Page 1 of The Draft

Chapter 1

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” I grumbled, wanting to push a hand through my hair but knowing I couldn’t because it had gel in it. I shook my head, feeling mildly disappointed that I let Scotty talk me into coming tonight, let alone style my hair.

What the hell was I thinking?

Scotty, my teammate, had a shit-eating grin on his face as he took me in because of course he would find this hilarious. I was sitting on the world’s most uncomfortable barstool, wearing his too-tight button-down shirt and a pair of jeans two sizes too small for my meaty ass. I looked ridiculous, and I didn’t need Scotty’s smug grin confirming it.

“Relax,” he drawled out as he clasped a hand on my shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “It’s just a little fun. You don’t need to take everything in life so seriously, Dash.”

Narrowing my eyes, I glared at him with enough fire to burn theentire place down.

Oh, he was loving every single second of this. I could tell.

He laughed again while I tried to think of a reasonable explanation for why a goalie would knock out the star center of his own team with a puck at our next game, but I came up short. Much like these pants.

“A little fun?” I grunted and clutched my beer tightly, pretending it was his throat. “A little fun to me is beating Erik’s ass on the Xbox while Alex watches and provides mildly entertaining commentary. A little fun is catching a baseball game with the guys during the offseason. A little fun is beating Southern Collegiate with little to no effort. This is a speed dating event disguised as a sports mixer that you forced me to come to because everyone else on our floor of the hockey dorm was busy.”

Scotty took a sharp breath and clutched his shirt in mock shock. He looked around the room and smiled at a few of the freshman players that he’d also managed to drag along before pinning his gaze back on me. “The Draft isn’t just a dating event.” He leaned in as if anyone could hear our conversation over the incessantly loud, sugary pop music blasting in the campus bar, Covey’s Cantina.“It’sthedating event at Covey U. Any athlete worth their salt would kill to be here because it means that the school is interested in them and their sport. That’s important to some people.”

I rolled my eyes because even the name of this thing was stupid. The Draft. It may have started out with good intentions twenty years ago, working as a meet and greet for students and players alike, but unfortunately, the event’s goals got lost in translation as time passed. Jersey chasers and puck bunnies figured out it was a pretty good way to gain one-on-one access to any athlete they were interested in earning an M.R.S. degree from. That was when the debauchery began. Players caught on pretty quickly and used it to their advantage too. Guys wanted to be part of it just for the easy access to women, but I wanted nothing to do with this mess. Quick lays and drunken nights weren’t things I was really into. I’d much rather Netflix and chill with one girl that I like than deal with people who only knew my name because of my NHL draft status. But, unfortunately for me, since I was single, I had no excuse to leave.

“Cade would have been a better choice for this. I’m sure he’d relish the attention. He always does. Even Erik makes a better first impression thanme. I hate people.”

And I really hated this.

People were watching me, I could feel it, and I didn’t like being judged. That was why I was good as a goaltender. My mask was so big that I barely drew attention from girls. Having Mr. Hot Shot in the form of Scotty Hendricks on the team helped, too, because the minute girls found out he was from hockey royalty, they’d swarm to him like flies to shit. Not that he liked the attention.

Scotty dropped his head and shook it before looking back up at me. “Don’t you get it? That’s exactly why you’re the best pick for this.” He pointed to himself. “Everyone wants to meet me because they want to speak to the son of a Stanley Cup winner,” he said with disdain, and I got it. Everyone knew Scott Hendricks, and therefore the expectation of Scotty to be just as good, if not better than his father, was always there. Scotty flipped his finger over, so he was pointing at me. “You, however, are the biggest mystery of any player on the Covey Crushers. You don’t speak to people. You hardly leave the rink, and when you do, your hair is long enough that you can flick your bangs down and hide your face.”

“I don’t have bangs.”

“Would you prefer I call them curtains?” He pointed to the strands of hair at the side of my face, biting back a smile. Granted, my hair was longer than the boy band quiff he had going on, but it was nothing like that freshman quarterback we’d just recruited for next year. What was his name again? It was something that began with a T. Tanner, Tarzan, I didn’t know. Anyway, what that guy’s name was or what Scotty thought about my hair was beside the point. I was here, and I didn’t want to be.

“I’d prefer you never mention my hair again. In fact, if you could lose my number, that would be ideal.”

He tried to hide his amusement at just how uncomfortable I was finding all of this, but it didn’t work. “You do realize that I have never used your number, right? Kind of unnecessary when we all live on the same floor.”

It was the sad reality of my life and the problem with playing hockey at Covey U. We ate, slept, and played together, and any potential privacy was long gone when Cade punched a hole through my door in a rage against a loss to our biggest rival, the St. Michael’s Storm, a couple of weeks ago.The guy had a serious anger problem, but I considered him a brother, so I couldn’t stay upset. Next-door neighbors and teammates since we were ten, to say we were close would be an understatement. He was my brother for all intents and purposes.

“Come on, Sasquatch.” Scotty shook my shoulders, flashing me his perfect smile again. It was his defense mechanism when he didn’t want to get too deep with anyone. “It’s notallthat bad. When was the last time you went on a date with anyone besides your foam roller?”

I glared at him because, yes, my foam roller and I might have had a close relationship since I had to be able to perform the splits at a second’s notice in the middle of a game, but that didn’t mean I enjoyed being taunted about it.

Scotty was unfazed by my stare and waited for my response, so I thought about it for a second.Who was the last girl I slept with?I raised my brows and blew out my breath, remembering that my last relationship was in high school with some hardly memorable chick named Amy. Kind of sad to think about, considering I dated her for two and a half years. She cheated on me because she thought I was too serious. Joke was on her, though. I only dated her because she bared a striking resemblance to…never mind.

“Exactly,” Scotty said sharply, as though my facial expression was all the answer he needed. “You’ve not let a single girl put their hands on you since you arrived at Covey U two years ago. Your dick is probably ready to fall off. Why not loosen up a little and let yourself have some fun?”

Flat-lipped, I responded, “Because I’m not interested in having that kind of fun.”

“You won’t know you’re not interested until you try.”

I rolled my eyes at the sentiment, even though he might have had a point. Unfortunately for him, it was lost when he winked at a girl passing by. Shaking my head, I grumbled at his antics. He was always trying to keep up this playboy façade, but it was so easy to see through it when you knew him. “That’s rich coming from a guy who’s obsessed with some girl he met on the internet before he even started here.”

His smile fell. “Laura is not some girl on the internet.”

“Maybe not, but she’s definitely not interested in you.”

“Yet.”