He takes out his mouth guard and smiles. I return his expression and mouth, Nice shot. As if he understands me, he winks. Then he skates away, leaving me with my dirty thoughts. Ones that involve all the things I want him to do to me.
This is bad. So, so bad.
Chapter Eight
Preston
I’m nervous. This never happens to me. Raising my hand to knock on Bex’s door, I choke back the bile rising from my stomach. Jefferson Hall, the senior dormitory, is desolate this early. Everyone sleeps in from the parties the night before. I never get that luxury with my hockey schedule.
Bex opens the door, her hand covering her mouth as she yawns. Dressed in black shorts and a tight matching tank top, she looks too good for just waking up. She has a body made for sin. Long, toned legs I want wrapped around me as I fuck her. Nice, perky tits that will fill my hands perfectly. Plump lips with a hint of pink gloss on them that I now want her to smear all over my cock.
I’m sporting a semi just looking at her. Fuck, I have to think of something else. Her hair is down, long layers of blonde hair stopping right above her breasts. I consider throwing her over my shoulder and locking us inside her bedroom. But we can’t be late. My mom will kill me.
“Hey,” I say. “You ready to go?”
“Yeah.” She smiles. “Let me grab my bag.”
Bex disappears for a second, and then she returns with a small gym bag slung over her shoulder.
After she locks the door, we walk side by side down the deserted hall. Neither of us speak, which makes the tension in the air thicker.
Say something, Prez.
I’ve never been this weird around a girl before.
“So,” I start, thinking over what to say. “You’re gonna meet my mom. And Uncle Jameson. Just ignore any stupid comments they make. They’ve never met any of the girls I… ugh, you know.”
She laughs. “You mean dated?”
“No.” I shake my head. “I’ve never really dated anyone in the traditional sense. Mostly just—”
“Hook ups,” she finishes for me.
“Yeah. Pretty much. I don’t have time to date. Hockey takes up too much of my time.”
“I hear ya,” she lilts. “Basketball is my life, too, and I’m not even trying to make a career out of it like you. I can imagine the pressure you must be under with your dad.”
I shrug. “Not so much my dad. It’s more the pressure of living up to the Parker name.”
“That must be hard.” Her fingers brush against mine, and we both look at each other for a split second, before our focus shifts to the stairs in front of us. “Does that make you work harder knowing people are comparing you to your dad?”
I nod. “My older brother followed in my mom’s footsteps. He didn’t want to be in the shadow of Alex Parker. Plus, he sucks at hockey. He’s a total bender. You should see him skate. JP is awful. It’s almost embarrassing to call him a Parker.”
She chuckles. “You call your brother JP?”
“John Parker. People still call my mom Coach, even though she hasn’t been Charlotte Coachman in twenty-five years. One of John’s first clients called him JP. Names stick in the sports world. I haven’t called him John since I was in high school.”
“How much older is he than you?”
“Five years. My parents didn’t have me until they were thirty-five. I think my mom was trying to see how long she could make my dad wait for another kid.”
“But she likes kids. I’ve read all the articles about how she basically raised Rico Serrano and nurtured his professional basketball career.”
“She did. Rico lived in the building my parents now own. She rented an apartment to Rico’s mom and coached his youth basketball league.”
“She also coached his college team,” she adds. “Your mom is so… amazing. You have no idea how lucky you are to have parents like yours.”
“I do know. Seeing how some people were raised in this city made me open my eyes to my unusual lifestyle. Listen to me, I’m complaining about living up to my dad’s legacy when I have it so—”
“Good,” she finishes. A beat passes between us, before she stops in her tracks. “Wait, where are we going? Where’s your car?” She looks both ways down the street, probably confused when she doesn’t see a luxury car in sight.
“We’re taking the subway,” I inform her. “Ever been on it?”
“Yeah, tons of times. But you’re rich. I didn’t expect you to ride with commoners.”
I laugh so hard it shakes through me. “Seriously? You have me pegged all wrong, girl. For someone who knows so much about my mom, you should know how she grew up.”
“Yeah, but you were raised with a silver spoon in your mouth. I guess I just assumed…”