you are or hate you for it. You know what my dad says about opinions and assholes.”

  Realizing she’s right, I laugh and open the door, where hot hockey players are practicing on the other side. “I’ll try to find my inner Bex.”

  Be like Bex, I chant a few times under my breath, mimicking the Be Like Mike slogan from Michael Jordan’s Gatorade commercial from the ‘90s.

  “You’re the only girl I know who would show her face around a bunch of hot guys with a bloody lip and no makeup.”

  Bex rolls her eyes. “I haven’t worn makeup since my dad made me wipe it off my face in my sophomore year of high school. Anyway, who cares if my lip is busted open? I wear it like a badge of honor. I wasn’t about to let Stacey Weaver get to the net.”

  “Instead, you guarded her so hard, she ended up dropping bows on you like you’re in the UFC.”

  Laughter shakes through her. “Drop bows? You sound like a lunatic.”

  “What? Haven’t you ever seen a spinning back elbow? It’s pretty sweet. That’s basically what Stacy did to your face.”

  My older brother, Shaun, loves the UFC. So do I. We learned everything from my dad, who’s a retired Colonel in the United States Marine Corps. Every few years, we moved to a new duty station until I was in high school. Over the years, my dad trained Shaun and me in mixed martial arts as well as other defensive techniques.

  “I hustled my ass off to become a starter this year,” Bex says. “I wasn’t about to punk out, allow her to make the easy layup, and show Coach Vaughn I wasn’t starting material.”

  Bex is always so serious. God forbid anyone on our team who gets a leg up on her. For someone who has no plans to attempt a pro career, she takes winning way too seriously. We both love the game, but in the end, it’s just a game. It’s meant to be fun.

  “It was just a scrimmage,” I tell her. “You can ease up a little bit. What if Preston tries to kiss you on Saturday, and he tastes blood? That’s not sexy.”

  She shrugs, unaffected. “He’s a hockey player. I’m sure he’s used to the taste of blood in his mouth. And it’s not like I’m going to kiss him.”

  We stop in front of the outer edge of the ice, and our conversation comes to a halt. Once I get a load of the men on the ice before me, my eyes are as wide as my mouth that has fallen open. Bex looks equally taken back by the players. They’re so graceful on skates they make basketball players look like a bunch of idiots falling over their feet.

  Her eyes travel to Preston, who skates past us. He didn’t seem to notice either of us, and that’s probably for the best considering the look on Bex’s face right now. She’s watched the team play dozens of times, but that was before she stumbled into a very shirtless, very wet Preston Parker in the locker room. Now, her perspective on the game and Preston is completely different. I can see it written all over her face.

  From what I can tell, they’re having a scrimmage. One team wears navy jerseys, the other red. A quick squabble ensues where two players fight for possession of the puck. I have no idea which player is which, though I do know the goalie—Drake Donovan. Well, I probably know every detail of his dick better than him. Most of the girls on campus have seen it at least once. And now, I can’t stop thinking about him or his junk as I watch him defend the net.

  He moves so fast dressed in all that padding and gear. A wall of a man, Drake hulks over every player on the ice. He must be close to seven feet tall, muscles bulging from every place imaginable. Even from under his uniform, I can see how well he fills out every speck of fabric attached to his toned body.

  From the first time I saw him on campus, my mouth was salivating, begging for a taste. Until I found out he’s a total manwhore. He’s so ridiculously good-looking, with short, dark hair that brushes his forehead, blue eyes that p
op against his tanned skin, and tattoos that cover his forearms like artwork carefully designed for his perfect body. I try not to glance in his direction, but he makes it hard not to sneak a peek.

  A blur of colored jerseys skate past us before someone takes a shot on goal that hits the post and bounces to the left of the net. Drake attempts to capture it with his stick, but a player wearing a red jersey is faster.

  I’m still staring at Drake when Bex presses her hand to the Plexiglas in front of us, stumbling over her high-top Chuck Taylors. They’re navy with white laces to match our Strickland Senators uniforms.

  “You should get that to your dad,” I say to snap Bex back to reality.

  We need to get out of here before we slobber all over ourselves and trip in a puddle of our own drool.

  “Right.” She makes a beeline for her dad who’s talking to a player in the box.

  As we pass, a few of the players glance in our direction. One of them waves to us, though I can’t see his face. Bex returns his gesture. I stand there, stunned like some idiot drunk on hot men.

  Coach Bryant pushes open the door that leads to the ice, and Bex hands him the wallet.

  Smiling, he takes it from her. “Thanks, honey. You’re a real lifesaver.” His gaze falls from Bex to me. “Hey, I haven’t seen you in a while. How have you been, Taylor?”

  I roll my shoulders. “I’ve been around. Busy with school and basketball.”

  “Still working on your jump shot?”

  I bob my head. “Yep. I got it down pat now.”

  He winks at me, and then turns to Bex, his gaze intense as he takes in the sight of her busted lip. “How was practice? Looks like you got a nice shiner forming on your cheek… and your lip. What happened? You look like you went a few rounds with Hopkins.”

  I love his reference to Bernard Hopkins, a legendary boxer from Philly. My dad was on the All-Marine Boxing Team back in his day, which is the reason I don’t fight like a girl.

  Bex laughs at his joke. “Practice was fine. Could have been better. But, at least I’ll have a cool battle scar.”

  He inspects her face, shaking his head. “I wish you’d be more careful. You can be so rough.”

  “Basketball is a rough sport,” she counters. “I’m not some delicate flower, Dad. I can take a punch, or in this case, an elbow.”

  Ain’t that the truth?

  He sighs. “You were never delicate, that’s for sure. Are you staying until practice is over?”

  She shrugs. “I guess we can hang around a little while longer. Not like we have anything better to do.”

  Speak for yourself, Bex.

  “That’s the spirit.” He slaps Bex on the back like she’s one of his players. “I could use another set of eyes on the team. This game is going to be tough for us.”

  “I wouldn’t miss it.”

  “Me neither,” I add.

  He angles his body toward the ice, biting his cheek as if he’s nervous about his first game as the head coach.

  Bex seems to note the quick change in her dad’s behavior and taps him on the shoulder. “Everything will work out. I have a good feeling about the game.”

  He grins. “Me, too.”

  Like me, Bex is tall. She’s maybe three inches shorter than her dad, their eyes nearly level to one another. I assume she inherited her blonde hair and blue eyes from her mom, but she has his height and athleticism.

  We’re both five feet ten inches. Neither of us had an easy time in middle school or high school considering we were taller than most of the boys in our grade. Our height makes dating much harder. A lot of guys are intimidated by taller girls. They look at us as if we’re less feminine because of our size.

  Coach Bryant blows the whistle around his neck, raising his hand to signal for the players to come over to the bench. “I have to get going, honey,” he says to Bex. “Take a seat over there.” He points to the first row of seats in front of the glass. “I’ll meet you there after we’re done. Maybe we can get dinner if you want. Taylor, you can come, too.”

  Good, no cafeteria food.

  I smile in response.

  “Yeah, that sounds good, Dad,” Bex says, and then he goes back to coaching his team.

  She tugs on my arm, steering me toward our new seats. After we sit, I glance over at the bench, not the least bit surprised to see Preston staring hard at Bex. Like he wants to eat her. Claim her. Do something really dirty to her. Holy hell, his eyes are so intense, my body trembles. Drake looked at me the same way earlier this week in the cafeteria.

  “You have an admirer,” I inform her.

  She turns her head, and once he has her attention, he winks. Bex doesn’t return his gesture or even acknowledge him. Weird. Despite her defensive demeanor, she seemed excited about her date with him this weekend. I would have thought she would at least wave to him. Typical Bex. She’s always so closed off that she pushes everyone away except for me.

  “The way he’s looking at you is giving me chills,” I say to break the silence. “What I wouldn’t give to have someone look at me like that.”

  Still burning a hole through her with his eyes, Preston removes his helmet, his sweaty hair sticking up in different directions. His dark, messy hair and the sexy look on his face catches Bex’s attention. She stares at him, her mouth agape, a soft sigh escaping her lips. He has an effect on her whether or not she wants to admit the truth. I know my friend well enough to see she will fold like a cheap chair if Preston as much as brushes his fingers along her skin.

  Once practice ends, Coach Bryant orders his team to hit the showers. Bex is busy lusting over Preston, and I’m still enamored by Drake Donovan. As Drake steps off the ice, headed toward the locker room, I get a better look at him. His eyes meet mine for a second, and a ripple of pleasure shoots through my body. Dammit. One glance, that’s all it takes for Drake to have an effect on me. I wish I didn’t want him. But damn him for being so sexy I can’t formulate a single thought when he looks at me.

  I’m not the type of girl to fall head over heels with a guy or even give a shit if one likes me. So, why do I care that Drake can’t stop looking at me like I’m his dinner? Speaking of food…

  “Where do you want to eat?” I rub my stomach. “I worked up an appetite watching these hockey hotties.”

  “I bet that’s not the only appetite you worked up,” she deadpans. “Don’t think I missed you obsessively watching Drake. I don’t blame you. I was doing the same to Preston.”

  Holy shit, Bex has no idea that Preston is now behind her. I didn’t even hear him approach until he was on her heels.

  I clear my throat and tilt my head to indicate someone is behind her. When she spins around, her eyes bug out. Busted.

  A wicked smirk turns up the right side of Preston’s mouth. “Funny meeting you here.”

  Speechless, Bex opens her mouth but nothing comes out. This is a first. Even I’m stunned by his sudden appearance. He must’ve overheard our conversation. So, now he knows I like Drake, even though I don’t want to like him. Ugh, how awkward?

  “Did you watch me play?”

  Bex nods. “Uh-huh. My dad asked me to stay behind.”

  “Parker, stop bothering my daughter,” Coach Bryant yells. “Time to hit the showers.” He claps his hands. “Let’s go.”

  Bex lets out a sigh of relief. “Saved by the bell.”

  “For now.” Preston wiggles his eyebrows in this adorable way that makes him even sexier. “Wait for me. Right here.”

  Bex makes a strange face. She hates being told what to do. “And why would I do that?”

  “Do you know how to skate?”

  She snorts. “My dad is a hockey coach. I grew up at a rink. Are you serious?”

  He shrugs, unaffected by Bex’s comments. “Hey, you never know. You could be good on your feet and horrible on skates. My older brother can’t skate to save his life even with my dad teaching him.”

  “Really?” Her eyebrows rise. “I find that hard to believe.”<
br />
  “It’s true,” Preston confesses. “JP never took to hockey, at least not the way I did, and he hates the cold.”

  She laughs. “That’s interesting. I would’ve thought hockey was a mandatory requirement in your family.”

  “He’s the brains—”

  “And you’re the beauty,” she finishes for him, laughing.

  My cheeks flush for her as if this is all happening to me. Oh my God, Bex has just admitted she thinks he’s hot. She’s so into him it’s insane. And Preston doesn’t miss a beat. He knows exactly how she feels about him.

  “No, that wasn’t what I was going to say,” Preston offers. “But... thanks, I guess.”

  She bites her cut lip, most likely forgetting about the pain with Mr. MVP standing in front of her. I’ve never seen Bex so out of sorts before.

  Preston does something neither of us expects and removes the glove from his hand to touch her cheek. He slides his thumb over her lip. “How did this happen?”

  His movements are so sensual it’s like I’m sharing a private moment between them.

  Should I leave? I have no idea what to do right now.

  “I took one for the team,” she says.

  “Bex likes it rough,” I add to take the edge off this moment. I’m always good for an inappropriate joke when necessary. That’s how I handle awkward moments. Comedy is my go-to when things get weird.

  Preston laughs.

  An awkward pause passes between them before Bex says, “You stink, Parker. Go take a shower.”

  “What about your dad?” I point out.

  “Oh, right. We’re supposed to have dinner with my dad. I can’t. But I’ll see you this weekend.”

  “Can I call you?”

  She shakes her head. “No, I don’t like talking on the phone.”

  While that’s true, what the hell is she doing?

  He cocks an eyebrow at her. “Texts, then?”

  Bex shrugs. “Umm…” She looks to me for confirmation.

  Is she hoping I will give her a way out of talking to him? Hell, no. Bitch, you’re going on that date. She’s giving him her number. I know for a fact Bex likes him and is trying to dodge him because of her fear of intimacy.