Draw the Line

chapter twenty-eight

The long sleeve uniforms are a little ironic since they're paired with tiny black spandex that barely covers their asses. Although, with Olivia Beck, that's not surprising. She has an ass. The kind of ass I've seen most guys do a double-take to appreciate as she walks by.

Luke grabs for his drink, pulling my attention from the game. The glass of ice water is a silent reminder that, as much as I hate Bradshaw and his co-hosts, they're not wrong. The only reason Luke would opt out of drinking with us after a game is if he was in pain — a lot of fucking pain. Enough for him to take the pain medicine he can't drink on.

His knee isn't healing like he thought it would. And while he's been downplaying it to Coach, I overheard his call with his dad after his last physical therapy appointment. His dad was on speaker, but I couldn't pick up most of what he said since he spoke Italian...I think. I don't actually know. It seems like he's speaking a different fucking language every time I hear his voice echoing from Luke's room, and it's hard to keep up. Either way, I couldn't understand the conversation from my spot on the couch, but the one word I did catch froze me dead. Surgery.

Luke spoke back in the same language, so I have no clue what he said, but I can only assume if it was brought up at all, it's because his physical therapist is concerned about his progress. Or, as Bruce Warren just pointed out, his lack thereof.

"If I could get into anyone's head right now, it'd be Micah Costa's." I look back up at the flat screen. Bradshaw's icy blue gaze is locked on the camera, staring straight into my fucking eyes as he says, "He's the one leading this team, and he's the one letting it all fall apart. So, I have to know — how does it feel, Costa? Knowing that you're burning everything Tristan Beck built to the ground?"

The air in my lungs freezes, solidifying into a heavy weight on my chest. Bradshaw flashes a condescending smile at the camera, fixing the lapels of his suit with a lazy shrug as if to say, someone had to say what we're all thinking. The USASN logo flashes on the screen before it cuts to a commercial.

A few snickers echo around the bar. Unfortunately, we're in enemy territory right now — a bar five minutes away from the arena we just played in. I have a feeling most of the people loitering around the bar just watched us hand Oregon their first loss of the season.

"Turn that shit off." I chastise the bartender walking by, nodding toward the flat screen. Her eyes widen at the sharp inflection in my voice. They're a soft brown, a familiar amber hue. They slide to Luke, considering him for a second as if daring him to snap at her too. He won't. Luke's not the asshole here. Not to random bartenders, at least. When her eyes settle on me again, they're hard as glass, cold and severe as she grabs the remote from behind the bar.

"Sure. Can I get you anything else?" Her saccharine smile drifts between us. "Another beer, more peanuts, a match, maybe?"

I take a slow pull of my beer, holding her in place with an insolent stare. Usually, I'd take her to the bathroom and give her something else to do with her mouth other than throwing half-assed insults at me, but when her brow tics up in a silent invitation, I look back to the flat screen that's now showing a different sports network.

That's another thing I don't want to think about right now — sex.

I fucked a sorority girl three days ago at a party, and it just... I don't know. It was different. I take another pull of my beer, trying to wash away the memory, but it's gripping me like a bad hangover I can't seem to remedy.

Tall, blonde, tits big enough to spill out of her little top — I want to fuck you. That's all I had to whisper in her ear before she was looking up at me, icy blue eyes darkening as she nodded and grabbed my hand. I fucked her against the wall of an unlit bedroom, drowning myself in the buzz of liquor in my veins and the feel of her around my cock. Hard, fast, rough, the promise of that familiar high I'm always chasing. I was lost in the feeling of her, too dark to see anything, but when I dragged my tongue up her neck, she moaned against my ear and my shoulders tensed.