Famous Last Words: A College Hockey Romance (Holt Hockey Book 1)

Five, four, three, two, one.

I count down the strokes in my head, then somersault underwater, pushing away from the rough edge of the pool’s wall. Kick until my lungs are screaming for air, breaking the surface and then starting freestyle.

I swim ten more laps before stopping. Glance at the clock, confirming I’ve been in here for over an hour.

My muscles are sore, shaking with exhaustion as I heave myself out of the pool and head into the locker room. I slept in this morning, exhausted from yesterday, then headed to the library first to get some work done. Ended up spending most of the day there and then came here to swim before leaving campus.

The locker room is empty, so I take a shower. Eve has a major project for her painting class due tomorrow. She told me this morning she’ll be home late. I might as well grab some dinner while I’m out. And, according to Eve, the less time I let chlorine sit in my hair, the better.

After I shower and dress in leggings and a cozy sweater, I leave the pool building. Cold air chills my wet hair, making me shiver as I rush toward my car. Yesterday’s dusting of snow is already gone, but it feels freezing out.

Once I’m in my car, I deliberate for a few minutes.

I could get food from Gaffney’s or stop at the pizza place downtown. I decide to head to the Mexican place Eric took me to on Friday night. The food was amazing, and I’m in the mood for a longer drive. All my schoolwork is done and all that’s waiting for me at home is an empty house. I turn up the fan in hopes my hair will dry faster and blast the music.

When I step into the tiny restaurant, I’m immediately greeted by the smell of spices and citrus. I glance around at the cheerful, colorful surroundings. After sitting in the library all day and then swimming, it’s kind of a sensory overload.

They’re busier than they were on Friday night. All the tables are occupied. Two girls are ordering at the counter. I get into line behind them, scanning the menu. I’m undecided on whether I should get the fish tacos again or try something different.

I’m distracted from deciding by the girl closest to me continually glancing in this direction. I don’t recognize her, so I doubt she’s looking at me.

“Hayes.”

I freeze. Only one person calls me that. Plus, I recognize his voice.

Running into Conor here did not occur to me as a possibility when I decided to grab food. He was just here on Friday night. So was I, I guess.

“Hart,” I reply coolly. It’s a stark contrast to my body temperature, which has skyrocketed.

“Good weekend?” he asks.

“Nothing memorable.”

When I finally glance over at him, the corners of Conor’s lips are tipped upward with amusement. Lips that have been on mine. Lips that have been all over my body. And it was very memorable, but it no longer feels acceptable to admit that.

“That’s too bad.”

“Yup.”

The girls ahead of me finish ordering, and it’s my turn. I decide on a chicken burrito. Conor orders a beef one.

I’m worried he might try to have more of a conversation while we wait for our food. Disappointed when he doesn’t. He just scrolls on his phone, ignoring the two girls whispering about him, until his food is ready. They ran out of chicken, so my order got delayed. He doesn’t even look at me as he takes his food and leaves, and I decide that’s just fine. He acknowledged me, at least, and at one point that was all I wanted from him.

My number gets called and I go up to the cash register, pulling out my credit card.

“It’s been paid for, miss. Have a good night.” The woman pushes the paper box with my dinner in it toward me.

I stand, stupefied, until I realize I’m holding up the line.

I thank her and then head for the door. There still aren’t any tables available and I’d rather eat on my couch anyway.

Conor’s waiting outside.

My steps stutter as soon as I spot him standing by the curb, but I try to hide the reaction. My grip tightens on the box as I approach him slowly, deliberating about what to say.

“Thanks,” is what I settle on, nodding toward the food I’m carrying.

A wry smile appears. “Thought you weren’t a fan of that word.”

I suck in a breath. “I wasn’t sure if we were talking about…that.”

His nod is slow. “I’m sorry about yesterday morning. I shouldn’t have reacted that way.”

“It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not. I just…” He exhales. “I knew that you’re friends with him. I didn’t know, though. And it caught me off guard. Does that make any sense?”

“Yeah, it does.”

It’s easy—too easy—to not think about complications when I’m around Conor. To remember there are reasons we avoided each other for the past three years.

“Do you have practice tonight?” I ask.

“No. We usually have Sundays off.”

I pull in a deep breath. “I spent all day in the library catching up on homework and Eve has an art thing to do tonight. My plan was to watch television and eat this on this couch. If you’re, you know, bored.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Yeah?” My heart leaps, and I tell it to calm the fuck down.

He nods. “I’ll see you at your place.”

Conor pulls into the driveway right behind me. He literally followed me here, his headlights twin beacons in the rearview mirror every time I glanced at it.

I grab my dinner and my backpack off the passenger seat and climb out into the cold night air.

“Wasn’t sure we’d make it here by morning,” Conor teases as he steps out of his SUV.

I roll my eyes. I know I’m a slow driver; plenty of people have told me so before. The only downside to living in Somerville is that driving is often required. I’ve always found it stressful. And my parents died in a car accident, so there’s that.

I unlock the front door, glancing at Conor as we step inside. He looks around curiously.

The living room is messy. I drop my backpack and set down my food, kicking off my rain boots so I can straighten the pillows and fold the blanket on the couch. The pile of Eve’s sketching pads gets moved to the table in the corner instead of the coffee table.

“You don’t have to do that.” Conor has already taken off his shoes and is shrugging out of his Holt Hockey jacket.

“That’s my line,” I say.

He smirks, walking over to the couch with his food and sitting down. “We talking about that?”

“I asked you first.”

“I don’t want to pretend it didn’t happen, if that’s what you’re asking.” He opens the box and starts unwrapping the foil around his burrito.

The smell makes my stomach rumble. I give up on cleaning—it’s not like I’m going to pull out the vacuum—and grab my own dinner before sitting down beside him.

I’m careful to leave a foot of space between us.

I’m rarely sure where I stand with Conor. He’s hot and cold. Teasing and serious. Understanding and irrational. I get some of his reactions and motivations. Others confuse me. Why did he walk away yesterday but is here tonight? Did he just need time to cool off? Has he thought about me, the way I puzzle over him?

All questions I’m not brave enough to ask.

I hand him the remote, lean back against the cushions with my burrito, and tell him “Your choice.”

“I figured we’d be watching Legally Blonde.”

I snort. “You’ve already seen it. Allegedly.”

“Allegedly? Did you forget about the dance routine I performed for you? Because I’ll do it again, Hayes.”

“Just pick a movie, Hart.”

He chooses Wedding Crashers, which is better than the superhero movie we watched on Friday night. I already forgot the name of it.

After finishing my burrito, I grab two ginger seltzers from the fridge, offering him one. He takes it with a “Thanks,” and then I sit back down on the couch.

A little bit closer to him this time, which I tell myself isn’t deliberate but absolutely is.

I didn’t invite him here with any expectation of what might happen. It seemed polite, after he paid for my food and apologized for yesterday. Plus I wanted to spend time with him. No matter what questions get answered or which conclusions I come to about him, Conor intrigues me. He’s quicksand, dangerous and impossible to ignore.

Eve texts me a half hour into the movie.

EVE: All done. But I’m going to spend the night at Ben’s. See you tomorrow!

I like the message so she knows I saw it. Then glance at Conor, who’s still pretending to watch the movie.

“Eve’s spending the night at her boyfriend’s,” I say, then set my phone back on the coffee table.

I don’t want him making any assumptions about who I’m texting. And, yeah, it’s a little bit of an invitation.

Conor nods. Then asks, “How long have they been together?”

“Eve and her boyfriend? Uh, a while. They met at one of those Freshman Week events.”

Another nod, then he refocuses on the movie.

“Are you actually watching?”

He glances at me. “The movie you told me to put on so we could watch it? Yeah.”

“Are you interested in other entertainment options?”

His eyes darken as I pull my legs up on the couch. Graze my foot, very deliberately, over the growing bulge in his sweatpants.

Conor slouches back, spreading his thighs so the gray material stretches tighter across his erection. “What are the other entertainment options?”

“You’re hard.”

“No shit,” he tells me, adjusting himself. “We’ve been alone on a couch together for the past hour.”

I’m feeling far from my best, still wearing the leggings I put on after showering in the women’s locker room. I dried my hair with my car’s vents, and I don’t even have lip balm on.

Him reacting to me under these circumstances? I feel sexy.

“Well, I’ve been waiting for you to make a move for the past hour.”

He’s the one who walked away. Who never texted.

Conor’s jaw works a couple of times. “I didn’t come over here to hook up.”

“Why did you come over here?”

“I wanted to,” he tells me.

I climb into his lap. “What if I want this? What if I want your cock again, Conor?”

His groan is low and tortured. And grows louder as I start to move my hips, creating some friction.

“Do you have a condom?” he asks.

“I think Ben—Eve’s boyfriend—keeps some in the bathroom. But…he’s about a foot shorter than you. So I’m not sure…”

Conor smirks, understanding what I’m saying. In this position, it’s impossible to ignore his size. “I’ll grab one out of my car. One sec.”

He stands, then heads out the front door. I stand too, pulling off all my clothes and then sitting back on the couch. Even with the lights dimmed and the blinds closed, it feels very weird to be sitting in the living room totally naked. This is just sex, though, and I need reminders of that. A quickie on the couch is less intimate than bringing him into my bedroom. At least, that’s what I tell myself.

Any weirdness is worth Conor’s reaction when he returns.

His expression immediately transforms, the desire obvious on his face as his eyes skim over my naked body. As soon as he reaches the couch he tugs his sweatpants down, tearing open the condom and covering his erection.

My entire body tingles, watching him. My heart rate accelerates and so does my breathing, anticipation spreading through my system. A second, persistent pulse starts between my thighs.

He’s unfairly attractive.

Overwhelmingly masculine.

And tonight, he’s all mine.

Conor sits on the couch, yanking off his sweatshirt. “Get over here, Harlow.”

He didn’t even bother pulling his sweatpants all the way down. It seems like he’s as impatient and eager as I am, and my body reacts to that the same way it’s dazed by his physical appearance.

I settle on his lap, moaning when his huge hands cup my breasts at the same time my pussy brushes his erection. He kisses me, which I’m not expecting, every stroke of his tongue stoking my arousal higher.

Conor’s right hand leaves my breast and skates down my stomach, the slight rasp of his callouses sending shivers skittering across my skin. He finds my clit, rubbing it with a skill that has me moaning into his mouth. And then the fat head of his penis is there instead, teasing my entrance. He guides his cock back and forth around my opening, occasionally brushing the bundle of nerves he was just playing with.

I try to sink down, only for him to pull away. I growl, irritated. Sink my teeth into his bottom lip and feel his chest rumble with amusement. And then—finally—there’s the delicious stretch I’ve already become addicted to.

I know he’s big. From this angle, he feels huge.

At first, getting filled is a relief. And I keep waiting for him to bottom out, but it doesn’t happen. I can tell how tight and swollen I am, feel how he’s forcibly spreading me open. Splitting me open, it feels like.

“Relax, Hayes. You already took me twice, remember?”

“Well, third time is not the charm.”

Conor’s chest vibrates with another laugh. Then he’s moving us forward, giving my knees more space to stretch on the couch instead of being crammed against the cushions. His lips move down the sensitive skin of my neck. His tongue traces along my collarbone. And then his thumb is back on my clit, circling right above the spot where he’s penetrating me. My body responds, pulsing and then relaxing around him. He slips deeper. And deeper. And then, finally, I can feel his balls against my ass.

“Good girl,” he tells me.

He leans back, his hands landing on my hips. He tugs me even closer, so our pelvises are completely flush. My clit rubs against his pubic hair, and I whimper.

“Holy fuck. Look at you, Hayes.” His tone is admiring, his mysterious eyes stormy with arousal. I look down as I lift my hips, watching him slip out of me. Once only the tip is left, I sink back down. This time, it’s a much easier glide.

Conor’s jaw is clenched tight, the tendons of his neck raised as he watches his dick disappearing inside of me.

“Little faster?” he suggests.

I huff a laugh. “You try doing some of the work.”

I’m not sure I’m athletic enough for this. He’s just so…massive.

He moves faster than I’m expecting, lifting me off his lap like I weigh nothing. “Lean over,” he tells me.

I do.

Then his hands are back on my hips and he’s entering me from behind. I suck in a surprised breath that quickly turns into a moan when he starts to thrust. The pace is punishing and impatient, pounding me so fast I have to fist the couch cushions to keep from falling forward. Not bringing him into my bedroom was a mistake. This feels plenty intimate and I’m no longer going to be able to study on this couch.

My orgasm builds quickly, each thrust adding to the pressure.

Heat scorches my skin. I’m so, so close. And then I come with a shout, calling out his name before I collapse forward. He fucks me through my orgasm, then I feel his dick pulse inside of me as he finds his own release.

Conor pulls out of me slowly, grabbing one of the napkins that came with his dinner off the coffee table to wrap the condom in. I roll onto my back, still breathing heavily. Endorphins buzz throughout my body, my muscles loose and relaxed.

My memory of sex with him was nothing like experiencing the real thing again.

He grabs his sweatshirt and yanks it back on. I sit up and grab my own clothes, not wanting to be the only naked one.

“Can I ask you a favor?”

Conor pauses as he’s pulling his sweatpants on. “Interesting timing.” He smirks. “Sure, go ahead.”

I don’t think he’s going to agree to this even if he did just get laid. But I figure this is the best time to ask. And since Eve mentioned it yesterday, I decided I want to help Mary. I very much doubt she and Clayton are soulmates, but who knows? I never thought Conor Hart would be in my living room right after we just had sex. Crazier things have happened.

“You’re friends with Clayton, right?” I ask.

“Thomas? Yeah, I guess so.”

“I have a friend, Mary—well, actually she’s really more friends with Eve, but—”

“Get to the point, Hayes.”

“Will you go out with me on Saturday night?” I blurt. “I mean, not just us. With other people. Mary has a crush on Clayton but she’s shy and she doesn’t want to go out with him on her own. Eve made up this crazy story about how Mary and I go bowling—which we don’t—and I guess Clayton agreed to go. I don’t want to third wheel with them. And if you’re friendly with Clayton, it’ll be way less awkward.”

“This sounds like a double date.” I can’t get any read from his tone as I focus on getting dressed myself.

“I know. But it’s not. It’s a hang out. Or half a date. We would be the non-dating half, obviously.”

He says nothing. Then, “Yeah, sure, I’ll go.”

“Really?” I wasn’t sure if he would. Assumed he wouldn’t.

Conor nods as he grabs his car keys out of his pocket. He’s leaving, and I hate that I’m disappointed. “Yeah. But you have to do a favor for me too.”

“Is it…sexual?”

Conor snorts. “No. You have to come to my game on Friday night.”

I was already planning to go, but I don’t tell him so. I just agree. “Okay.”

“Cool. I’ll pick you up at eight on Saturday.”

“I can drive myself,” I offer.

“I don’t mind driving. See you then, okay?”

“Okay.”

He nods, spins his car keys around one finger, then heads for the door.

I throw away the box from my dinner, straighten up the couch, do some dishes, and then get ready for bed.

My phone buzzes with a text right after I climb under the covers. Then another. And another. They’re all from an unknown number. As soon as I read the first message, I know who it is.

CONOR: Good night, Hayes.

CONOR: Thanks for the—never mind.

CONOR: *You’re welcome* for the sex.

I smile, biting my bottom lip. He’s such a smartass.

HARLOW: Who is this?

CONOR: You seemed to remember my name just fine when you were screaming it an hour ago.

HARLOW: That still doesn’t narrow it down much…

CONOR: Try this shit in person, Harlow. I’ll make you beg for longer next time.

HARLOW: Next time?

CONOR: Next time.