Mine to Take: A Brother’s Rival, One Night Stand New Adult Sports Romance (Western Wildcats Hockey Book 5)

Impatience simmers beneath my skin as I shove through the locker room doors and toss my stick into the holder before unsnapping the chin strap and yanking the helmet off my head.

Instead of being focused on hockey the way I should be—the way I always have been—I’m more interested in hustling my ass to the library. I’m worried that Willow will attempt to hide from me.

From this.

Whatever the hell this happens to be.

At the moment, I’m none too sure.

I just know that what I feel for her is different.

It’s…more.

The thing that drives me crazy is that this isn’t one sided. I know damn well she feels it too. For some reason, she’s dead set on fighting this.

On fighting me.

And that, I won’t allow.

Ten minutes later, I’m showered and dressed, ready to take off.

Ready to get my hands on her. It’s only been a few days since I’ve touched her, and already I’m going through withdrawals.

I flex my fingers to keep everything loose.

A pit has taken up residence at the bottom of my belly. As much as I’ve been thinking about Willow, I can’t stop thoughts of River from invading my brain too

Did she run back to him after we had sex?

Even the thought of that makes me want to plow my fist through something.

Preferably River Thompson’s face.

There’s no way that douchebag deserves her.

He doesn’t even deserve to look in her direction.

Remembering how he’d allowed another girl to maul him in front of her…

It pisses me the fuck off.

She’s better than that.

Deserves better than that.

After Sabrina, I didn’t bother with relationships. They seemed like more work than they were worth. Especially once I hit college. Division I hockey is no joke. It’s more like a full-time job. Add school to that, and it doesn’t leave much time for anything else. My only interest in the fairer sex was to release a little steam.

And for the last three years, that’s worked well.

There are plenty of groupies on this campus that are happy to have no-strings-attached sex on the regular.

Or blow me.

They never meant anything.

And they sure as shit didn’t rent space in my head.

All I can say is that Willow is different.

She’s so fucking perfect.

And if River doesn’t realize it, he doesn’t deserve her in his life.

If I have any say in the matter, he won’t.

Willow might not realize it yet, but she belongs to me.

Those thoughts only make me more anxious to see her. I grab my backpack from my locker and swing toward the door.

“Hey, where are you off to?”

I glance at Ryder as he drags a T-shirt over his head.

Things are still…weird between us.

What I don’t know is if he’s aware of it.

I’ve considered broaching the subject. But the possibility of coming off like a whiny bitch is what continues to hold me back.

When I remain silent, lost in the tangle of my thoughts, he pops a brow. “Mav?”

I hitch the backpack higher on my shoulder. “The library.”

He laces up his shoes. “Maybe I’ll come with you. I have a test to cram for, and Jules is out with Carina.”

With a frown, I digest that tidbit.

So if Juliette’s busy, he can make time for me?

I try to squash the irritation before it has the chance to multiply.

I can’t help but snap, “Sorry, already meeting up with someone. Maybe another time.”

“Oh? Anyone I know?”

“Nope.”

“Huh.” Oblivious to my curt tone, a gleam enters his eyes.

“See you back at the house,” I mutter, swinging around and stalking to the metal door before he can investigate the situation any further.

It’s a relief when I shove into the arena. The icy air stings my lungs as I draw it into my body. Strange as it sounds, it never fails to calm everything that vibrates within me. Ice rinks have always been like a second home to me. Some of my most cherished memories are of watching Dad play hockey or him teaching me how to skate.

When I’m looking for peace, this is the place where I’ve always found it. There’s something about the serenity of it.

Like when Mom was diagnosed with cancer and the chemo left her feeling like shit.

I shake off those painful memories as I shove through the doors and hit the sidewalk.

They’re not ones I like to dwell on.

There’s nothing worse than wondering if the most important person in your life will be around in six months.

Or a year from now.

Actually, that’s not true. The worst thing is coming to the realization that there’s not a damn thing you can do about it, that the situation is completely out of your hands.

That’s when feelings of helplessness and fear make sucking a full breath into your lungs impossible.

There aren’t many things that scare the shit out of me.

Losing someone I love is one of them.

I don’t ever want to be put through that kind of hell again.

The relief that rushes through me is palpable when the library comes into view and thoughts of Willow shove cancer from my brain. I slip inside the sprawling brick building before hustling up the staircase to the third floor. As I crest the landing, my gaze coasts over the area, searching for her blonde head.

Part of me wonders if she’ll ditch me and I’ll have to track her ass down.

At least this time, I’ll have more to go on. If that means knocking on River Thompson’s door and demanding to see her, that’s exactly what I’ll do.

Everything loosens inside me when I spot her tucked against the far wall. Her head is angled downward and there’s a pair of black glasses perched on the bridge of her nose. The punch of arousal is like a straight shot to my dick.

And here I didn’t think it was possible for her to look any sexier.

I was wrong.

Her long hair has been pulled into a messy bun at the top of her head. From this angle, I’m able to glimpse the graceful line of her neck. The sweatshirt she’s wearing showcases the delicate curve where it meets her shoulder. All I want to do is kiss my way down the long column of bared flesh.

It’s only been a couple days since I’ve seen her, but it feels more like years. I’m so damn hungry for the sight of her.

The taste of her.

There were a handful of times when I picked up my phone and considered shooting her a text.

In the end, I deleted the messages.

I’m trying to dial it down and not come on too strong.

It’s taking every ounce of willpower to hold myself back and not pounce on her.

When I have myself under control again, I close the distance between us before dropping down beside her.

“Hello, sunshine.”

Before she can respond to the greeting, I wrap my fingers around the side of her chair and drag it closer. Her eyes widen a second or two before my lips crash onto hers.

Maybe I told myself that I needed to play this cool, but I’m unable to do it.

This girl makes me lose all control.

It’s as exhilarating as it is frightening.

When a gasp escapes her, my tongue slips inside the warmth of her mouth. Sweetness blooms to life inside me before rushing through my veins.

There’s something addictive about her. It’s like I can’t keep my hands or lips off this girl.

It’s only when someone in the vicinity clears their throat and grumbles about how inappropriate PDA in the library is that her palms flatten against my chest and she gently pushes me away.

That doesn’t stop my body from straining toward hers.

Already, her cheeks are stained pink and she’s breathless.

I love that I’m the one who does this to her.

As unaffected as she tries to pretend she is, her body gives her away every single time.

More than anything, I want to unravel her and figure out who she is. What makes her tick. Her likes and dislikes.

And not just in the bedroom.

Already, I’m learning those preferences.

My gaze flicks back to hers when she clears her throat. “If I’m going to tutor you, we should probably keep our relationship professional.”

A burst of laughter escapes from me. “Professional? Are you being serious?”

Her brows slide together as uncertainty flickers in her eyes. “Yeah.”

“Sorry. It’s much too late for that. There’s nothing professional about our relationship. And FYI—there never will be.” I lean closer before whispering, “Now that I’ve tasted how sweet your pussy is, it’s all I can think about.”

A dull flush crawls up her cheeks. “Maverick…”

I pop a brow. “Yeah?”

“You shouldn’t say things like that.”

“Why? It’s the truth. One taste of your honey and I was addicted.”

I stroke my fingers across her cheek and then her lower lip.

Fuck, but I’m so tempted to nip at her mouth, because I know exactly how much it’ll turn her on.

Her pupils will dilate until the black swallows up the bright blue.

There’s nothing sexier than Willow when she’s aroused.

What I need to do is break down all her defenses until she finally accepts that this one-night stand has turned into something more. Something neither of us saw coming.

When she studies me in silence for a long moment, I wonder if she’ll argue.

Here’s the thing—she can fight this as much as she wants. It won’t change the outcome.

And we sure as hell aren’t going to maintain a professional relationship in the interim.

She clears her throat. “So, from what I understand, you need help with English?”

The change in conversation has me releasing the air wedged in my lungs. Until now, I hadn’t realized that I’d been holding it captive.

“Yup. I’ve been working on a paper.”

Some of the tension wafting off her dissolves. She seems more comfortable now that talk has turned to school.

As long as she understands that I’ll be stealing kisses while we work, we’ll be just fine.

“Can I see it?”

I unzip my backpack and pull out my laptop before firing it up. That ordinary act is enough to have dread rushing through my veins. As much as I don’t want to show her, that’s the reason we’re here.

The one way I forced her into spending time with me.

Now I actually have to go through with it.

Fuck.

Maybe this wasn’t such a hot idea after all.

Willow seems like a smart girl. It won’t take long for her to arrive at the conclusion that I’m either stupid, don’t try, or have a disability.

And then she’ll see me in a different light.

Or worse, feel sorry for me.

My leg bounces with the nerves that have burst to life within me.

Pity is the last thing I want from her.

I chew my lower lip as I pull up the document and stare at it. Even now, the letters swim before my eyes.

I fucking hate this.

I blink in hopes that the words will make sense.

Frustration spirals through me when it doesn’t happen, and I shove the computer toward her.

I should have agreed to work with a different tutor. Maybe I could have said that the only way I’d do it is if she agreed to let me take her out. This was short sighted on my part. But I was afraid she’d disappear again.

Or try to hold me at a distance.

The girl didn’t even want to give me her name.

When her glasses slip down the bridge of her nose, she pushes them back in place.

That really shouldn’t be so alluring. For the first time in my life, I get the whole sexy librarian thing.

It takes effort to bite back the groan that rises in my throat.

Because trust me, there was nothing hot about our school librarian. She was somewhere in her seventies and would threaten to take a chunk out of you if you returned a book late or—God forbid—damaged one of them. The one time I returned a late paperback, she snatched it from my hands before baring her dentures. As I hightailed it from the library, I’m pretty sure she cradled it in her arms and referred to it as her precious.

So…yeah.

I nibble my lower lip as Willow pulls the laptop toward her and focuses on the screen. I’m watching so closely that I see the exact moment her brow furrows.

That’s all it takes for my muscles to lock as I prepare myself for a barrage of questions and comments. Ones that will ultimately leave me feeling like a dumbass.

And that’s the last kind of guy she’s going to want to fuck.

The longer she remains silent, pressing the down arrow and scrolling through the second half of the paper, the more tension gathers in my shoulder blades as my foot thumps a steady rhythm.

I really fucking hate writing.

And reading.

It’s so damn difficult.

Torturous.

How anyone finds pleasure in the activity is beyond me.

The computer helps. Spellcheck and other grammar tools are a lifesaver.

It sucked when I was in elementary school and everything had to be handwritten. Most of my teachers couldn’t make heads or tails out of my penmanship.

And spelling?

Forget about it.

I can’t spell to save my life.

Even if I memorized the word, the letters don’t always come out looking like they should.

I steal another glance at her.

Yep, definite mistake.

There’s only one way this is going to end.

And that’s badly.