Offside: Rules of the Game Book 1

After dinner, I twisted Chase’s arm to get hot chocolates to go from the Uncommon Coffee Co. Not that it took much twisting.

We made our way back to his truck, drinks in hand. The fall days were still reasonably pleasant, but once the sun set, the evenings turned bitingly chilly.

“How’s packing coming?” he asked, taking my free hand in his.

I sipped my white hot chocolate. “I’ve got lots of the small stuff taken care of already. It’s probably premature, but I’m excited to get the heck out of there.”

“Me too. The new living arrangement will be way better for you.” He paused, forehead creasing. “Though I don’t love the idea of you on the train at night.”

“It’s a five-minute ride,” I said. “Three stops.”

He grunted but said nothing, which in Chase terms meant he didn’t agree but didn’t want to argue with me. Stubborn man.

I elbowed him gently. “I don’t have any evening classes, anyway. The only time I stay late is when we’re on deadline for the paper.”

“Good,” Chase said. “I’ll pick you up on those days.”

“What if you have a game?”

His eyes gleamed. “Then you’ll be there watching me.”

“Sometimes, Carter.”

“All the time, James.” He grinned. “Starting with our next game. We have to win this one. It’s a male pride thing now.”

I laughed. “I’ll come. But honestly, you don’t have to pick me up from campus every time I stay late.”

“But I want to.” His tone brooked no argument. “Besides,” he added, “it would be a good excuse to squeeze in sleepovers.”

“Do we need an excuse?”

“I guess not.” We came to a stop by the truck, and he dipped, his lips meeting mine. A rush ran through me, electric and exhilarating. I curled my fingers around his coat and pulled him closer. He slanted his mouth against mine, deepening the kiss for a moment.

“Let’s go,” he said when he pulled back, nodding to the truck with a crooked grin. “I want to make good on what I said earlier.”

No time was wasted once we got back to Chase’s. We stumbled into his bedroom in a blur of kissing and groping, sighs and murmurs. Mouth still fused to mine, he shut the door behind us and locked it, then steered me over to his desk and switched on the lamp.

After another minute, we broke apart, breathless and dazed.

He gave me a slow, deliberate once-over in the dim light of his room. “You are wearing entirely too much clothing, James.”

“Oh yeah? What are you gonna to do about it?” I asked, giving him a playful look.

“I’m not going to do anything.” His voice turned dark and satin-smooth, like rich black coffee. “You’re going to take it off for me.”

Oh…my.

My pulse kickstarted, sending a surge of adrenaline through my veins.

“You want me to strip for you?”

“Uh-huh.” He nodded, lips tugging into a rakish smile. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

“I might need a few drinks in me first,” I said. “Like, approaching XS number of drinks.”

Chase slipped his warm hands beneath the fabric of my sweater and ran them down the sides of my torso until they landed on my waist. Ducking his head, he skimmed his lips along the curve of my neck, alluding to kisses without delivering.

“I know you don’t have a shirt under that sweater,” he murmured against my skin, “so there are only two layers between me and you in a bra and underwear. And I can take those off with my teeth.”

Heat unfurled between my legs at his offer. He planted a line of soft kisses starting below my ear, followed by a nip on the top of my shoulder. I drew in a soft breath of surprise, and a low chuckle rumbled from his chest.

“You are so beautiful.” He kissed my neck again, featherlight. “And hot.” He moved higher, kissing my jawline. “And sexy.”

Winding his hand in the hair at my nape, he angled my face up to meet his, mouth crashing down on mine. I drew in a breath, parting my lips as his tongue slipped inside. Kissing him was like an instant kill switch for my brain. Everything else ceased to exist as the need in my core surged, growing nearly too great to ignore.

His other hand slid around to grip my behind, squeezing possessively. A wall of warm muscle pressed against my breasts as he drew our bodies close enough that I could feel exactly how much he wanted me. I splayed both palms on his chest, probing the muscle that lay beneath his shirt.

Then he slowly pulled away, pivoting us both half a turn. Still facing me, wearing a devilish smile, he took a few steps backward and lowered himself to sit on the edge of the bed.

Once in a while, I found myself awed by him. Surprised on some level that he was mine.

This was one of those moments.

Dark, tousled hair and a devastatingly perfect face. Eyes I could get lost in and a smile I couldn’t say no to. And while he was still fully dressed, I knew the body that lay beneath that shirt and those jeans too. Smooth skin over taut muscle, power and prowess contained within.

Tipping forward, he placed his elbows on his thighs and gave me an expectant look. My attention fell to his powerful forearms for a beat before sliding down to his big hands. Strong, skillful hands that I very much wanted on my body again.

I toyed with the hem of my sweater, then paused, pretending to think. “You want me to take this off?”

“Very much so.” Chase grinned.

Heart pounding, I took a step forward, watching the rise and fall of his chest quicken as I drew nearer. He observed me, rapt with desire. Although I felt self-conscious, having such an effect on him was empowering.

I came to a stop just out of reach.

“I guess I could.” Crossing my arms over my chest, I slowly lifted the hem of the soft knit sweater and pulled it over my head before tossing it onto the floor.

His expression turned hungry, his eyes tracing my body from head to toe with such intensity that I could almost feel heat glide across my skin.

With another step closer, I was standing between his legs. Our gazes locked as he looked up at me, his eyes taking on a predatory gleam. Masculine energy radiated off him, carefully restrained but ready to pounce, to ravish.

I tilted my head questioningly. “Now what was I supposed to do?”

“Fuck it.” He shook his head, letting out a low laugh. “This is a failed experiment. I can’t keep my hands to myself.” With nimble fingers, he unbuttoned my jeans, tugging down the zipper. He pulled them all the way to the floor, and I stepped out of them and nudged them aside with my foot.

A soft gasp escaped from the back of my throat as he gripped me from behind, yanking me up against him. His mouth landed on the sensitive skin below my navel before he kissed his way down my body. I let out a throaty sigh, running my hands through his soft, dark hair as he made good on all his promises.

The following days passed in a blur. Lectures, homework, the paper, and Chase occupied nearly all of my free time. Plus, a movie with Zara and Noelle on Friday and a Falcons game with Siobhan on Saturday. Unlike the game before, they won—including an assist from Chase. The win put him in a very good mood. We didn’t get much sleep that night and slept in late on Sunday to make up for it.

But if I thought my average Sunday blues were bad, they were nothing compared to facing down a Monday when I had to see Paul—especially after a perfect weekend. Talk about a rough way to start a new week.

With no small amount of dread, I headed to meet Paul at a coffee shop on campus after my psych class. Hopefully, a public setting would ensure he wasn’t too much of a jerk. But Paul was basically Diet Luke, so how he would behave was anyone’s guess.

I arrived first, so I ordered a large vanilla latte at the front and tipped the barista with the change. Normally, I would have grabbed a berry muffin or banana bread to go along with it, but I had no appetite in light of my expected company. Then I grabbed a table off to the side, praying Paul would stand me up so I had an excuse to not write the article.

Not two minutes later, he crushed my hopes by appearing. Damn.

He pulled out a chair and eased into it, placing an elbow on the table. He nodded at me, oozing arrogance and self-satisfaction. “’Sup.”

Objectively speaking, Paul was good-looking. Tall, athletic, pleasant if generic features. But the accompanying personality canceled out any appeal entirely.

I had never liked him, not even when Luke and I were dating.

“Hi.” I reached for my coffee and took a gigantic gulp. This interaction was beyond awkward, but the sugar and caffeine cushioned the blow a bit. If only I’d packed a flask to spike my coffee with. Even if it wasn’t yet noon.

This was literally the first time we had ever been one-on-one. And hopefully the last.

Working methodically through the list of ten questions I’d written—because Liam hadn’t done that, either—I tried to be as professional as possible. How did he start playing hockey? When did he know he wanted to play at the college level? Who were his role models? What did he intend to pursue after graduation? I took scrupulous, detailed notes to eliminate any possibility that I would have to contact him again for clarification or follow-up.

While I’d planned to keep our meeting brief, Paul was more than happy to talk about himself. Or rather, to drone on about himself. He kept spiraling off on unrelated tangents while I desperately tried to harness my interviewing skills and wrangle him back on course.

Paul was thirstier for the spotlight than I’d realized, and apparently, he viewed this temporary Luke-free window as his time to shine. Seemed like Chase had done him a favor.

Twenty-five painful minutes later, which was ten longer than I’d intended to spend with him, he concluded a long-winded tale about hockey training camp last summer. Or last spring. I didn’t know; I’d tuned out. I glanced down, cross-referencing my notes with my list of questions and praying I hadn’t missed anything. I was ready to end this nightmare of an interview.

“Okay, I think that covers everything.” Standing, I pushed my chair back and closed my silver laptop. The massive tension I’d been holding in my shoulders eased as I gathered my things. “Thanks for meeting me.”

“By the way.” Paul leaned back in his chair, leisurely crossing an ankle over his knee. “I have a funny story for you.”

I paused and glanced back up at him, bracing myself for another boring, self-promoting tale.

“My cousin is a server at O’Connor’s, and she knows your boyfriend—you know, because he fucked one of her friends.”

My stomach lurched, and I stifled a flinch, wishing more than anything that I could un-hear the information. Why had no one yet invented brain bleach to erase disturbing pieces of information like that? I didn’t want to know, didn’t need to know, didn’t want to think about it.

He continued, “Anyway, she said some blond chick was all over Carter when he was there recently.”

Thoughts spun in my mind, rotating faster than an F5 tornado.

First, Paul’s comment about his cousin’s friend had been wholly unnecessary. In theory, the past didn’t matter. But that didn’t mean I liked being slapped in the face with it—particularly when I had just slept with him and was feeling extra vulnerable as a result. It wasn’t that I judged Chase’s past; it was that I was scared of becoming part of it.

Then there was this girl who was supposedly all over him recently. What was that about? When was the last time Chase had even been at O’Connor’s? Had he lied to me about where he was one night?

It was like being shot twice with one bullet.

Then again, Paul could be lying. Especially about the second part.

“Huh,” I said. “Sounds like a misunderstanding.” I tried to keep my voice steady, expression neutral.

“Doubtful.” Paul smirked. “She was sitting in his lap.”

Oh, so he had corroborating details. A sickening sense of déjà vu crashed over me. With Luke, I always heard it from someone else, always long after the fact, always with specifics to back it up. And he’d always deny it.

But Chase wasn’t Luke. He was nothing like Luke.

At least, that’s what I thought.

“I don’t believe that.” Shoving my laptop into my bag, I intentionally avoided Paul’s prying gaze. I drew in a breath, trying to slow my speeding pulse.

Triggered would be putting it mildly. He’d hit me right where it hurt, like a sucker punch to the heart.

Paul shrugged. “Go ask my cousin. Tell her I sent you. Why would I lie? I might think Carter is an asshole, but I have no issue with you.”

“Right.” I zipped up my black leather shoulder bag, meeting his gaze evenly. Barely concealed triumph was etched in every line on his face. “I’m sure you’re looking out for my best interests.”

“Just thought you should know.”

“That’s cute,” I said. “You were always more than happy to cover for Luke. Now you’re pretending to be Mr. Honesty and Transparency?”

Paul had lied and provided alibis for Luke countless times. Of course, I hadn’t known until Mendez got wasted last New Year’s and basically confessed to being part of a three-person conspiracy that excluded my brother. But I never sold Mendez out, which meant I knew more than Paul or Luke even realized.

I knew more than Amelia did too—but people liked to shoot the messenger, and I didn’t want to take that bullet. She preferred to exist in a state of intentional ignorance, anyway.

As for taking Luke back after that, I obviously had poor judgment. Maybe I still did.

Had I made the same mistake twice?

Paul’s expression hardened, dark blue eyes taking on a malicious gleam. “All I’m saying is that if you’re determined to be a puck bunny, there are probably better options.”

“Excuse me?”

“Going straight from being Morrison’s girlfriend to Carter’s girlfriend is a bad look, don’t you think?”

Asshole.

I glared at him, scrambling inwardly for something to say but coming up woefully empty-handed. Chase would have had something cutting and witty to fire back. Unfortunately, I wasn’t as quick on my toes when it came to offering up retorts on the fly.

Especially when my brain was imploding.

“You can save your fake concern,” I said. “As for the article, I’ve got all I need.” Throwing my bag on my shoulder, I turned on my heel and stormed out of the coffee shop, narrowly missing two people standing near the door who threw themselves out of my way as I approached.

For the sake of my position with the paper and my portfolio, I would write the article diplomatically, even if I wanted to shred Paul and his bloated ego to pieces, word by word, paragraph by paragraph. Complete with a headline that read something like, “Assistant Captain with Inferiority Complex Revels in Captain’s Absence.”

The title had a nice ring to it. Obviously, I couldn’t publish that. But I might write it anyway for my own petty enjoyment.

Continuing my brisk pace, I sped down the tiled hallway and pushed open the glass door, exiting the student commons. Fresh, crisp air washed over me, and I sucked in a breath, but it didn’t quell the nausea in my gut. And, of course, I’d forgotten my half-full coffee on the table. Clearly, even the smallest things would go wrong today.

I had planned to go to the Callingwood Daily office, but I couldn’t face Zara and Noelle. My stomach was in my throat, and my hands were shaking—they would know something was up the instant they saw me, and I was in no condition to discuss the interview from hell. Instead, I turned right and cut across the quad, heading to the library to hide at a table somewhere deep in the stacks.

As I walked, I tried to see things objectively. Paul’s intentions weren’t sincere. That was a given. He was probably trying to mess with Chase by messing with me. But despite that, a small part of me wondered if what he said was true. If Chase had been flirting with some girl…or worse. I didn’t want it to be true, and I wanted to rule it out, but I’d been wrong about these things before.

And was I just someone who went hockey player to hockey player? A puck bunny?

I told myself I would take a day to think. One day turned into two. Two days turned into three. And things with Chase were getting increasingly strained. I wasn’t handling things well; I knew that. And in the past, any time I tried to resolve an issue, I inevitably made it worse. Somehow, I always tripped up. Things came out the wrong way, and everything blew up in my face.

It always turned into a fight, and I hated fighting.

Maybe I was being illogical, but it was like being scared of a spider—an irrational, physiological fear I could not seem to shake.

Was I overreacting? Probably. But I had been sucked into this vortex filled with horrible, familiar feelings, and I didn’t know how to get back out. Like being trapped in a pinball machine, rebounding back and forth between fear, hope, mistrust, and guilt.

Paul’s words played in my head like a broken record, setting off a vicious cycle of rumination. I’d waffle between dismissing it as ridiculous and second-guessing myself, wondering if it could be true. Sometimes, I considered talking to Chase about it, but if it was true, he would never admit it. And if it wasn’t, I didn’t want to upset—or insult—him.

I went over it again and again in my head.

The only conclusion I could come to was that I had no idea what to do.

CHASE

After days of heavy tension at home, one blowout fight, and tears I’d overheard while I was trying to sleep, Dallas and Siobhan finally made things official.

Ward was over the moon like a dopey puppy dog about the whole thing, and they’d been extra affectionate ever since.

I was happy for them. Really, I was.

Except something was going on with Bailey.

Holed up in my room after a disastrous practice, I stared at my phone like it would somehow reveal an answer. Rereading text messages for the tenth time didn’t provide any insight. Restless energy seized me, and I went downstairs because I couldn’t sit still.

As I hit the bottom step, I found Shiv curled up on the living room couch, highlighting something in a biology textbook. Asking her was worth a shot, I guessed.

“Have you talked to Bailey recently?” I propped myself up against the wall, trying and failing to sound casual.

She glanced up at me, yellow highlighter in midair. “Not a ton,” she said, looking thoughtful. “We’ve texted a bit, but she’s been busy with classes and packing.”

“Ah.” I nodded. That was the same line Bailey had fed me. Repeatedly.

“How come?” Shiv studied my face, dark brows crinkling.

“No reason.”

Except she’d been replying with one- and two-word texts for days, making vague excuses when I tried to make plans, and blowing me off in general. A total one-eighty from less than a week ago.

At first, I assumed she was just having a bad day. We all had them. The second day, I gave her the benefit of the doubt. I didn’t want to be unreasonable or demanding. But now it was after eight p.m. on the fourth day of this shit. I had still barely spoken to her, and not for lack of trying.

I hadn’t understood when Ward didn’t know what was up with him and Shiv. Now I was eating my words with a fucking fork because I had no idea what was going on with Bailey. I’d flat-out asked her, and she said everything was fine.

It clearly wasn’t.

Worse still, I didn’t know why.

All day, I’d been distracted as hell. School had been a wash, and practice was a tire fire. After I got off the ice, I’d received a stern reprimand from Coach Miller for botching nearly every drill. And some of them were incredibly straightforward. Skate straight and shoot, that kind of thing. It was downright embarrassing.

It didn’t help that she was everywhere. In my brain, in my bed, in my truck, in the dressing room, in the corner of the goddamn rink.

Fuck this.