Against All Odds (Holt Hockey Book 2)
Against All Odds: Chapter 15

I’m leaning against a computer terminal, talking to one of the girls in my Number Theory class, when I spot him strolling into the library.

There’s a ripple in the air that maybe I’m imagining, but I don’t think I am. A charged presence that I’m only aware of when he’s near.

He spots me and heads this way, prompting a silly little flip in my stomach. Callie’s eyes grow wider and wider as Aidan approaches us, his backpack casually slung over one shoulder and the Rockies cap he sometimes wears on backward.

“See you later, Rylan,” she tells me, then scurries off.

I remain in place, resisting the urge to play with my hair or fiddle with the zipper of my jacket.

I’ve started putting more effort into my Tuesday outfits and stopped changing into sweats after my last class of the day. Today, I’m wearing my tightest pair of skinny jeans tucked into boots and a knit sweater that I bought in Scotland.

Aidan’s eyes skim over my outfit as he nears, but there’s no change in his expression.

He looks…subdued, wearing joggers, a gray Holt Hockey sweatshirt, and an exhausted expression. Even with dark circles under his eyes, he’s annoyingly gorgeous.

Without asking, I know his trip home went as poorly as he expected it would go.

“Hey,” I say when he reaches me.

He clears his throat. “Hey.”

“Kinda busy down here. You good going upstairs again?”

“Sure.”

Neither of us says a word as we walk over to the elevator.

I press the button, then chew on the inside of my cheek as I wait for the doors to open.

It’s all fizzing inside of me—everything I was trying to feel over the weekend. I went out on Saturday night, taking advantage of knowing Aidan was in another state and there was no risk of running into him at a party.

Talked to a dozen guys.

Kissed one.

Went home alone.

And part of me has been in denial since Thursday night, thinking my reactions to Aidan at the bar and in his car were because of the booze.

But I’m stone cold sober now.

He’s not looking at me. Not talking to me. I’m not even sure if he’s happy to see me.

And it feels like fireworks are going off inside of me. Like the nerves under my skin are raw and exposed. Like my deep, even breaths aren’t pulling in enough air.

My heartbeat is erratic, my palms sweaty.

Basically, I’m a mess.

At least Aidan appears oblivious to it. He waits for me to step into the elevator first, presses five, and then goes back to staring into space.

As soon as the elevator doors close, I ask, “How was the trip home?”

Partly to distract myself from the way my body’s freaking out about being this close to him again. Mostly because I really want to know.

He sighs, cracking his knuckles. “Shitty. Highlight was the open bar and the view. My folks rented out a restaurant right on the water.”

“Was it sunny?”

“Yeah. Weather was good.”

Don’t ask. Don’t ask. Don’t—

“Your ex was…there?”

Dammit. I asked.

“At her engagement party?” Aidan smirks. “Yeah. Parker was there.”

That’s all he says.

Since I’ve come this far, I prompt, “How was that?”

“Underwhelming,” he replies.

I have no clue what to make of that answer.

Thankfully, he elaborates this time.

“She’s changed. We grew up together. Our moms were—are—best friends, so Parker was always around. We played in the yard as kids. Got into trouble on vacations together. She used to be…” He shakes his head. “She used to hate all the fancy shit, same as me. They had an eight-piece orchestra at the party.” Another head shake. “Fucking ridiculous.”

“Did you talk to your brother?”

“Nope.” He pops the P. “That was another highlight of the night, actually.”

“What about your parents?” I ask as we step out of the elevator and head for the same table as last time. “Did it go okay with them?”

I’m overstepping. He’s here for tutoring, not a therapy session.

But I’m curious, and Aidan doesn’t appear annoyed by the questions.

“We didn’t talk much. My mom was so busy with the party, she barely noticed I was even there. Got into it with my dad when I left early, but I held up my end of the deal. He won’t cut me off.”

“Your dad said he’d cut you off if you didn’t go to the party celebrating your brother marrying your ex-girlfriend?”

“Yeah.” Aidan grins unexpectedly. “Bet your family’s looking pretty normal right about now, huh?”

I mean…yeah.

His smile grows, like he knows what I’m thinking. “Don’t worry, I know it’s fucked up. If you ask my parents, it’s my fault Parker dumped me, so I have no right to be upset.”

“She dumped you?”

“Uh-huh.” He’s not looking at me, pulling his textbook out of his backpack and flipping through the pages. “After I picked Holt over Stanford.”

“You got into Stanford?” I ask, stunned.

Aware that’s a little harsh but also…he failed a class here. I’m doubting his high school grades were stellar.

Aidan looks up and smirks. “Ouch.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean…”

“Money can buy most things,” he tells me.

“I wouldn’t know. My family doesn’t have a ski chalet in Vail.”

I hide the wince that wants to appear. I didn’t mean to bring Colorado up. Neither of us has mentioned it recently, and that’s how it should stay.

“Your friend does, though,” Aidan says, appearing unbothered by the mention.

“That was probably my only visit,” I tell him. “Jess and I hung out a lot in London, but we’ve barely talked since break. She goes to school down in Georgia.”

“What about your friends in Boston?”

“I’ve kept in touch with some of them. But it’s awkward. I met most of them through Walker, my ex.”

“The cheater?”

“Yeah. And his ‘drunk mistake,’ as he called it, was with a girl his friends were all friends with too. That added to the awkwardness.”

“Is that why you transferred?” he asks.

“No. I was already unhappy in Boston, just too stubborn to admit I’d made a mistake going to school there. My parents did a lot to even make it an option…so transferring felt ungrateful, I guess.”

“Are you happier here?”

I swallow, then nod. “Yeah.”

“I think they’d be grateful for that.”

I know he’s right. My mom has been texting me at least once a day, asking for updates I’m sure she passes along to my dad, who’s less communicative. Especially via technology. He rarely remembers to charge his cell phone.

They’re thrilled I’m enjoying my classes and making new friends.

Telling Aidan that—bragging about how amazing my parents are after just establishing how shitty his are seems insensitive, though.

So I just nod.

“How was your weekend?” he asks.

“Uh…okay.”

His gaze sharpens. “Just okay?”

“Uh-huh.” I reach down, pulling the folder from Professor Carrigan out of my backpack and opening it. “Today is measures of variability and—”

“What’d you do?”

I play with the edge of the paper, avoiding his eyes. “Not much. Homework, went to the gym, laundry.”

“Anything fun?”

I stiffen, not missing the emphasis. “I hung out with my roommates. We went to a party.”

“You hook up with anyone?” he asks casually, like he’s asking what I ate for dinner beforehand.

I glance up. Hold his gaze. “None of your business.”

Aidan’s jaw flexes. “Was it the party at the soccer house on Fore Street or the brick place on Transit Street?”

I don’t respond, knowing exactly what he’s doing.

He’s proving he knows everything that happens on or off campus, even when he isn’t here.

But the party we went to was on Lake Avenue, so he’s clearly not as omniscient as he thinks…

“Must have been the one the tennis guys on Lake hosted. I heard that party was mostly juniors.”

I glare at him before remembering I wasn’t supposed to react.

“Party on Lake.” Aidan nods, then leans forward. “What happened?”

It’s hard to think—to even inhale or exhale—when he’s studying me this closely. I look away, out at the lights illuminating the campus green.

It is none of his business, but he didn’t tell me that once when I was the one asking the questions.

And…I like that he cares. Enough not only to ask, but to push for an actual answer.

“Nothing, really. I kissed a guy, and it was bad.” I suppress a shudder, recalling the soft lapping. He was way drunker than I was. “I told him I had to use the bathroom but actually snuck out the back door.”

Aidan leans back, one corner of his mouth curling upward as he drapes an arm over the back of the chair next to him. He looks…amused. “Sounds like you didn’t try very hard to have fun.”

“What do you consider trying hard?” I snap. “Should I have kissed every guy there?”

He lifts one eyebrow. “You’re asking me how to have fun?”

“Guess so. I’ve heard you’re good at it.”

Aidan stares at me.

I stare back.

This silent moment seems important, somehow.

His fingers tap against the back of the chair as we continue studying each other, instead of anything related to Stats.

“I think that a girl who talks about her pussy as part of first introductions isn’t looking for a drunk fumbling at a party. I think that a girl who wanders around the woods with a condom while she’s trespassing wants something less predictable. I think that you were in a boring relationship with an asshole who didn’t appreciate what he had. I think you’re desperate for fun but don’t know what you’ll actually enjoy.” Aidan shrugs, his heated gaze a total contrast to his casual posture. “But maybe I’m wrong.”

He’s not.

We continue looking at each other across the table, neither of us breaking eye contact. It feels a lot like when I first saw him in that hot tub.

What happens next is up to me.

None of the anxiety or uncertainty I experienced at the prospect of hooking up with the guy on Saturday night appears as I hold his gaze.

He’s giving me an excuse to take what I want under the guise of preserving my pride. To show him I’m capable of being that girl he described. Of having fun and using him to do it, just like he told me to in the hallway at Gaffney’s.

I’ve kissed two guys since Aidan, and neither experience was very enjoyable.

Even if it’s half as good as it was in the hot tub, it’ll be an improvement on anything else I’ve experienced.

We’re on the fifth floor of the library, which most students don’t bother to come up to. I haven’t seen anyone else since we sat down.

I push my chair back to stand, part of me disbelieving I’m actually doing this—after promising myself it was a onetime thing—and the rest of me overwhelmed by excitement.

This is a bad idea.

I know it, passing ten aisles before turning down one.

He’s a hockey player. The guy I’m tutoring. Experienced and noncommittal.

Not my type at all, and yet I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him. Maybe this will shove him out of my head.

At the very least, I’ll have another memory to recall the next time I worry I’ve wasted all of college being responsible and cautious.

I lean back against a shelf, watching him approach me. My entire body is tingling with a combination of anticipation and nerves.

There’s no triumph on his face, but there is some surprise.

And that’s a thrill—knowing that I surprised him. That I’m showing him Alice was a different name, not a different person.

Aidan’s green eyes are bright, his lips tilted up into a devilish smirk as he stops and leans back against the shelf of books opposite me. Relaxed but ready.

We face off the same way we did at the table. The same way we did in the tub.

Except, some of my high ground is sinking. Since I found out some important details—where he goes to school and what sport he plays—I’ve pretended not to want this. An act he’s seen through. But this is me admitting it was an act. That I am interested. That I do want him, despite the reasons I should stay far away.

“What’s the plan, Rylan?” he asks.

His pose is casual and easy, like this is just another Tuesday evening for him. It probably is. He does this all the time. The thought is reassuring. This might matter to me, but it’s simply another hookup for him.

“This was as far as I got,” I admit.

I couldn’t just keep sitting there.

But now… Do I kiss him? Touch him? Is he going to kiss me? Touch me?

Aidan smiles but it disappears quickly, his expression brimming with burning intensity that makes my stomach clench. “You wanna do this? Take it out,” he tells me.

This is happening.

I push away from the book spines I’m leaning against and close the distance between us, reaching for his crotch and deliberately rubbing a palm over the bulge of his erection before I lose my nerve. He stiffens beneath my hand. At least I know he’s not unaffected, no matter how laid-back he looks.

And he’s so, so close. Smelling amazing and radiating more heat than a furnace.

I suck in a deep, fortifying breath, then slip my hand into the elastic waistband of his pants and close my fist around the heavy weight of his cock. Shiver, when my grip tightens but my fingers don’t touch. Tug, so his cock juts free from the confines of the cotton.

The black boxer briefs Aidan is wearing underneath his joggers are generic.

But he’s not.

He’s huge.

I already knew that. I’ve seen it before. But this is different. There’s no barrier of water or steam. We’re standing beneath fluorescent, buzzing lights that expose everything. Even the pulse of the vein that runs the length of his shaft is visible under the harsh lighting.

I trace it with a finger and he hisses, thickening in my grip even more.

Aidan’s dick is beautiful. I’m not sure that’s the proper adjective to describe a penis, but his is. Straight, thick, and long, it looks like it should be the model for vibrators everywhere. I’m getting hot and achy just looking at it. He hasn’t touched me, and I’m already so aroused I feel like I’m drugged. Anticipation is a powerful aphrodisiac.

“Little, isn’t it?”

I smile at the annoyance in his voice, some of my nerves disappearing as I recall our conversation outside the bathroom.

He wants this—wants it from me—and he hasn’t been shy about saying so. I’m not the only one who’s been thinking about this happening again. That helps me shove away the insecurity about all the other blowjobs he’s undoubtedly received. The worry I won’t measure up.

“Suck.”

It’s a command, not a suggestion. And I like his bossiness far more than I’d ever admit to Aidan.

I sink down onto my knees, the rasp of gray carpet against denim the only sound that registers.

Then guide his cock to my mouth, slowly licking around the flared tip before sucking him in a few inches. There’s an intimidating amount left, a lot more than I’ve had to accommodate before. I try to remember comments I’ve heard friends make about deep throating, inhaling through my nose as I flatten my tongue and try to take him deeper.

I want to please him, for Aidan to enjoy this.

He groans my name. My real name this time—Rylan—not Alice, which is what he called me during our last hookup.

I didn’t realize there would be a difference until right now.

I’m doing this. Not some reckless version of myself who’s in a strange place with a stranger, play-acting at being a girl who can act first and then think later.

The pulse between my legs turns into a painful throb. I’ve never gotten that turned on by giving a blowjob before. But I get a glimpse of the way he’s looking down at me—eyes hooded and expression slack with pleasure—and it’s an extreme high. A ridiculous rush.

The wet pop as I release his dick from my mouth sounds far too loud in the silent library. It seems to echo around us, noisy enough for anyone on this floor to hear. Adrenaline buzzes in my blood, the possibility of discovery adding a secret thrill.

I flick the slit at the tip with my tongue, then take him into the back of my throat, hollowing my cheeks so he feels the suction. Aidan’s hips jerk forward, and I know he’s fighting the urge to fuck my mouth. His hands are fisted at his sides, the sexy V between his hips clenched tight.

My hands land on his thighs, memorizing the feel of tensed muscle strained to stay still. I suck harder and Aidan grunts, his features tightening like he’s in pain.

“I’m going to come,” he warns.

I could pull away.

I’ve always pulled away at this point. Never seen the appeal of swallowing. It’s always seemed gross. Unnecessary. He gets off either way.

But I don’t move. I reach up to play with his balls, appreciating he’s one of those guys who grooms and that there’s not a bunch of coarse hair in the way.

Warm, salty spurts start to fill my mouth, startling me. His cocks swells even more, which I thought was impossible.

And I swallow, fighting the urge to cough, the ache between my legs growing worse as Aidan watches me with an intoxicating combination of pride and possessiveness.

Arousal courses through me, knowing I’m responsible for that satisfied look on his face.

And then, the distinctive ding of elevator doors opening registers. The thrill of getting caught gets replaced by the terror of that actually taking place.

Reality rushes in.

I’m on my knees in the library for the campus playboy.

Those are facts.

My position. The location. His reputation.

What the fuck am I doing?

It was one thing before I knew who he was. When I was looking for a rebound.

But I let Aidan goad me into a situation that was a win-win for him. Either he was right or he got off.

Lose-lose for me.

I quickly stand, staggering back a step and wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.

Aidan watches me closely, appearing unconcerned by my reaction as he tucks his dick away.

Hooking up in a public place is obviously no big deal to him. But until that night in his hot tub, I was strictly a sex in bed girl. And the thrill of giving in—of showing him I can let go—is gone, leaving me wondering, again, what the hell I’m doing.

I’m supposed to be tutoring the guy. Explaining statistical processes, not sucking his cock.

A low hum of voices becomes audible. Whoever just arrived on the elevator is headed this way.

I turn and walk away, my muscles shaky and my head spinning.

That just happened.

I have the lingering taste of him in my mouth to prove it. Blood is rushing south past my knees now that I’m no longer in a kneeling position.

But part of me can’t believe it did.

I return to the table in a daze. Two girls have settled in the armchairs closer to the window. I don’t recognize either of them, thankfully. Don’t have to make any small talk.

I just send them quick smiles as I hastily pack up my backpack.

We never even started our tutoring session. All I did was ask him questions I shouldn’t want answers to.

There’s no sign of Aidan, which I’m relieved about.

I feel guilty for just taking off, but staying feels impossible. I can’t talk to him right now.

And not tutoring him isn’t even the least professional thing I’ve done tonight.

I leave the assignment for the next week on the table next to his textbook before practically sprinting toward the stairwell.

Maybe running down the ten flights will help clear my head.