Page 2 of Best Things in Life

“Shut the fuck up,” I say. It’s my only meager defense and it doesn’t hold.

“Come to think of it,” Dooley says, “She does look far more like your type of babe…” He does the speculative finger against the chin move and I want to slap it away.

“Don’t test me and my Italian temper,” I say, trying to sound like I’m kidding.

“What’s the story?” Bane asks. “You know her?”

I nod. There’s no avoiding it so I rip off the fucking Band-Aid and confess.

“We were…” Everything to each other. But I can’t say that. I clear my throat. “We dated in high school.”

“And?”

“And it ended. I came here to play hockey.” Not to play house the way our families—especially her mother—expected. The way she expected.

“Did she break your heart?” I want to slap the smirk off Bane’s face, but I smirk back.

“No. I broke hers because I’m a bastard—something you ought to remember before you say another fucking word about this.”

“And now you want her back,” Dooley says. “Because—”

“You can’t stand seeing her with Bigsby,” Bane interrupts.

“You both suck. It’s complicated. You see them together. They don’t fucking belong—"

“I don’t give a fuck if they make a cute couple.” Bane lowers his voice. “There’s a rule about fucking with another guy’s girl. Don’t do it or you’re out.” Bane pauses a beat while I stare him down, the vein in my temple pounding and threatening to explode because he’s right. He lets out a long breath and loses the smirk. “Look, just be cool about it.”

“Says the hothead from Australia?”

“Says the president of BMOC House.” Bane folds his arms across his chest, towering above Dooley and a few inches above me, commanding all the space he can as if it’s a substitute for respect.

“Don’t worry, Nate.” Dooley winks. “We’ll deal with this situation in a civilized manner. Without breaking any rules.”

“There is no situation. You need to forget about her and move on.” Bane sounds worried now and I think I know why.

“You’re just worried about Bigsby’s old man’s donation to the house, aren’t you?”

“He’s pledged twenty large to pay for last semester’s damages and shortfall. Of course I’m … concerned. It’s my fucking responsibility to keep this fucking shithole running and solvent.”

“Fuck you. Money’s more important to you than—”

“Than what? You? What about Bigs? He has rights here too.”

“Gentlemen, gentlemen,” Dooley says. “No need for crazy accusations and side-taking. This will all be resolved quite easily.”

“There’s nothing to resolve,” Bane says, waving an arm. “The girl—”

“Sarina,” I say, glaring.

“Sarina belongs to Bigs,” Bane says, crossing his impressive forearms across his chest again so they form a tall solid wall of determination. I’m big and fit, but I’m leaner and not nearly as tall as Bane’s over-muscled football body. No matter. I’m a hell of a lot spunkier when it comes down to it. As if we’re going to fight? Shit, I run a shaky hand through my hair. Get it together, man.

“Until Sarina says otherwise,” Dooley says. We both look at him. Fuck. This is messed up. Is that what I want? Do I want her back again, to have that all-consuming relationship that barely left room to breathe let alone hockey? “Gentlemen—using the term very loosely but I have high hopes—this is all up to Sarina.”

“No, it’s not” I say, my mind spinning with what the hell I’m doing because I had a good reason to break her heart—both of our hearts—and end us. Because I meant the last words I said to her when I left three years ago.

Hockey first forever.

Chapter 2