What Are The Odds?: A college hockey romance. (Phil-U Book 1)

Levi.

Of course I woke up with Grace tangled around me. I’m not sure whether I’d come to her, or she’d come to me. Either way, at some point in the night, we’d ended up in the middle of the bed, our limbs intertwining. We were facing one another, her head nestled in the crook of my arm and my head resting above hers. Her hair fanned across the mattress. It was disorientating my senses. She smelt good, like fruit and coconut. A tropical oasis. How the hell had this happened? Her even breaths were almost enough to lull me back to sleep, but I fought the temptation. I was waking up beside a girl, who I hadn’t gotten naked with last night. And one I had no intention of getting naked with. Well, at least not like this. The bet I’d made with Richardson was like a heavy wave of water crashing over me. I felt dirty thinking about it. I could’ve won last night. I could’ve drunkenly kissed Grace and called it. Hell, I could’ve put on my charm and woken up in this same position, minus the clothes. That was a win if ever I heard one. But I didn’t want to win anymore. Truth be told, I didn’t want to play at all. I hadn’t expected to like Grace. She was fun to be around, and easy to talk to, and she sure as hell didn’t deserve to be dragged into a pissing match between Ryker and me. I made no effort to release Grace or put space between us. This was . . . nice. I could almost get used to–

“Ah, Levi,” came Grace’s groggy voice.

“Yeah?”

“Is that–”

She pushed onto her elbow, staring down where her stomach connected with my groin. I didn’t even flinch.

“Totally natural, Hughesy.”

I smiled smugly. I had no shame. I was a guy. It was first thing in the morning. This happened. Grace’s tanned thigh unhooked from me as she rolled away. My shirt she had borrowed had risen, giving a glimpse to black, lace underwear. I groaned. That wasn’t helping the morning wood situation.

“Lucky you opted to savour masturbation so you can sort that out,” she said.

“That was a hypothetical answer,” I told her. “I’m not really forbidden from receiving a blow job.”

She barked out a laugh before rolling from the bed and taking her warmth with her. She didn’t bother attempting to tame her hair or wipe the sleep from her eyes as she sauntered to the bathroom.

“Don’t listen to me pee,” she called out, slamming the door behind her.

I flicked on the TV, turning it to a sports channel for background noise. A video of a protruding tibia was enough to get rid of my morning glory. I grimaced, imaging the pain and recovery an injury like that would include. When Grace came out, she was dressed back in her clothes. I tried not to let the disappointment show on my face. She’d looked really good in my shirt.

“Even after brushing my teeth all I can taste is passionfruit.”

It was the same for me. There was a foul taste in my mouth, though I think the vodka was more to blame than the mixer.

“What time is it?” she asked.

I checked my phone that was on my side table.

“Almost seven.”

She sat on the edge of my bed, lacing up her sneakers. I guess she was ready to go. I had an urge to wrap my arms around her waist and pull her back into bed. It’d been nice having her here, holding her, smelling her . . . and I needed to stop before we were back to square one. A horny Levi and an uninterested Grace. I tried telling my brain I’d be feeling the same if any girl were in my room, but I knew I was kidding myself. After waking up from a one-night stand, I never envisioned having the girl stay longer. If anything, I was the one getting ready for the day to encourage them to leave. Getting Grace’s hint, I threw the blankets off.

“I’ll drop you back at your dorm.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I need coffee anyway.”

Shit. Now I was standing, I realised how much coffee I would need. I was hungover. Like, really hungover. Damn Tripp and his free pouring. We had an important game tonight.

“What the hell, Levi?” Grace gasped. “Are you serious?”

She was gaping at me, her forehead pinched and her mouth open. I looked down at my boxers, expecting there to be an unexpected guest offending her. But there was nothing. The leg injury had taken care of it.

I frowned. “What?”

“A shirtless Levi Holloway looks very different now I’m sober.” She gestured up and down my body. “There’s, like, eight of them.”

Oh. She was checking me out. Like, really taking her time to look me up and down. She ought to look away unless she wanted to make my favourite body part reappear. The way she was looking at me was criminal. There was nothing platonic about that look.

“You like what you see, Hughesy?”

“A nun would like what they see.”

Laughing, I went into the bathroom and pulled on the t-shirt she’d neatly folded and left on the counter. It was still warm and smelt like her. After brushing my teeth, I turned off the bathroom light. My head was throbbing. I was proper hungover. This wasn’t good.

“You alright, Holloway?” Grace asked.

She was still perched on the end of the bed.

“I need something greasy,” I told her.

Her eyebrows shot up. “You’re hungover?”

“No,” I lied.

She snickered. “You are.”

“Am not.”

“Do a burpee then.”

I arched an eyebrow. “Why the hell would I do that?”

“Physical activity is a hungover person’s worse nightmare.”

I levelled my gaze on her as I walked to my dresser in search of a pair of sweatpants.

“Climb back into that bed with me Hughesy and I’ll show you just how much physical activity I can handle.”

There was no instant remark or eyeroll. Instead, Grace blushed. She went quiet. Was she considering it?

“Forget pants. You won’t need them.”

I swallowed. “What?”

“I have a hangover cure.” She cocked her head. “If you’re game.”

I met her challenging gaze.

“I’m always game, Hughesy.”

*

I followed Grace’s directions, which led us to the Athlete’s Centre. There wasn’t one piece of equipment here that was going to fix my hangover. She’d ignored my recommendation to stop at Starbucks on our way. Supposedly whatever she had in mind was better than coffee. I doubted that. The fact Grace didn’t drink coffee didn’t bode well. Knowing she functioned in the morning without caffeine was almost freaky. She pulled on her beanie as she slipped from the car. Reluctantly, I followed her. Once reaching the front doors, she took out her swipe card and tapped it against the access dock. There weren’t many people here. Of course there wasn’t. It was barely seven-am on a Saturday. The hockey team wouldn’t be around because we had a game later. The football team wouldn’t be here because they played last night. And the cheerleading team would be too hungover from celebrating the football win. Grace had told me the score on the way over. Either Ryker had messaged her, or she was keeping tabs. I hated both possibilities. She stalked through the gym, knowing full well where we were headed. I didn’t bother asking. Walking behind her, my eyes fell to her ass. She’d left her vest in the car, and the tight leggings she wore gave everything away. The size. The shape. It was a perfect ass. It was starting to feel like everything about this girl was perfect.

“This way.”

She tapped her access pass against another digital lock. The smell of chlorine hit me when she threw open the door, turning my already queasy stomach.

“We’re going swimming?”

‘Mmhm.” She walked to the edge of the Olympic-sized pool. “In you jump.”

I dropped my hands into the pockets of my sweats. I hadn’t actually heeded her advice to not put pants on. If she’d given me the head’s up, I could’ve worn shorts instead.

“I didn’t bring anything to swim in.”

“Swim in your jocks,” she casually said. “The swimming team isn’t training this morning and no other sporting team booked the pool for rehab. No one will sneak in and get a peak of little Holloway.”

“You were in the bed this morning, Hughesy. You know there’s nothing little about him.”

Blushing, she took a step back. Though this was super random, the idea of feeling weightless underwater was appealing.

“Are you coming in with me?” I asked before peeling off my hoodie and t-shirt in one swift movement.

It didn’t go unnoticed how her gaze flicked to my bare chest.

“Sure. I’ve just got to head to my locker and change.”

As she made a step to leave, I grabbed her wrist.

“Not a chance, Hughesy. If I’m going in in my underwear, so are you.”

She shook her head, vigorously.

“If you don’t, I won’t,” I said.

I crossed my arms over my chest. I would wait her out. Something told me she was just as eager to dive into the water. If I was this hungover, she couldn’t be feeling great either. We stared at one another. Playing chicken. I could stand here all day.

“Fine,” she groaned, reaching for the hem of her jumper. “Turn around, perv.”

With a playful roll of my eyes, I faced the opposite wall. In the empty, open space, I could hear every move she made. Kicking off her shoes. Sliding her leggings down her legs. They weren’t the best thoughts to have before taking off my own pants. At the sound of a splash, I turned back. I expected to see Grace bobbing above the water, but she was swimming beneath the surface. She glided, her body moving rhythmically as she picked up speed. In a blink, she was halfway down the pool. It didn’t seem right that someone so petite was so fast. When she resurfaced, she combed the hair from her face.

“Coming in?”

“Are you going to turn around, perv?” I jested.

Once my pants were discarded, I dove under. The water wasn’t warm, but it wasn’t cold either. It was the perfect temperature. Refreshing, but not icy. Instantly the pool had the desired effect. My head felt less foggy when I came up for air. Grace swam back to me. Her long hair trailed her, covering her backside.

“How’s the head?”

“Clearer,” I told her.

She stopped two feet from me, treading water slowly like she could do it all day. I, on the other hand, was already feeling the effects of constantly moving my legs and arms back and forth. We were in Grace’s sanctuary. Not mine.

“Why did you get into swimming?”

“We grew up by the beach, so my parents were all about water safety,” Grace said. ‘After my swim instructor mentioned I was advancing earlier than other kids my age, my parents upped the practices. I haven’t stopped since.”

“Do you think you’ll ever stop?”

Grace danced her head. “I like it, but I don’t love it anymore,” she admitted. “If I wanted to take the next step, like train for the Olympics or something, I’d have to up the ante and allow it to become my whole life. I’ve never wanted that.”

“No?”

“Nah.” She smiled. “It’s fun. It’s my hobby. But it’s not my life.”

“Huh,” I mused. “What do you think you’ll do after?”

“Not get up at five-am five days a week for a start,” she laughed.

She floated onto her back, causing her perky tits to peak above the water. She was wearing a bra that matched the lace underwear I’d glimpsed this morning. It was very distracting.

“What would you do if you didn’t have hockey?”

“I hope I never find out,” I said honestly. “It’s my world. I love it.”

“Lucky you’re good at it.”

“How do you know I’m good?”

“Come on, Holloway. Now’s not the time for modesty.”

We swam for a while, her easily escaping me each time. I didn’t like that she had the upper hand in here. Her silky skin slid across mine as she literally swum circles around me. My hangover was definitely cured, though it had been replaced by something else. I wanted her so badly. And it wasn’t my egotistical self wanting to win some stupid bet. Or wanting to get my fix with a meaningless one-night stand. It was something more. And that thought was fucking terrifying. When she gracefully pushed out of the pool, I allowed myself a moment to stare. Usually she was in too many layers to know what was underneath. Right now, in nothing but lacy black lingerie, I could see it clearly. Her long legs were tanned and toned, the ultimate combination, and her flat stomach moulded around muscles, accentuating her full breasts. Grace Hughes was fucking gorgeous. She left me bobbling in the pool to grab some towels. Luckily. I was as hard as they came. After recalling the vision of the snapped tibia, I pulled myself together enough to get out. Grace didn’t bother hiding her body as she towel-dried her hair on her way back. She wasn’t shying away from me anymore. She threw a spare towel to me.

“You good now, Holloway?”

“Yeah.” I nodded. “I’m good.”

No I told myself. You’re fucked.