He gives me a cocky grin. “Don’t kid yourself, baby doll. You won’t be able to stop thinking about me now that you’ve had a taste of this.” To punctuate that, he grips his semi-hard dick and gives it a slow stroke.

A jolt of heat spirals down to my core.

Argh. Stupid Dean and his stupid awesome dick.

“I’ve already forgotten all about it,” I lie. But in my head, more memories crop up, making me want to scream in frustration.

“I like you like this…”

“Ha. So you admit it—you do like me,” he drawls.

I smile at his immobilized wrists. “I said I like you like this.” My mouth slowly descends on his erect cock. “Completely at my mercy…”

Sweet lord. My cheeks are on fire again. Sean wasn’t always on board with my adventurous nature when it came to sex. I was the one who had to coax and plead with him to try whatever kinky new idea sparked my interest.

Dean hadn’t even batted an eye at our sexual exploits.

“Do you need me to remind you how good it was?” He tilts his head mockingly, his hand still on his dick.

“No, I need you to be a fucking grown-up,” I burst out. I’m losing patience with him, and I’m too angry with myself to control my temper. “I’m hung-over and I’m really embarrassed and you’re making it worse by throwing last night in my face, okay?”

His expression falters. “Shit.” He clears his throat and lets go of his dick, then hastily picks up his sweatpants. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” He yanks the pants on. “And you have no reason to feel embarrassed. We’re both adults. We had fun and made each other come a bunch of times. No biggie, okay? But if you really don’t want me to bring it up again, I won’t.”

I draw a shaky breath. “Thank you.”

Dean studies my face. “Are we cool?”

I manage a nod. My head is still throbbing, but it’s not the hangover that’s making me feel weak and wobbly right now. It’s the fact that I did something so out of character for me. It’s the horrible knowledge that I slept with someone else a measly twenty-four hours after I broke up with Sean. That’s not me, damn it.

“Are you sure?” he presses.

I force myself to speak. “We’re cool, Dean.” My phone buzzes and I see a text from Meg saying she’s five minutes away. “I need to get dressed. Megan will be here soon.” I bite my lip when something occurs to me. “Crap. My clothes are downstairs. Tucker…”

As I trail off, Dean wanders over to the window and peeks behind the curtains. “He’s not here—Logan’s truck is gone. Guess he didn’t come home last night.”

Relief hits me, but also a burst of annoyance. Because where was Tucker yesterday when I needed him? If he’d been home, I probably wouldn’t have ended up in bed with Dean. Or maybe instead, I would’ve ended up in bed with Tucker, who happens to be the hottest ginger I’ve ever met. He’s also far quieter than his roommates and doesn’t talk about himself much, but from what I can glean, he’s smart, well-spoken, and definitely easy on the eyes.

In hindsight, Tuck would have been a fantastic rebound candidate.

“I’m going to run down and get my clothes,” I mutter awkwardly.

He calls out after me. “What are you going to tell Wellsy about bailing mid-weekend? You know she’ll ask questions.”

Damn it. He’s right. “I’ll tell her I decided to put on my big girl pants and deal with my breakup at home.”

I’m halfway to the door when his voice stops me again. “Allie.”

“Yeah?” I turn around.

His green eyes flicker unhappily. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Nope, I’m not sure at all. “I’m fine,” I lie, then duck out of the bedroom.

As far as walks of shame go, this one isn’t so bad because at least there’s nobody around to witness it.

4

Dean

I’ve always been popular. Doesn’t matter how far back I go in my memory bank, I always see myself surrounded by friends. And girls. Lots and lots of girls. The giggling ones in grade school who slipped me Do you like me??? notes when the teacher was facing the blackboard. The ones in high school who’d fight for my attention and line up to make out with me on the lacrosse field after hours.

And college, don’t get me started on college. I thought I knew the meaning of chick magnet before I came to Briar, but these past three years have exceeded even my own expectations about my desirability. The older I get, the more the ladies dig me.

So yeah, I’m not surprised that Allie threw herself at me last night. It was an inevitability the moment she informed me I have “perfect nipples.”

But the sheer disgust on her face this morning when we woke up in bed together? That’s a new one.

“Fuckin’ Corsen wouldn’t be able to stop a puck if it was moving two miles an hour in a straight path toward him.”

My teammate’s grumbled complaint draws me from my thoughts and makes me stifle a groan. My boy Hunter doesn’t seem to understand bar etiquette. You don’t go to bars to gripe and moan about a hockey game. You go to bars to score. Period.

But the kid’s only eighteen. He’ll wise up one day.

“Dude, the game was two days ago,” I tell the freshman. “Get over it.”

I scan the bar for Tucker, but my roommate hasn’t shown up yet. It’s mostly the hockey crowd that fills up the bar tonight. Several of my teammates, tons of fans, and a parade of scantily clad puck bunnies. More than a few appreciative female gazes flit in our direction, but Hunter doesn’t seem to notice a single one.

His features are tight, and he’s barely touched his drink. “This is your fault, you know.” Accusation rings in his tone. “I didn’t even want to play this year, but you just had to talk me into it. I could have ended my career as the star forward on the number one ranked prep school team in the country. And now I’m the nobody left wing on a team that’s going down the shitter.”

I sip my beer. “Anyone ever tell you you’re a sore loser?”

“Oh fuck off. Like you enjoy losing.”

“Of course I don’t. But I also know that winning isn’t everything. Oh, and by the way? Glass houses, throwing stones, et cetera et cetera.”