Page 93 of Pucking Bad Boys

When Macklin didn’t order an alcoholic beverage at dinner, I assumed he was being cautious because he’s driving. Tomorrow is also the first official game of the season, and I understand if he’s watching his alcohol intake.

“I didn’t want to overdo it,” he smiles, confirming my assumption. “But one drink can’t hurt, right?”

I order a gin martini with a twist when the server comes to take our order, and Macklin follows my lead.

“Your drink order is surprising.” He observes once we’re alone at our table.

“Why is that?”

He chooses his words carefully. “I hope you won’t take this the wrong way, but most girls I’ve been around would go for a fruity, sickly sweet concoction. Or a skinny margarita.”

I don’t have to ask who orders skinny drinks. “I’m usually the one serving cocktails to others. But when I get the chance to have a nice drink I didn’t have to make and with top shelf liquor, I want to make the most of it. My other choice would have been Champagne, but sometimes it gives me a headache and I didn’t want to risk it tonight.”

We both know what’s going to happen at the end of the night. But there’s no sign that Macklin catches the obvious implication in my words.

We enjoy our drinks; the conversation is light and entertaining; the vibe between us is warm and flirty.

Once our glasses are empty, Macklin takes my hand in his, like he’s done countless times tonight. “I would ask you if you want another drink, but…”

We are on the same page. “I’m ok, thanks.” I do my best to keep my voice steady. I don’t want him to know that the butterflies in my stomach are fluttering their wings like they’re on crack right now.

He rises from his chair and before I can move, he comes to move mine back, helping me back to my feet.

As we leave the country club bar holding hands, those butterflies multiply with every passing second.

Rather than guiding me back to the exit, Macklin heads in the opposite direction.

I look at him when he stops by one of the elevators in the lobby. “We aren’t going back to campus?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “No. You want to spend the night together, right? I mean, if you’ve changed your mind, it’s ok. Wecan stay in the room anyway, or if you don’t want to do that, I can take you home.”

“No,” I put all my conviction in my voice. “I want to spend tonight with you, Macklin. I just thought we’d go back to your room at the Gamma House.”

The elevator doors open right then, and he guides me inside, taking a key card out of his blazer’s pocket and choosing the top floor.

“The house is always crowded and noisy. Especially the night before a game, when everyone is home. I wanted to make sure no one would knock on my door or disturb us.”

I’m grateful for his thoughtfulness. My room wasn’t an option either. I didn’t want to bump into Gen tonight, and I’m sure neither did Macklin.

He doesn’t let go of my hand the entire elevator ride, nor as we walk down the hallway, our feet sinking into the club’s luxurious carpet.

“After you.” He murmurs as he unlocks the door to our room.

“This isn’t a room.” It’s impossible to hide the surprise in my voice. “Macklin, you didn’t have to book a suite.”

He pulls me closer. “I just wanted everything to be perfect tonight.”

It is perfect because it’s you.

The words are on the tip of my tongue, but I swallow them back down. I have to remember that this is part of our deal. I’m grateful to him though for putting so much effort into everything. Especially tonight.

I’m almost twenty-two and at this point, I’ve been feeling like my v-card is embarrassing more than anything else. I haven’t been thinking about my first time with the same romantic notion of my teenage years.

If anything, I’ve been wanting to get this over with as soon and as discreetly as possible.

But now that it’s about to happen, I’m glad that it’s with him. And that he’s gone through all this trouble to make it special. To make me feel special.

We take a few moments to walk around the opulent suite. I swear someone could live here.