Offside: Rules of the Game Book 1

A one-day break to sober up from intoxication via Chase probably wasn’t the worst thing. After flying high all day yesterday, I needed to come back down to earth.

Just not today, apparently.

Best laid plans and all that.

Rain pelted against the glass rooftop of the atrium as Chase and I perched at a black metal table tucked away in the corner of the Callingwood campus food court, finishing the last of our burrito bowls. We hadn’t planned to see each other today, and I’d planned to work on a few assignments during my break while Chase performed his usual pre-game routine after his last afternoon class. Later tonight, we would be at two different arenas for two different games.

But when one of Chase’s profs called in sick at the last minute, he’d texted me to meet for lunch, and all the other stuff went right out the window. Finalizing the feature on the Callingwood Symphonic Chorus for the paper’s weekend edition would have to wait because the lure of spending time with him was way too appealing.

So much for the self-discipline I prided myself on having.

I turned to face Chase, taking in the adorably awkward way he was trying to fit his oversized frame into the chair attached to the small table. His legs were far too long, forcing him to bend his knees out at an unwieldy angle.

“The world’s not made for people your size, huh?”

Chase glanced down at his blue jean-clad legs, lips tugging up. “Nope.” He nodded at me. “That’s why I like that you’re tall too. You know what it’s like to tower over everyone else.”

“I feel bad that you came all this way to see me when you have to turn around and go right back.”

He threw his arm along the back of my chair, fingers grazing my upper back. “What else would I do with my free Friday afternoon? Study? Alone?”

“Well, yeah.” I laughed, taking the last bite of my cilantro lime rice. “That would probably be a good idea. And what about your whole pre-game nap routine?”

“Why would I want to sleep when I could hang out with you here?”

I pointed at him with my fork. “You don’t even go here.”

“So?” Chase shrugged. “I’m still a student.”

Fair enough. And at least he was wearing a black zip-up hoodie instead of his usual scarlet Falcons gear. The crimson bird was verboten around these parts.

“Okay, but as soon as we’re done eating, we have to actually study.” I tried—and failed—to keep a straight face, my tone stern. “And by we, I mean you. Study. Not flirt with me from across the table.”

“How about both?” He flashed me a playful smile. “You know, compromise.”

Impossibly charming and impossible to refuse.

“Whatever keeps you studying and off probation.”

“I’ll have you know I’m pulling straight Bs this semester.” He took a sip of his bottled water, giving me an innocent look that I almost bought. “I’ve been a perfect angel.”

“You mean replaced by an impostor?” I asked, gathering up my empty bowl, napkin, and cutlery, while Chase did the same.

“More like rehabilitated by your good influence.”

We stood and took our garbage and recycling over to the bins by the pillar, then I steered him to the stairwell that led to my favorite study room on the second floor. It was cozy, with comfortable chairs and functioning heat, which was more than I could say for some of Callingwood’s other study areas.

“Hmm.” I hummed, pausing with my hand on the stainless-steel door handle. “If I’m your good influence, does that make you my bad influence?”

“Definitely.” Chase brushed my hair off my shoulder. A shiver ran down my spine at his touch. He tucked my hair out of the way and moved in close, nuzzling my ear. “Speaking of that,” he murmured. “I can’t wait to get my hands on you tomorrow night.”

My breath caught. I was expecting a kiss on the cheek, not dirty talk in the middle of the student commons. But this was Chase I was dealing with.

“Why’s that?” I asked, voice breathy.

“Because I’m going to make you come so hard you wake up your new neighbors.”

A jolt ran through me, and I whipped my head around to face him, eyes wide. “Oh my god. Chase. There are people everywhere.”

“I know.” He gave me a wolffish grin. “That’s why I said it quietly.”

“But now I feel…”

“Turned on?”

“In public.” I scanned our surroundings for eavesdroppers. The seating area behind him was filled with students eating and milling around, carrying trays of food and talking on their phones. Of course none of them had noticed a thing. No one knew I was getting all hot and bothered. But still.

“That’s the point, James. Anticipation is half the fun.” He nudged me, opening the door and holding it for me.

I shook my head, lowering my voice. “You’re such a tease.”

“Of course,” he said. “I love teasing you.”

“I could tease you too, you know.”

His gaze snared mine, warm brown eyes a mixture of amusement and desire. “Yes, please.”

“Famous last words, Carter.”

I would get him back someday. I just had to work up the nerve.

After spending an hour studying—or trying to while Chase took advantage of the otherwise empty room, doing his best to banter and play footsie with me—he walked me to class on the opposite side of campus.

We made our way across the quad with the wind gusting, a gloomy gray sky looming overhead. At least the rain had stopped. Usually, I loved fall, but the weather today was depressing, hinting of the winter to follow.

“Guess who called me the other day?” Chase said, taking a sip of his black coffee. His other hand was laced in mine, the heat of his skin warming it against the cold.

“Who?”

“The assistant GM for Los Angeles.”

“What?” I froze with my cup halfway to my mouth. “That’s huge. What did he want?”

“Checking in. How’s school coming, training and nutrition, how are my coaches, talk about game tapes, things scouts have noticed.”

Having been drafted before he started school, Chase was in the ideal situation for a college hockey player. A spot on the team was his to lose.

Conversely, Derek hadn’t been drafted. He still didn’t know who, if anyone, would pick him up after graduation. He might not know until well into next summer. And even then, it could be the NHL, AHL, or ECHL—or none of the above, which meant finding a regular job like everyone else. The last possibility scared him the most. He desperately wanted to play professionally after college.

“It’s early in the season for them to be reaching out, isn’t it?” I asked, my brow furrowed. I wasn’t as familiar with the ins and outs of the signing process as I was with other aspects of hockey.

“Kind of, yeah. I think they’re trying to feel me out.”

“For next year?” My heart stuttered. I wanted to say it was because I was happy for him, but my feelings weren’t quite that altruistic.

“Maybe.” Chase shrugged. “That or they know I’m trouble and they’re keeping tabs. Could be both.”

I laughed, but it died quickly. “Would you really leave school a year early? Without getting your degree?”

“Oh yeah.” He nodded.

“This way.” Making a left, I pulled him toward the brick social sciences building. Guess I knew why he was so unmotivated when it came to school. He had no plans to stay long enough to graduate.

“You would leave? Just like that?”

“One hundred percent.”

I suddenly found myself winded. “That’s a big decision.”

“I know,” he said. “But I’ve given it lots of thought. If it came down to it, I would jump ship. I could always finish my degree later if I needed to.”

“Most people don’t end up going back, though.” Pretty hard to take the lifestyle hit that would entail.

“Probably not,” he admitted.

A million things flew through my mind, but I wasn’t sure it was my business.

“Speaking of hockey,” Chase said, “I’m still leading in my fantasy hockey pool. Partly because of you.” He squeezed my hand, rubbing the back of it with his rough thumb. He was trying to change the subject.

“That’s awesome.” But all I could think of was what would happen to us if he left. I knew it was too early to worry about that, but the thought of this being something temporary was gutting.

A few minutes later, we settled onto a wooden bench off to the side of the social science foyer, finishing the last of our coffees. In a twist of terrible timing, I had a lecture in less than ten minutes, and now we were locked in a disagreement about tonight.

“You didn’t tell me you’d be at the Bulldogs game alone.” Chase frowned. “I don’t like it.”

“It’ll be fine,” I said, placing a hand on his muscular thigh. “Then I can finish packing after I get home, and we can move all of my stuff tomorrow.”

“Still don’t think you should be there without someone. Morrison gives me the creeps, James. Have you seen the way he looks at you? I feel like he’s going to roll up and yank you into a white cube van one day. I’m not even kidding.”

Luke was lots of things—lots of really crappy things—but he wasn’t dangerous. He never physically hurt me. Though one could do a lot of damage to someone without laying a finger on them.

“You’re being a little dramatic,” I said. “There will be people everywhere in the arena. And Derek too.”

“So?” he asked gruffly. “When was the last time Derek stood up for you?”

I gave him a withering look. “You don’t think my own brother would stop someone from abducting me?”

“Who’s to say he would even notice? He’s pretty absorbed in whatever he’s got going on.”

It landed like a slap. Part of me knew he had a point, even if his delivery did sting. But Derek and I had made headway in mending the fence. Things weren’t perfect by a long shot, and if I let myself think too hard about things, I might let my frustrations get the best of me.

“That’s a little harsh,” I said. “Besides, he ended things with Jill.”

“Cool, now he can start making up for being shitty to you.”

“Damn, Carter. Tell me what you really think.”

Yes, he had a protective streak a mile wide, but sometimes he could stand to soften the blunt delivery a little.

“Remember when I said I’d always tell you the truth?” His tone was flat. “If the truth hurts, I’m not the one you should be mad at.” He unzipped his hoodie, exposing the white tee underneath. He was always overheating. Arguing probably didn’t help that.

Drawing in a breath, I blew it out slowly to calm the frustration brewing within me. “Back to the topic at hand. You’re blowing this whole game thing way out of proportion.”

Chase shook his head, the cords in his neck tight. “I’m not. You need someone there with you. I’d legit send Ward if he didn’t have to be at the game with me.”

“I’ll be gone before the players even get out of the dressing room.”

“It’s not just Morrison. What about Amelia and Jillian? What if they corner you and give you a hard time? Not to mention that fucker Paul.”

“I deal with Amelia and Jillian at home already, remember?” A sour taste filled my mouth. “Besides, Zara, Noelle, and Shiv are all busy.”

I was borderline embarrassed that I had no one else to ask. In the past, I’d had an abundance of friends—until it turned out they weren’t actually my friends.

“I guess we could hire a bodyguard. Unless you have another solution.”

“I do, actually. A really easy one. Don’t go.”

“I’ll be fine.”

His jaw tensed. “What if you’re not?”

I felt like pulling out my hair. Chase meant it when he said he was stubborn. I was quickly learning that meant he was impossible to argue with when he dug in his heels.

“Oh my god. It’s one hockey game. In public. Why are you being so stubborn?”

“Because I’m right,” he said, voice low. “He’s a total fucking creep.” I knew that voice. It was the end-of-discussion voice. I liked it in the bedroom—a lot—but it was frustrating as heck outside of it.

“Wait.” I held up a hand, frowning. “Are you sure you aren’t mad because I won’t be at your game? My stuff is important too, you know.”

“First of all, I’m not mad—I’m upset. There’s a difference. And of course your stuff is important.” His expression softened, his tone following suit. “It’s got nothing to do with you watching me or not. But I’ll be worried about you all night.”

“Which will throw off your game.”

“Which will throw off my sanity, James.” He tucked a stray lock of hair behind my ear and rested his palm against my cheek. “I care about you more than the game.”

My heart did another stutter for entirely different reasons this time.

“I care about you too. And it’s super sweet that you’re worried. But I’ll be fine. Promise. I’ll text you updates to prove I’m alive.” I checked my watch. “Sorry, I’ve got to get to class.”

We came to stand, face to face, and he wrapped his broad hands, warm and strong, around my waist. He dipped his head and touched his lips to mine, the tension between us evaporating. Smiling against my mouth, he let out a low chuckle as we broke apart.

“I think I needed that,” he said. His smile faded and a frown ghosted his face. “Call me if anything happens.”

“But you’ll be on the ice.”

“Do it anyway, okay?”

“Okay.”

He leaned in, planting a soft kiss on my cheek. “See you tomorrow, beautiful.”

Since the Bulldogs weren’t playing the Falcons tonight, I didn’t actively root against them—at least, not as much. In the end, they won three to two, which was good news for Derek.

I rooted against Paul, though. Enthusiastically. He didn’t score any points, which I privately gloated about. Luke was still out with his knee injury too—an additional blessing since I didn’t have to watch him on the ice.

The light was fading as I began my walk home. I was ten minutes into my twenty-minute walk, keeping a brisk pace to generate bodily warmth in the chilly evening air. Then, from out of nowhere, Luke’s car pulled up beside me. It was like Chase’s cube van prediction come to life, only with a navy blue BMW coupe.

My stomach pitched as Luke slowed the car to an idle and rolled down the window, leaning his head out. “Bailey. Can we talk?”

The universe had just given me the biggest I-told-you-so ever.