Against All Odds (Holt Hockey Book 2)

The pain intensifies as soon as I move my arm.

I hiss, shifting so that the ice pack is back in place before attempting to text her again.

AIDAN: Can’t make tutoring tonight.

AIDAN: Sorry.

AIDAN: LMK about rescheduling.

The last message I sent Rylan was They’re not you.

A text she never replied to, so I try to strike a more detached tone this time around rather than that of a desperate dog begging for a pat.

I’ve never worked harder for anything in my life than a scrap of Rylan Keller’s attention, and maybe that’s my whole damn problem.

I wouldn’t want to hook up with a lazy underachiever either.

Although my track record is pretty good where the hooking up part is concerned, so I doubt that’s why she hasn’t responded.

I’ve just started dozing off when my phone buzzes on my chest. It’s another painful process to lift it up.

I wish that I’d taken Coach up on his offer to leave practice early right about now. I feel like I got hit by a truck and my ribs look like they did. I had a nasty collision with Williams earlier—bad timing when neither of us were looking—and I took the worst of it, right in the same spot that Pierce knocked a few weeks ago.

Unfortunately, it’s not Rylan answering.

It’s my mom calling.

I debate not picking up, but that’ll only earn me a lecture from my dad in the next voicemail he leaves.

My phone has been mercifully absent of calls from family members since Jameson’s engagement party, but I know that’ll change as the wedding creeps closer.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Oh, honey, I wasn’t sure you’d answer. You must be so busy with your final semester.”

I tamp down the snort that wants to come out. “Hockey practice just ended and the kegger I’m hosting doesn’t start for an hour. You caught me at the perfect time.”

Her sigh is exasperated. “Aidan.”

“What’s up, Mom?” I shift, flinching when the cold pack brushes a bit of unnumbed skin.

“I just wanted to see how you were doing. I hardly saw you during your visit.”

“So you waited two weeks to call me?”

Another sigh. One that will result in my father chastising me for upsetting my mother and Jameson gloating about having favorite child in the bag.

“I’m fine, Mom. My classes are going well.”

For once, it’s not a lie. The worse I’ve scored on one of Professor Carrigan’s assignments is an eighty-six. I’m carrying all Bs and one A in my other classes, my new studiousness paying off across the board.

“What about hockey?”

I’m…stunned. My mom has made it clear on multiple occasions how she views hockey as a low form of entertainment. Nothing more than grown men running into each other on ice for fun.

“Hockey’s…good,” I say cautiously.

“We were thinking of coming to the championship game.”

I’m so surprised, it takes me a good minute to respond. “In Cleveland?”

Each year, the NCAA chooses a neutral location for all college championship games to take place. This year the Division III matchup is set to take place in Cleveland, Ohio. Even if the game were taking place in LA, I wasn’t expecting my family to come. Seeing as they’ve never attended a Holt hockey game.

“Right. Cleveland, yes.”

“We might not make it that far,” I tell her. “There are two more rounds to get through first.”

Two rounds my ribs might not let me play in. Thank God we only have a film session tomorrow.

“Well, if you do, we’ll be there.”

“Who’s we?” I ask, increasingly suspicious.

There’s no way my mom developed an interest in hockey or a desire to visit Ohio overnight.

“Oh, just me, your father, and Jameson. Plus Parker and her parents.”

“Why the fuck would the Maddens go?”

“Language,” she chides. “And they, uh, their nephew plays for Fabor.”

Our expected opponent.

All the pieces come together. Their future in-laws are going to support their nephew, so my parents feel obligated to come see me play for the first time.

I’m pissed—at them and at myself.

I’d rather they continue to make snide comments about me spending time pushing a rubber circle around the ice than feign any interest. And I hate how, for a few seconds, I thought that maybe they were coming for me.

There’s a soft knock on my bedroom door.

“Come in,” I call out, figuring it’s Conor or Hunter.

They’ve seen me scowling on the phone before, so who cares if they witness this?

But when the door opens, Rylan is the one standing in the doorway.

“I have to go, Mom,” I tell her, then hang up and sit up, tossing my phone away onto the mattress.

“Hey.” Rylan’s expression is all uncertainty as she takes a step forward, playing with the strap of her backpack. “I didn’t mean to, um, interrupt…”

“You’re in my bedroom,” I say stupidly.

Obviously, she’s in my bedroom, and I’m too shocked to do anything except state that fact.

“Yeah. Um, I saw your texts, and I just…you’re okay?” Rylan scans me over like she’s looking for a defect.

“I had a rough practice, and I’m sore as shit, but otherwise, yeah. I’m good.”

“And we’re…uh, good?”

“This is about the texts.”

She’s here because she thinks she hurt my feelings.

My irritation spikes, right along with my pain level as my side protests sitting upright. “I told you nothing else that happened between us would affect tutoring.”

“Yeah, you said that. And then you canceled tutoring the week after you…”

“The week after I what, Rylan?”

She holds eye contact. “The week after you went down on me.”

That’s my girl.

Well, not my girl.

“I meant what I said. Me rescheduling had nothing to do with eating you out last week or you not answering my texts. I’m having a shitty fucking day and I knew I wouldn’t be able to focus tonight. That’s it.”

Rylan studies me for a minute, then nods. “Okay.”

She tugs the zipper of her jacket an inch higher.

She’s leaving, I realize.

“How’d you know where I live?”

“You told me, remember? And it’s ‘common knowledge on campus,’ right?”

I smirk, mostly at her use of air quotes. A little because I really like having her in my room and it’s hitting me more that she’s actually here.

“And you just invited yourself inside?”

Her cheeks flush pink. “No one was answering the door, and it was unlocked.”

“Team went to Gaffney’s after practice. It’s wings night.”

“Why didn’t you go?”

I lie back down, then tug my shirt up. My side looks worse than it did an hour ago, sections darkening to a mottled purple.

Rylan sucks in a sharp breath, then steps closer to my bed. Closer and closer, until her cool fingers are brushing my ribs. “That happened at practice?”

“Yeah.” I relax into the mattress, her light touch more soothing than the cold ice pack was. “I was playing sloppy and Williams wasn’t looking where he was going. Bad timing.”

“Sorry.”

“You weren’t the one who tossed me into the boards.” I shift, then wince. Massage my shoulder, which also hurts. “Tomorrow’s an easy day. Some sleep and a few painkillers, and I’ll be fine.”

She’s silent and standing still. Then the sound of her coat’s zipper fills the room again. Except instead of going up, it’s coming down.

I watch like it’s the most fascinating sight I’ve ever witnessed.

And honestly? Rylan taking her clothes off in my room is absolutely up there.

Unfortunately, the strip show ends with her sweater still on. Rylan tosses her jacket on the opposite side of my bed, then pushes her sleeves up to her elbows. She’s wearing a gray skirt that hugs her hips, and a pair of black tights. If I could move with any sort of ease right now, I’d absolutely be tugging both down and repeating last week’s tutoring session.

“Roll over,” she tells me.

I raise an eyebrow. “What? Why?”

Moving is the last thing I feel like doing, and I’d be lying if I said I’m not holding out hope for a blowjob, even if it’s a pity one. Oral seems to be as far as Rylan is willing to take our hookups, and I’ll take whatever she’s willing to give. Her telling me to lie dick down snuffs out any hope of that happening.

“Just trust me, Phillips.”

My teammates and Coach call me by my last name a lot, but no girl ever has.

It’s a reminder we’re friends, or something similar to that. Something more than tutor and student. Something different than just sex, even though I’m dying to get that from her.

I roll over, smushing my face into the pillow and exhaling through my nose as I wait for the pain in my side to subside. It feels like someone just slid a hot poker into my ribs.

The mattress dips, and I turn my face to the side so I can try to see what Rylan is doing. I can’t see shit, but I can feel her straddle my lower back. Feel the heat of her against the base of my spine.

“Fuck,” I groan, as my dick twitches unhappily.

“Too hard?” There’s a worried note to Rylan’s voice as she shifts her weight, only succeeding in torturing me more.

“You’re not what’s hard.”

“Oh.” Then another “Oh” as she registers my meaning. “Really? Me sitting on your back is turning you on?”

“It’s a new kink for me too.”

“Does that mean you haven’t had any fun recently?” she asks, slowly tugging my shirt up.

I shouldn’t have even bothered putting one on after my shower. I just didn’t want to look at the bruise blossoming on my side.

I wish I could see her face. Tell if she’s as nonchalant about me hooking up with another girl as she sounds.

“No.”

And it’s been a hell of a lot longer than a week since I had sex, but I don’t tell her that. I clear my throat, hoping my “You?” sounds casual.

“Just you.”

I like the way that sounds way too much. It’s even better than hearing Zero.

Rylan’s hands reach my shoulders, tucking my shirt out of the way, and then her thumbs are pressing into the skin just below them.

I groan—loudly—as she starts to rub my sore muscles, exerting the perfect amount of pressure. My entire body relaxes, going limp with relief. Even the pain in my side eases, overwhelmed by the wave of pleasure. Instead of distracting me, it feels like she’s fixing me.

I groan again as she works her way down. Whatever the long muscles that stretch on either side of my spine are called, they’re knotted and tight.

“Should I be worried that you weren’t this loud when we had sex?”

I huff a laugh. “I was this loud. You were just distracted.”

She hums, her hands moving up to my shoulders and then down my biceps. It actually feels like I’m floating away from my body, melting down into the mattress as her magical hands work me over.

“We could have sex again,” I suggest. “So you have a more recent comparison?”

“Nice try.”

“I meant it, you know.”

Her grip loosens for a second, but that’s the only reaction before she continues massaging.

“I want to have sex with you. I’m not just wanting sex.”

She’s silent, and I’m both grateful and relieved I can’t see her expression.

“I’ll stop mentioning it. Since you’re, you know, not interested and all. I just wanted to make sure that was clear.”

Rylan doesn’t respond. But she doesn’t stop rubbing, and she doesn’t move away, so hopefully I didn’t fuck it up too badly.

“That was your mom on the phone?” she asks.

“Yeah.” I sigh, a little of my earlier irritation filtering through the bliss of having her on my bed turning my muscles into jelly. “She wanted to tell me they’re coming to the championship game. Assuming we get that far.”

“That’s…nice?”

“Best part is they’re showing up because Parker’s parents are going to support their nephew. He plays for Fabor. If Glendale beats them, I’m guessing they won’t show.”

“Aidan…”

“It’s fine. Whatever. I shouldn’t have been surprised.”

“It’s not fine.”

“Yeah. It sucks. But it is what it is. I am who I am; my parents are who they are. Even when we got along, we were never that close. We’ll never be that open, loving family, and I accepted that a long time ago.”

“You don’t think people can change?”

“I think people have to want to change, to change. And no one in this equation does, so…nothing will change.”

“I’m sorry.”

I roll onto my back, sick of not seeing her face. Rylan ends up straddling my lap, my shirt twisted between us. “Stop apologizing for shit that isn’t your fault.”

“What do you want me to do, then?”

“Kiss me,” comes out embarrassingly fast. “I didn’t have a chance to in the library and last time you were a Petri dish of germs.”

Rylan smirks. “Petri dish? And I’m the nerd?”

“I probably wouldn’t have failed biology if you’d been my tutor,” I tell her.

“I don’t believe you failed biology.”

“You doubted I got into Stanford.”

“I’m glad you didn’t go to Stanford.”

“So glad you’re going to kiss me?”

Her smile grows, which I take as a positive sign. “I’m thinking about it.”

“Any questions I can answer first? Technique? Tongue or no tongue? Timing between breaths? Head tilt?”

She leans closer. Close enough I can smell her shampoo, the same scent that lingered in my truck for a few days after I drove her home in the rain.

“I’ll just give you a review later.”

I’m still chuckling when she closes the small distance between our lips.

Electricity races through my body.

Even after our two hookups since, part of me thought that kissing Rylan the night we met was one of those memories that ages well. That improves over time, warping the original until you’re reminded of the reality. Like a movie you watch and love as a kid but then is actually terrible when you rewatch it as an adult.

But kissing Rylan? This is just as good as I remember. Better, maybe, because she’s no longer a stranger. I know that she loves having her hair tugged because she let out a breathy whimper every time I pulled while she was blowing me in the library. And it’s ridiculously satisfying, when she reacts the same way to me wrapping the strands around my fingers now.

It starts out slow and skilled, like we’re two competitors trying to outdo the other. I nibble on her bottom lip. She sucks on my tongue. Then gradually, it grows more desperate. More about getting as close to each other as possible than showing each other up. Like we’re on the same team, united by the same goal.

I’m not sure how far she’s planning to take this.

There’s no way Rylan is oblivious to my massive erection digging into her ass. And I’ve made it clear I want to fuck her. My body is in rough shape, but I’ll rally if she gives me the green light.

“Is this what tutoring looks like? Sign me up.”

Rylan pulls away, panting, as soon as she hears Hunter’s voice.

He’s standing in the open doorway with his arms crossed, wearing an amused smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

And Rylan won’t meet mine, sliding off the bed with her coat clutched in one hand.

Without her saying a single word, I know tonight is over. She’s already pulling on her jacket and smoothing her hair.

“How was Gaffney’s?” I ask Hunter, trying to act like this is a normal situation, even though all of us know it’s anything but.

“Usual. Brought you back some wings, if you’re hungry.”

I nod, tugging my T-shirt back down. “Thanks, man.”

Rylan picks up her backpack from my floor, still avoiding eye contact. I can’t tell if she’s embarrassed or annoyed or upset, and I can’t ask in front of Hunter.

“I should go.”

“Okay,” I say.

“Nice to see you again, Rylan,” Hunter says as she passes him and heads down the hallway toward the stairs.

He remains in place once she’s out of sight, pinning me with a serious look, complete with his judgmental eyebrows. “What the fuck are you doing, Phillips?”

I lean back against my pillows, rubbing a hand across my face. “Would it be better or worse if I said I have no clue?”

“Hart would have been right behind me if he wasn’t dropping Harlow off. Just saying, making out with your tutor with the door wide open was one of your dumber moves.”

His eyebrows lift again before he leaves.

“Can you bring the wings upstairs?” I call out.

No response.

Guess not.