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

We won last night. Decimated. Destroyed.

I’m reminded of that when I walk into the living room of the sophomores’ house. They’re hosting tonight’s celebration.

We’ve proven that this isn’t just a lucky streak, that our dominance isn’t a fluke. Another win was what everyone expected, but that didn’t make it any less satisfying to know that a 5-0 victory is being permanently marked on our season record. Plus Willis earned his first shutout.

People are starting to talk. To take notice. We’re coming for the championship, and the teams that normally lead the division are sitting up and sensing the threat. Being watched feels different than being the underdog. Now, we have something to protect along with something to prove.

Right now, I couldn’t be less worried about it. I soak up the cheers and bask in congratulations as I fight my way through the crowd of drunk Holt students, knocking fists with the guys and flashing around the confident grin girls seem to lose their minds over.

Last night, we celebrated as a team.

Tonight, it feels like the whole school is here.

When I reach the kitchen, Harlow is still behind me. We were a united team earlier, beating Thomas and Mary easily. Familiar. In sync. I’m not sure how it happened and…I don’t hate it.

“No wonder your ego is the size of Washington,” she mutters as I open the fridge.

I grin as I grab a ginger ale out of the fridge. It’s what she was drinking the last time we were at a party together, and I didn’t realize I’d remembered that until right this second.

“Want one?” I ask, holding it out to her.

“Sure. Thanks.”

I nod as she takes the can from me, then grab another soda out for myself.

“Do you have any vodka?”

I raise an eyebrow, surprised. Harlow raises one right back.

“Smith!” I call.

Cole appears a few seconds later, holding a cup of beer in one hand. “’Sup, Hart?”

“Do you have any vodka?”

His eyebrows shoot up toward his hairline. “Holy fuck. You’re drinking?”

“Not me. It’s for Hayes.” I nod toward Harlow.

“Hey, Harlow.” Cole smiles at her, a dopey grin that pisses me off almost as much as Clayton Thomas telling me he bet the basketball team fifty bucks he’d sleep with Harlow by graduation. He’s lucky I only beat his ass at bowling, not literally.

“Hi,” she says, then hands the can back to me. “Can you hold this for a sec?”

I don’t realize what’s happening until the sweater is already over her head, leaving her in a silky tank top that has lace along the hem. I’m staring. Cole is too.

“Smith!” I bark. “Do you have any vodka or not?”

He jumps. “Uh…lemme check with Pierce. He usually keeps the good stuff in his room when we have people over.”

“Great.”

Cole goes off to check with Andy Pierce.

“I didn’t mean to make this some big production,” Harlow tells me. “I’m good with just this.” She leans forward to take the ginger ale back from me. The neckline of her shirt gapes open a little more, offering a mouth-watering view of her tits.

“It’s good for Pierce to learn how to share,” I tell her. “He’s a puck hog on the ice too.”

Harlow snorts, then cracks the can open and takes a long sip. I watch the muscles of her throat contract for a second, then quickly look away. Basically anything she does turns me on, it seems.

And this is a new experience for me. I’ve never shown up at a party with a girl. Never kept track of someone walking through a crowded living room. We spent the past three hours together on what felt suspiciously like a date. I should be eager to get away from her. I should be wanting to talk to my teammates. Or make out with a random girl. But my motivation to move anywhere is glaringly absent.

“Hart!”

Jake Brennan, a junior defenseman, appears and grabs my shoulder from the right, slinging his arm around me.

“Having a good time, Brennan?” I ask, noticing his glazed eyes and ruddy cheeks. I should scold him for consuming an amount of alcohol that’s going to make him sluggish as shit at practice tomorrow.

Jake smirks. “Hell yeah, I am!” He glances past me. “Hey, Harlow.”

“Hey.” She smiles at him and then takes another sip of soda.

Jesus. Is there a single guy on the team who doesn’t know her? I struggle to keep the annoyance off my face. I don’t get possessive over girls. My teammates acknowledging Harlow Hayes’s existence has always bothered me. Now, it’s just for an entirely different reason.

“Were you at the game last night? Fucking Hart.” Brennan gives me a proud grin. “Calder Trophy winner. I’m calling it now.”

Jake lifts his red cup in an enthusiastic cheers. The rapid motion causes some of the beer to slosh out of the rim and onto the bottom hem of Harlow’s top.

“Fucking hell, Brennan. Nice hands.”

Jake is staring at the wet splatters on her shirt. Actually, he might be looking higher. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Harlow says, handing me her drink again. “I’ll just run to the bathroom. Clean up.”

“Sorry again,” Jake calls after her. His tone is apologetic. His eyes are focused on her ass.

“Eyes up, Brennan.”

Jake shoots me a confused look. “I—Isn’t she single?”

No is the first word that pops up in my head, and it scares the shit out of me.

I’ve never witnessed any of my teammates try to hook up with Harlow, and I always attributed that to her history with Jack. But now I’m realizing it probably has more to do with the way she’s avoided the team—avoided me—both before and after they dated. If one of the guys makes a move on her…I’m not sure how I’ll react but I know it won’t be with a high five.

Pierce walks into the kitchen holding a bottle of vodka, saving me from answering Brennan.

I fill a cup with ice, measure out two ounces of vodka using a clean-looking shot glass I find in a cabinet, and then add a healthy splash of ginger ale from the can Harlow left with me. Andy and Jake watch me, wearing identical, puzzled expressions.

Hunter comes into the kitchen with his disgusting Jell-O cups, distracting the guys and bringing a new wave of activity with him. I field congratulations from a few more guys and then head into the living room to look for Harlow.

Sarah Clark steps in front of me.

I swear under my breath, then stop.

“Hey, Conor.”

“Hey.” My grip tightens on the cold cup I’m holding. I left my own drink in the kitchen, I’m just realizing.

“You’re having quite the winning streak. Wanna go upstairs, and I’ll congratulate you?”

She smirks, glances at my dick deliberately, and it doesn’t even twitch. I’d be genuinely concerned about my equipment working, except I got half-hard watching Harlow drinking soda ten minutes ago.

“Not tonight,” I tell her.

Sarah pouts. “Why not?”

“I’m just not feeling it.”

“Well, I bet I could get you in the mood.” She comes closer and I quickly step back, conserving the same amount of distance between us.

“I’m here with someone, okay?”

Sarah looks stunned. “You have a girlfriend?”

“No. She’s not my girlfriend. We’re just…” Sleeping together sounds sleazy. “Hanging out.”

“That sounds like you have a girlfriend to me.”

Fuck. Maybe she’s right. I’m not sure what to call this compulsion to be around Harlow and the way my cock is only interested in her, but it’s nothing I’ve ever experienced until now.

“Have a good night, Sarah.”

I keep walking before she can say anything else. There’s no sign of Harlow in the living room, so I head into the dining room.

She’s here, playing beer pong. She and Robby against Clayton and Aidan. The red cups are empty, no one wanting to drink anything the ball touches after it bounces on the floor that was probably last cleaned a decade ago.

I spot Harlow’s friend Mary standing off to the side, smiling as she talks to a few other girls. Clayton’s not paying her any attention, his focus all on Harlow as she tosses the ball into a cup in the back row.

I continue walking toward Harlow, nudging her arm with the cup once I reach her. “You forgot this in the kitchen.”

She spins toward me, her expression startled. Glances at the cup. “What happened to the can?”

“Pierce parted with some of his precious vodka. I mixed it up for you.”

“You did?”

At first, I think she’s implying I’m incapable of making a cocktail. Then, I realize what she’s concerned about. I’ve never heard about anyone getting slipped anything at a Holt party, but I’ve heard horror stories about it happening at plenty of other schools.

I lower my voice. “I’ve had it this whole time. No one else has touched it, I swear.”

She nods and takes a sip.

And I realize…she trusts me.

Harlow smiles. “It’s good. Thanks.”

“Sweet! You bartending, Hart?” Aidan asks. He’s grinning this way, looking between me and Harlow, and I shoot him a look that makes it clear his commentary isn’t appreciated.

“No,” I snap.

Harlow scans my expression, like she’s looking for an explanation for my sudden, dark mood.

I don’t have one for her. I don’t even understand what I’m feeling myself. I’m irritated, and it’s for no good reason. The one thing that’s always governed my mood—hockey—couldn’t be going better at the moment. I should be thrilled, not testy.

“Nice shot,” I tell her, then head back out the same way I entered.

I think Aidan might call my name, but I don’t turn around.

I wander around the first floor, not sure what to do with myself. I don’t feel like talking to anyone. All we have tomorrow is a film session, but I don’t really feel like drinking. I’m not interested in hooking up with Sarah or another girl who’s not Harlow.

When I reach the back door, I decide to head outside. The small backyard is totally empty, probably because it’s a good forty degrees colder out here than it is inside. I lean back against the side of the house and stare up at the dark sky, shoving my hands into my pockets.

I’m not sure how much time passes before the door opens and closes again.

I glance over automatically, my heart literally skipping a beat when I see her.

She came after me.

I don’t realize that’s what I was hoping for until I’m staring at Harlow, her expression creased with concern as she studies me. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” I huff a laugh. “I’m in a shitty mood for no reason. Sorry if I was short with you back there. I just needed some air.”

She takes a step closer, instead of heading back inside. “Are you mad that I came?”

“What? No. I invited you, remember?”

“Yeah, I do. But back there…it felt the same as it used to. When you’d see me and try to get away as quickly as possible.”

“That’s not it. I promise.”

Her nod is slow, and then she starts gnawing on her lower lip in a very distracting way. “Thanks for the drink.”

I glance at her empty hands. “Do you want another one?”

“No, I just downed it for some liquid warmth.”

I still have my hockey jacket on. But Harlow’s just in her tank top.

I push away from the wall, realizing she must be freezing. “Where’s your sweater? Or your jacket?”

“I left my coat in your car. And I looked for my sweater, but I couldn’t find it.” She makes a face. “Someone probably took it.”

I step toward the door. “I’ll look for it.

“Wait.” She grabs my arm before I can take another step. “Before you send out a sweater search party…tell me why you’re upset.”

“I told you, nothing.”

“Is this about the thing with Clayton?”

“No.” I don’t know if it’s a lie or not. I’m still pissed at him, the same way I’m angry at Brennan’s wandering eyes. But it’s bigger than that. More about me than either of them.

“I’m not interested in Clayton,” Harlow tells me.

“Good. You could do better.” And I’m thrilled Thomas is going to lose his dumb bet.

“I’m doing you, Hart.”

Then she kisses me.

I kiss her back in the way I want to claim her in front of Thomas and every other guy at this school, urgent and confident and loud. If anyone saw this—if I kissed her this way when I handed her the drink earlier—they’d all be able to tell what I’m just admitting to myself: I have serious feelings for this girl.

I’m not just attracted to her.

This isn’t just lust or fooling around.

I care about Harlow in a way that’s completely unfamiliar to me. In a way that terrifies me, because I’m used to being confident in my decisions and I have no clue what I’m doing where she’s concerned.

She moans my name, and just like that, my dick is fully erect. I cage her between my body and the house, pushing a knee between her legs. Harlow grinds against my thigh as her hands slip under my shirt. Her hands are freezing, digging into my back, and it spurs a new sense of urgency.

I can’t fuck her like this—it’s so cold out I can see our breath in the air—and I don’t have a condom, but that doesn’t mean I can’t remind her what it’s like between us.

I tug down the thin top she’s wearing, which has been slowly driving me insane ever since I first saw her in it, until her left boob is out. “You’re not wearing a bra?” I groan.

“It has a built-in,” she tells me. Then gasps, when I lean down to circle her nipple with my tongue. “So no straps.”

She’s rocking against my thigh now, her breathing ragged and uneven.

“Can you come like this?”

“Probably.” She blushes.

I’m too impatient. It’s a competition in my head, getting her off as quickly as possible. A boost to my ego, seeing how responsive she is to my touch. I pull back just enough to reach the waistband of her jeans, unbuttoning and unzipping and tugging until I can wedge two fingers in between her thighs.

Harlow moans. Her underwear is soaked through, the heat of her pussy scorching against my hand. As soon as my fingers push inside, Harlow tilts her head back, arching into my touch as her eyes hood. I can feel every reaction, her walls clenching around my fingers like she’s trying to keep me inside of her.

I’ve never not responded to the sight of her. Never not been attracted to her.

But this—her lips swollen from my kisses and her hair messy from my hands and her pussy so wet it’s soaking my fingers? It’s my new favorite look on her. And it’s called mine.

And as much as I’d like to just stand here and admire the view, I haven’t forgotten where we are. I’m blocking her body with mine, but I still don’t want anyone seeing her like this. And Harlow is impatient, squirming against me and trying to force more friction. Her jeans are keeping her thighs together, so she feels even tighter than usual.

I fuck her with my fingers as fast as I can in the limited space, kissing her when I feel her walls start pulsing, using my hand to get her off. Even after all the tremors have stopped, I keep kissing her. She tastes like ginger and vodka and something special that’s just Harlow. I only pull away when I feel her shiver against me.

It’s way too cold for her to be half-naked out here. I smirk at her surprised expression when I lick my fingers clean. Then pull her jeans back up and right the strap on her shoulder.

She watches me closely. “Now I smell like a brewery and sex.”

“I happen to know a place across the street with clean clothes…”

“Don’t you want to stay? Celebrate with the team?”

I’m honest. “No.”

They’re all drunk and we spend most of our time together already. I’m only here because it was expected I’d show and I had nothing better to do.

“Do you want to stay?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “I only came because the captain of the team invited me, and it seemed rude not to accept.”

I smirk.

“Let me just text Mary, make sure she’s good.” Harlow pulls her phone out of her pocket and starts typing.

I shrug out of my jacket and drape it around her shoulders.

“Thanks.”

“Purely self-interest, Hayes. If you get hypothermia, I can’t fuck you.”

She hums, a small smile appearing on her face as she types something on her phone.

“Okay. Mary is good. Let’s go.”

We walk around the house toward the sidewalk.

“We’ve got another home game next weekend, you know. If you didn’t hate this one.”

Harlow’s silent.

“You don’t have to, obviously. I just—”

“No, I’d love to go. I just…I won’t be here next weekend.”

That’s all she says. And I know what the lack of explanation means, even before I ask, “Where are you going?”

“Claremont. Landon has a…gig.”

“Oh.” We reach the curb before I think of anything else to say. “He’s a musician?”

“Yeah. He’s in a band.”

I know nothing about my half-brother. Likes. Dislikes. Interests. Pet peeves. Hobbies.

“Are they any good?”

“Um. They’re a work in progress.”

I wonder if Hugh is musical. I don’t think so. I wonder if it irks Landon how my interests align more closely to our father than his do.

It irks me.

I glance over at Harlow. She’s watching me cautiously, like she’s expecting me to stomp off at any moment. React the same way I did when Landon called her.

Does it bother me, that she’s going to visit the Garrisons next weekend? Yeah.

Does it change any of my feelings toward her? No.

And since I can tell Harlow’s wondering if it does, I reach out and grab her hand, twining our fingers together.

That’s how we walk, the whole way back to my house.