Against All Odds (Holt Hockey Book 2)
Against All Odds: Chapter 18

RYLAN: Did you look at the assignment?

AIDAN: Look? Yeah.

RYLAN: Did you *do* the assignment?

AIDAN: I’d rather *do* you.

She doesn’t respond.

After staring at my phone for a minute, I turn it over so the screen is facing down and doesn’t distract me.

I left Rylan’s bedroom shortly after she came on Tuesday night. I could tell she wasn’t sure what to do or say, and was maybe embarrassed about the hot as fuck way she rode my face. So I made a joke about me providing dinner and her being my dessert, handed her the cold medicine she asked for, and convinced her to give me her number for “academic purposes” so we could reschedule our tutoring session. Then climbed out of her window, giving myself a couple of shin bruises in the process.

I want to have sex with her. Badly.

But I don’t know how to, and anyone I know would replace that absolutely hilarious.

Yeah, I have a reputation. And yeah, I’ve hooked up with a lot of girls.

Rylan is different for a whole bunch of reasons.

For one, we already slept together. I’m not just assuming the sex will be good; I know it will be incredible.

Two, she’s my tutor. And she’s good at it. The only part of Stats I actually like. She apologized twice about leaving early last week. I don’t want her to think she’s a distraction or to feel uncomfortable during our tutoring sessions because of anything unprofessional that happens between us.

Three, she’s Coach Keller’s daughter. Up until he told me he’d arranged for her to tutor me, he’d never mentioned Rylan before. I don’t think he’s the old-fashioned, brandishing a shotgun kind of father, but I also doubt he’d be happy to replace out Rylan and I have done more than discuss math. Now that playoffs have officially started, it’s an especially terrible time to upset the team dynamic and piss off my coach.

This isn’t suggesting to a girl we go upstairs at a party and then probably never talking to her again. It’s actually pursuing a girl, which I’ve never done before. Parker was always around, and she made all the first moves toward me. Aside from our tutoring sessions, Rylan has mostly avoided me. And the only time she’s initiated anything sexual was in the library, which was obviously impulsive and I kind of dared her into.

When I check my phone, because my willpower is shit, she still hasn’t responded to my most recent text. I’m sure she’s seen it by now.

I’ve never cared about coming on too strong before. Or worried about a girl thinking I lost interest. Both are concerns with Rylan.

So…I don’t know what to do.

I refocus on the paper I’m working on for my Leadership in Organizations class.

There’s a knock on my door a few minutes later.

“Yeah?” I call out.

Hart walks in. He’s dressed to go out, in his hockey windbreaker and a backward baseball cap.

“You’re doing homework?” He gasps dramatically.

I lean back in the chair and stretch. “Figured I’d mix it up a little.”

“You’re trying to impress your hot tutor, you mean. I know how you operate, Phillips.”

“Is she hot?” I ask innocently.

Conor rolls his eyes. “Bullshit you didn’t notice.”

“And you did? I thought you were locked down tighter than Fort Knox.”

“Just because I’m in love with Harlow doesn’t mean I’m blind,” he tells me.

I shrug, weirdly bothered by the knowledge Conor thinks Rylan is attractive. Even knowing he’s in a serious relationship and would never do anything about it, there’s some strange instinct to shout “She’s mine!”

Conor tilts his head, studying me closer than I’d like. “She’s Coach’s daughter.”

“I know that,” I respond.

“Just reminding you. I know how you love to think with your dick.”

I roll my eyes.

“Although I doubt you’re her type. She’s probably averse to hockey players, thanks to Coach.”

Not to me, I think smugly. If I focus hard enough, I can still taste her on my tongue.

Rylan may not want to be attracted to me, but I’m positive she is. Maybe our first time, when I was just a random guy, could be written off as meaningless. But we’ve hooked up three times now, and twice she knew I’m one of her dad’s hockey players. So I’m no longer buying her not interested excuse.

At least Hunter kept his mouth shut this time. Although I’m guessing it was more out of self-preservation than anything else. He didn’t want to be the one Conor blew up at after replaceing out I’ve hooked up with our coach’s daughter. Hart is teasing right now. If he knew I was actually trying to impress Rylan, actually interested in her, this would be a different conversation.

“You wanna go get food?” Conor asks me.

I shut my laptop. “What’s Harlow busy with tonight?”

Hart rolls his eyes. “Do you wanna get food or not?”

“Oh, she’s coming with us, then?”

“Phillips, c’mon.”

“Ah, she’s busy. Got it.”

“I know I haven’t been around at all lately, okay? Don’t be a dick about it. Let’s go get dinner, and you can catch me up on all of your latest hookups.”

Excluding Rylan, there’s nothing to tell.

I stand, pulling on a sweatshirt before grabbing my phone and wallet. “I’ve been focusing on hockey,” I tell him.

Conor nods, turning serious as we head downstairs. “It’s paying off, man. This is the best I’ve ever seen you play.”

There’s the same twist in my stomach whenever anyone has complimented me about hockey recently. But it’s less panicked than it used to be. Maybe I’m getting better at playing under pressure after several games with expectations.

Expectations I’ve exceeded, even.

“Thanks. Is Hunter coming?”

“Nah, he’s got a study thing for one of his classes.”

I nod. “You driving?”

He usually prefers to, because of his weird issue with my truck’s color. “You can, if you want.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. As long as we go somewhere at least an hour away, so no one sees me riding around in the Eyesore.”

I roll my eyes as I head into the kitchen and fish my keys out of the pocket of my hockey jacket. “We’re getting burgers at Gaffney’s. I haven’t eaten there in a while.”

“Okay, fine,” Conor agrees.

I missed hanging out with my best friend. I think this is his way of telling me he missed me, too.

Once we’re in my truck headed toward downtown, he asks, “How’s that going, by the way?”

“How’s what going?”

“The tutoring. You’ve skipped the past four wing nights. Can’t you do it another night? It’s messing with team morale. Table’s too quiet without you.”

I snort. Now I know he missed me. “No, I can’t move it. She’s busy.”

“Busy every other night except Tuesday?”

“Yeah. I mean, no. I don’t know. She’s helping me. I don’t want to be an inconvenience, or whatever.”

A beat of silence. “Phillips, you fucking love being an inconvenience. It’s your way or the wrong way.”

“Well, maybe I’m evolving.”

“Evolving…like finally talking about whatever’s been bothering you the past few months?”

My hands briefly tighten on the steering wheel.

I should be grateful to have friends who care so much.

And I am. Conor and Hunter are brothers to me in a way Jameson never has been or will be. Even before all the shit with Parker, we were never close. We bickered like siblings as kids, then grew up to fight like enemies. As much as Parker’s betrayal stung, it was a paper cut in comparison to the knife in the back from my brother. He’s never asked for my forgiveness, but I doubt I’ll be able to offer any if he ever does.

“Remember my older brother?” I ask. “He showed up in Vail?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“And remember the wedding he mentioned?”

“Yep, I remember. He’s kinda young, no? Only a few years older than us?”

“Two years. And his age isn’t the issue. It’s that he’s marrying my ex.”

I wasn’t sure if Harlow mentioned our conversation to Conor. I didn’t ask her not to say anything. Didn’t tell her Conor didn’t know the real reason I returned to LA. I told him and Hunter it was for a family thing, not an engagement party, and neither of them pushed for any details.

I’m pleasantly surprised when I glance over and see the obvious shock on Hart’s face.

Conor having a girlfriend has been a different dynamic. Realizing Harlow kept our conversation in confidence feels good. It makes me feel like she’s a friend, not just his girl.

“You have exes?” Conor asks. “I thought you’ve never dated anyone.”

“I only have one ex. We dated in high school. She ended things before I started at Holt. I never mentioned her because I wanted college to be a fresh start.”

“So, what? She broke up with you and then started dating your brother?”

“Pretty much.”

He shakes his head, incredulous. “Dude, that’s fucked up.”

“I know. I thought I was over it, but they announced their engagement in November. That got into my head, I guess.”

“Fuck, Phillips. I’m so sorry.”

We’re in Gaffney’s parking lot now, but neither of us moves to climb out of the truck.

“Thanks. I just haven’t wanted to talk about it. Not a damn thing that’ll change it, so I’ve been trying to just forget it’s happening.”

“You think it’ll actually happen? The wedding?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“She might just be trying to get your attention.”

I’m positive that’s how their relationship started. Parker always had a scheming streak. But Conor has no clue about the pretentious world my parents are a part of. Parker’s family too. There’s no way she would have said yes to Jameson’s proposal unless she was planning to follow through on marrying him. The scandal of jilting him at the altar would horrify her mother and mine. She cares too much about their approval—now, she didn’t when we were younger—just like Jameson does.

“Are you still in love with her?” Conor asks when I say nothing.

I shake my head. “Definitely not. I hate how it affected my relationship with my family. How Jameson thinks he won. It has nothing to do with her anymore.”

“Won?” Conor nudges my arm with his elbow. “You’re the one who’s about to be lifting a trophy.”

“We haven’t won anything yet, Hart.”

This is a weird role reversal. Usually I’m the optimist and he’s the one pulling me back to reality with reminders of all that could go wrong.

“We will.” Conor’s voice is as confident as I’ve ever heard it. “You’ve been playing on a different level lately, man.”

“There aren’t many games left to play in,” I remind him. “Might as well go out with a bang.”

He nods, but I catch the spasm of unease in his expression. Realize I just reminded Conor they could be his last games too.

My stomach grumbles. “C’mon,” I say. “I’m starving.”

We head inside, snagging a high-top table toward the back of the bar with a prime view of one of the flatscreens. Basketball’s on, which is not a favorite sport. And reminds me, I owe Thomas an apology. I haven’t seen him since the last time I was here, when I acted like a jealous dick. Not even acted like—I was one.

It’s not as packed in here as usual, but it’s still busy. And plenty of people call out as they pass by our table, recognizing us. I wonder if we’ll be as popular on campus once the season is over. Especially if we lose.

Coach’s comment about my best not being an anomaly has stuck with me. I had no clue he thought that of me. Conor said almost the same thing, how I’ve never put my all into hockey so I could prioritize partying.

I haven’t gone out as much lately. Haven’t been distracting myself with a bunch of girls. If I’d focused sooner, would we be after our second championship? Our third? I started a playoff game, and we won. I didn’t crack under the pressure.

Maybe I would’ve, as a sophomore. As a junior. Who knows, and there’s no point in speculating. Our season isn’t over yet.

I don’t even bother glancing at the laminated menu on the table. I know exactly what I’m ordering.

A waitress appears only a few minutes after we sit down, the usual quick service I always experience here that has nothing to do with how crowded or slow Gaffney’s is.

“Hey!” Her voice is as perky as the swing of her high ponytail as she glances between us with a wide smile.

I don’t recognize her…but that doesn’t mean much.

“Hey.” Conor’s smile is polite.

I’ve gotten used to the way he acts around girls now. The quick drop of eye contact, the lack of emotion in his tone. His body is angled toward the table, instead of toward her.

She’s eyeing both of us but she focuses on me after picking up on Hart’s indifferent vibe. “What can I get you guys?”

Hart raises one eyebrow, waiting for me to hit on her. It’s the perfect opening.

I could lean forward, smirk, and say any number of things that would basically guarantee us hooking up later. Ask her what she recommends. Say what I want—her—isn’t on the menu. Compliment her shirt while checking out her tits.

Instead, I’m doing the same damn thing as Hart.

“Burger, cooked medium rare. No tomato. And a pint of whatever draft is on tap.” I hold out my menu. “Thanks.”

The waitress nods, not quite managing to hide the disappointment in her expression before she turns toward Conor. He orders the same thing as me, except he opts for tomatoes on his burger and a Heineken.

“Are you feeling okay?” he asks me as soon as the waitress walks away.

“Yeah, why?”

“Because the waitress was hot, and you didn’t hit on her. I thought you had to be in a coma for that to happen.”

I roll my eyes. “Fuck off, Hart. Figured you’d be proud of me for focusing on hockey, not give me shit about it.”

I doubt he’d be as proud if he knew my recent stretch of celibacy is because our coach’s daughter will barely give me the time of day and she’s the only girl my dick is currently interested in.

“I am. Just…surprised.” His expression is more incredulous, and it’s annoying.

Yeah, I like sex. Find me a guy who doesn’t. And yeah, I’ve never had a girlfriend in college, so there have been a lot of girls.

Fuckboy, playboy, player.

I’m sure they’re all words that have been used to describe me. I don’t see anything wrong with enjoying my college years.

But I’m sick of that being all people associate—or expect—from me.

Conor pulls his phone out. It’s buzzing with an incoming call.

“It’s my mom,” he tells me. “She must be on a break during her shift. I’ll be right back.”

I nod.

The waitress passes him by with our beers as Conor heads outside.

“Here you go,” she tells me, setting a glass down in front of me and a bottle at Conor’s empty spot.

“Thanks,” I reply, rubbing my thumb against the condensation gathered on the outside of the beer. It squeaks, something I’ve loved doing since I was a kid with any chilled drink.

“Try it,” she encourages. “New brew we just got in.”

I take a sip, then wipe my mouth with the back of my hand to clear the foam. “It’s good,” I say.

Her tongue darts out, wetting her lower lip. “Do you taste the pine?”

“Uh…” I take another sip. “Maybe?”

She smiles. “What about the lemon and white pepper?”

I’m undecided if she’s fucking with me or not.

“There are some peach and mango notes in there too.”

“You know a lot about this beer.”

“Because I brewed it. You’re the first person who ordered it.”

“You made this?” I ask, impressed. And a little concerned, because can people just do that? Brew beer and serve it to people?

“Yeah. It’s my fifth brew. Took me a year to talk Arlo into carrying it here.”

“That’s really cool.”

“Thanks. The dream is to open up my own brewery one day.”

“I’d drink there,” I tell her, taking another sip. The beer is good. I can’t taste any of the stuff she mentioned, but it’s way better than the warm piss we have at parties.

“I’m Zara,” she says.

“Aidan.”

I study Zara more closely. Conor was right—she’s hot.

She has a tattoo on the inside of her wrist I can’t quite make out. It’s writing in some fancy script. Despite the cold temperatures outside, she’s wearing a tank top that’s tight enough to show off her tits.

“Your boyfriend must love that he has a free beer supply,” I say.

She leans closer, the end of her ponytail almost brushing the top of the table. “I don’t have a boyfriend, Aidan.”

Zara licks her bottom lip again, and it’s a hot move. My dick reacts, thickening as I imagine her tongue on it.

We’re facing Mulbridge in the quarterfinals, and their defense is packed with bruisers. I’m not looking forward to the beating I’ll be taking, and it’s been a while since my body felt good. The whole time Rylan was sucking me, I was in a state of disbelief it was really happening. Then uncertainty, when she immediately bailed.

“I get off at eleven,” she prompts. Again, giving me the perfect opening.

But…I can’t take it.

I’d be fucking Zara’s mouth, but I’d be pretending it was Rylan on her knees. And I’ve done a lot of stupid shit in my life, but I’ve never hooked up with a girl and thought about someone else.

“I’m busy later,” I tell her.

“That’s cool,” she says, but I see the disappointment flash across her face. “Maybe another time.”

She’s gone before I can decide how to reply.

I exhale, scrubbing a palm across my face and then downing a large gulp of beer.

What the hell is the matter with me?

Zara was hot. Here. Interested. She’s not my tutor and although I don’t know her last name, I’m positive it’s not Keller.

Rylan isn’t here. But I’m still thinking about her. Still remembering how her candid less when I asked what she thought the number was hit me in the center of my chest and why I was so fucking relieved when she told me she hasn’t hooked up with anyone else since me.

I’m acting like I’m in a committed relationship with her, while she’s kissing random guys at parties.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out to see a text from…Rylan Keller.

There are fucking flutters in my stomach as I rush to unlock the screen.

RYLAN: I’m calling bullshit on you asking for my number for “academic purposes.”

I smirk, then text her right back.

AIDAN: If I agree with your bullshit call, are you going to block me?

RYLAN: IDK. Agree and replace out.

AIDAN: I’m calling bullshit on you believing I wanted your number for “academic purposes.”

She doesn’t respond right away this time, so I send her another message.

AIDAN: I need help.

RYLAN: With random variables and discrete probability distributions?

AIDAN: What’s that?

RYLAN: Your latest assignment, Aidan.

AIDAN: I don’t need math help.

AIDAN: I need help with you.

AIDAN: Because I’m not sure if we’re good or not.

AIDAN: Did Tuesday freak you out again?

RYLAN: I’m not freaked out.

RYLAN: We’re good.

AIDAN: You haven’t blocked me.

RYLAN: How’d you know?

AIDAN: Smartass.

AIDAN: Are you feeling better?

RYLAN: Yeah, thanks.

AIDAN: My tongue is available, if you relapse.

AIDAN: Or just want to get off.

RYLAN: That was a one-time thing.

AIDAN: Two-time thing.

AIDAN: Three, counting Colorado.

RYLAN: So…you don’t need math help?

RYLAN: Just assistance getting laid?

AIDAN: I don’t need help getting laid.

AIDAN: I want *your* help.

RYLAN: Go hit up another girl on campus.

RYLAN: Problem solved.

AIDAN: I’ve discovered a problem with every other girl on campus.

RYLAN: If I ask what the problem is, will you stop texting me?

AIDAN: Dunno. Try it.

RYLAN: What is the problem with every other girl on campus?

AIDAN: They’re not you.

No response again.

I exhale, then run a hand through my hair and toss my phone down.

I thought Tuesday was a turning point. That I hadn’t heard from her since then because she was still feeling under the weather.

Guess not. She literally just told me to go hook up with someone else.

“Sorry. That took longer than I was expecting.” Conor takes the seat across from me again.

“No worries,” I tell him. “How’s your mom?”

“She’s good. Hoping to visit again soon. I want her and Harlow to get to know each other better.”

I nod. “Do you think she’ll make it to a game?”

“I’m not sure. Probably not. Her work schedule is insane.” Conor takes a pull from his beer. “My dad has been coming.”

I smirk when I see the colorful bracelet on his wrist. Hart has been wearing the bracelet he made himself since our first playoff game, even after showing it to the little girl who gave the kit to him. I have yet to put mine on. But I don’t tease him about it, knowing Conor usually avoids discussing his dad. Him bringing his old man up is a big deal.

“How’s that going?”

Hart shrugs. “I haven’t decided. He said he’d show up just to watch me. We haven’t talked or anything.”

“Here are the burgers.” Zara reappears with two plates.

My stomach rumbles as soon as I smell the grilled meat and fried potatoes.

“Thanks,” I say as she sets mine down.

“No problem. Want ketchup, Aidan?”

Conor smirks at me from across the table, catching on to the fact I chatted with her while he was gone.

“I’m good, thanks.”

Zara nods, then leaves without offering Hart any.

“I love ketchup,” he grumbles.

“Shut up.” I flick a fry at him.

“Do I need to text Hunter for a ride home?”

“No.”

I can only imagine the complaining from Morgan if he did. One, that his study whatever got interrupted. Two, that it was so I could hook up.

Or maybe he’d be relieved, thinking I’ve moved on from our coach’s daughter like he told me to.

I take a big bite of burger, then glance down at my phone screen.

Still stubbornly black.

I haven’t moved on. But I obviously should.