BLAZE: Enemies to Lovers College Hockey Romance by Eddie Cleveland (ebook reader macos .txt) 📕

Her hard glare answers my question. She pinches her lips together. It’s distracting.

Everything about her is. It doesn’t help that she’s all dressed up tonight. The way those skinny jeans hug her ass, and that blouse has that little bow right under her tits, it’s like she’s a sexy present all wrapped up. It makes me want to rip it all off to see what’s underneath. Her dark brown hair is down around her shoulders. I don’t think I’ve ever seen it not in a bun. She looks different. Softer.

“Like, he wants to stuff me like a holiday goose, but with babies.” She says it like this was a connection any moron could make.

I glance back at the guy in his polo shirt. He looks like he’s like one of those kids who never has to work for anything. He’s probably a something-the-third. Like, Harry Douche-Nozzle, the third.

“What’s with you and stuffing crazy shit together. You don’t stuff money in girl’s pussies. You don’t stuff babies in geese. It’s fucked up that you don’t know that.” There it is, that perfect look of exasperation when her cheeks are rosy, her mouth is open a bit, and she rolls her eyes at me. I’d bet anything that’s her O-face.

“Just wait here and let me say goodnight to my date. I’ll be right back to deal with whatever cry for attention this is.” She raises an eyebrow.

“I liked your first idea better.” Beer in hand, I pop off my bar stool and start walking to her table. Prissy is on my heels, trying not to rush up to me but also trying to stay within ear shot.

“No. Wait. What are you doing?” she hisses behind me like a tire leaking air.

Like I’m gonna sit here like a well-trained dog while she ties her night up into neat little bows? “Come on, Prissy. It’s my birthday.” I grab an empty chair from another table and tuck it up next to their two-seat situation. Harry Douche-Nozzle blinks up at me.

There are questions in his eyes, but he doesn’t ask them because I jump right in. “I couldn’t believe I just ran into Prissy. I mean, Priscilla. I had to come over here and meet the guy who’s taking that bullet.” I hold out my hand, and he shakes it like he’s not sure why.

“Hey.” He frowns, then his eyes rest on Prissy. “What’s going on?” I thought it was confusion, but I think it’s actually irritation tugging on his tone. “What bullet?” His eyes are back on mine, and any doubt I may have had is gone. He’s trying not to show it, but he’s pissed off.

There are only a couple reasons he would be. If he thinks the date is going well, he’s delusional. He’s a different kind of delusional if he thinks he’s going to get laid. Trolling him feels like a solid response either way.

“The one I dodged when we broke up.” I jut my thumb over to Prissy. At first she looked like she was trying to hide behind her hair. Now, she’s peering out at me. “We dated for a while.”

Harry looks from her to me. “Really? Cool. How long were you two together?”

“Dated is too strong of a word,” Prissy interrupts. Look who’s not hiding behind her hair-curtain anymore. She’s blinking at me in what I’m pretty sure is Morse Code for: Shut The Fuck Up.

“Oh, I don’t know.” I ignore her attempts at eye communication and keep going. “For a while, right Prissy? We had some pretty wild dates.”

All of us turn our attention to the waitress who walks over to our table, clearly confused by our new set-up. “Can I get you a plate or drink?” She tilts her head at me.

“No, we’re good with the cake,” Prissy answers.

“Not true.” I catch her attention before she walks away.

“I’ll have a piece of cake and refills for everyone.” The waitress nods at me, and I ignore the Douche-Nozzle’s anger. I’ve got another bear to poke at the moment.

“Remember your drunk and disorderly at the Bowl-King? That was on one of our dates.”

“What are you doing?” Prissy’s voice is a faint whisper to me. I ignore it completely.

“Did you get arrested?” He looks at her like a fancy car depreciating on the lot.

Prissy stammers for words, likely in shock.

“No, she didn’t get arrested,” I keep going. “Banned for life though. You know that sign they have: no shirt, no shoes, no service? That shirt part is because of her.” I jerk my head Prissy’s way, and she starts to get all huffed up, but the waitress comes back.

“Two white wines, a beer, and here’s your cake.” She puts everything in the right places.

“Thanks.” I dig into the cake. I regret not eating my cake before I left the house. Actually, attending that party is also on my list of regrets for tonight.

“That one-hundred-percent was not me.” Prissy finally gets a chance to defend herself. “You must have that date mixed up with one of the other thousands you’ve been on.”

“Come on, Prissy. You think I’d forget those tits? I remember it all clearly.” I don’t know what’s more delicious, the cake or antagonizing her between bites.

She frowns. “Trust me, you don’t.”

“So who are you that you’re going on thousands of dates? You look familiar.” The Douche speaks. “Should I know who you are?”

He sits up straight, shoulders stiffening as he clearly looks me over. Not like I’m a human, though, more like he’s trying to figure out if I’m worth his time. He’s got a real country-club, Daddy-paid-for-my-life sorta vibe to him. Typical Douche-Nozzle for ya.

“He’s on the Warrior’s hockey team.” Prissy tries to fill in the blank for him.

“Do you follow hockey?”

“Not at all.” He actually looks a bit repulsed that I asked.

“Yeah, that’s probably not how you know me then, huh? There’s another way you might. Are you a guy who likes to frequent X-Videos?”

There’s a weird silence that some people would crawl into and die.