Melt for Me

chapter 4

BRAXTON

I clench his teeth, suppressing the growl that threatens to force its way past my lips as Rosie bellows for me across the street. My ears are ringing, and my skull is pulsating with a killer headache that's close to splitting it open.

The last thing I need is her high-pitched squealing making it worse.

The hockey team's supposed to throw its first rager of the semester tonight, and since I'm team's captain, it's my responsibility to make sure the rookies don't burn the house down. Naturally, that meant that my rager was last night, and the fact I can't recall that much of it carries the promise of a great time, if a little reckless. I passed out in some filthy corner of the basement with Rosie's body draped over me only minutes after drunkenly slamming balls-deep into her against the bathroom wall.

I woke up at sunrise after less than three hours of sleep, feeling like I'd been plowed by a freight train. The makeshift party room still reeked of stale beer and sweat. Without a word, Nash slid over a bucket from where he was also curled into a pathetic heap on the floor. Meanwhile, Rosie hopped up the stairs with the annoying chipper of someone who didn't spend the previous night downing tequila shots off my stomach.

"I hate her," Nash croaked, the only words he managed all morning.

All I offered in response was a tired, "I know."

At some point during our hours of penitenance—prone on bean bags that have seen better days—Tyler and Zach must have woken up, because they padded downstairs with a family-sized pack of bland crackers. Coincidentally, they also left two bottle of water just out of reach. Snickering, they turned on the X-Box and pretend they couldn't see us glowering at them from opposite corners of the room.

"Time to get moving, ladies!" Tyler chimed, eyes glued to screen and fingers flying across the controller. "Coach wants us at Ruef by noon—all of us, including the rookies. You really wanna give them ammo against you this early on?"

"You can never be too careful around 'em before you know who to trust," Zach grumbled under his breath, scoffing. "One minute you're nursing a hangover, next thing you know one of 'em's telling you to bring him a coke unless you want coach to know."

Right—Zach spoke from bitter experience. Last summer, he'd been blackmailed into becoming Erik Larsson's lackey within 24 hours of the Swedish rookie's arrival on campus, courtesy of bumping into him plastered at 2PM on move-in weekend.

Groaning, I swiped a tired forearm over my eyes and reluctantly rolled to my feet.

Four hours later, I'm still queasy and filled with regret as the hot summer sun bears down at me. It's noon, but still—it's too early to be dealing with Rosie again, especially after spending last night with her.

Space. I need space, and that's a part of our arrangement, but her soft hands are already grazing up my arms. They slide up to the exact spot where she gripped onto me last night as I thrust into her, and her foxlike eyes flash knowingly as I bite my lip.

Then I look over her shoulder, and I freeze.

A pair of green eyes blink back at me across the street, doe-like and familiar, and suddenly I'm swallowing thickly for a whole new reason. I'm only vaguely aware of Rosie's lips on my chin, and whatever the Hell she's saying.

No matter how hard I tried to douse the memories with alcohol and convince myself it wasn't her that I'd nearly trampled at the rink—

Well.

She's there, and I'm blind to everything but her.

I never imagined I'd see Annie Waltz again, but that's definitely her, clad in a white cropped tank that accentuates the curve of chest and the smallness of her waist, and an athletic skirt that bounces as she takes a step back. Older—smoking hot in all the ways I used to think she was cute, back when I was a fifteen-year-old bundle of hormones and mush—and at roughly 5'2 she's just as small as the last time I saw her, only curvier now. Light blond hair falls to her lower back in ringlets, the length she's always worn it. Her lips are full and slightly parted in shock, and her button nose scrunches up as she trips over her doorstep in her rush to get away.