Shutout: Rules of the Game Book 2

SERAPHINA

Office of the Registrar – Boyd University

Declaring a major: All students must declare a major by the end of sophomore year.

I set my mug of coffee on the kitchen counter and make a face, re-reading the page. While I understand the reasoning behind the policy, it strikes me as a little unfair. Unlike Chase, I didn’t come out of the womb knowing what I wanted to be when I grew up. He’s eaten, slept, and breathed hockey for as long as I can remember. My first memory of him is on skates.

Meanwhile, I can’t even commit to a program of study, let alone a career. As a sophomore entering my second semester, it’s getting down to the wire. I’m nearly finished with my general education requirements, and if I don’t settle on a major soon, I could end up wasting time and money on courses that won’t count. The only other alternative would be taking a break from school until I decide. That poses a very real risk I wouldn’t end up going back, and I don’t have a backup plan that doesn’t involve college.

Then again, I don’t have a plan that involves college, either. I don’t have a plan, period.

Flipping through the Courses and Academic Options section, I do a gut check as I try to picture myself in various programs. English? Not unless romance novels are a major part of the curriculum. Science of any sort? Hell no. Math? An even harder no. Psychology? Maybe…

The page lands on Introduction to Creative Writing. Curiosity piqued, I scan the course description. Writing has been one of my favorite escapes from reality ever since I was a kid. It started with devouring books at a young age and evolved into imagining my own stories. Eventually I started writing to occupy myself whenever I got dragged to one of Chase’s games. Maybe that wasn’t very sisterly of me but in my defense, there were a lot of them. A girl can only watch so much hockey.

I composed countless pieces huddled on the benches of various subzero arenas over the years. Although everyone in my family thinks writing was a phase, one of my best-kept secrets is that I still do it. Mostly poetry, along with some other scraps of fiction that I’ve buried in the furthest depths of my hard drive, praying no one finds them should I meet an untimely end.

A seed of curiosity blooms in my brain. I’ve never studied writing formally. The idea is intriguing, if slightly intimidating.

Someone clears their throat behind me. I whirl around to find Tyler standing a few feet away, both freshly showered and fully shirtless. More specifically, he’s got a white T-shirt slung over one muscular shoulder, but for reasons that remain unclear, he isn’t wearing it. Not that I’m complaining.

Between the miles of ink, the taut muscles, and the trail of fine hair below his navel, it’s impossible to look away. I’m full-on staring. I can’t help it. Might be drooling a little too. I can’t say for certain because I’ve lost all capacity for higher order thinking.

When I don’t say anything, his mouth lifts at one corner. “Hey, Tink.”

Words continue to elude me, and the Boyd U undergraduate programs handbook slips through my fingers, fluttering to the floor.

“Didn’t mean to startle you.” He bends to pick up the booklet and hands it to me with a grin. “Just needed some coffee.”

Still clutching the registration guide, I glance over to discover I’ve been zoning out in front of the coffeemaker. Next to me on the counter, my freshly poured coffee is now lukewarm. How long have I been standing here? When my ADHD meds kick in, the hyperfocus is no joke. It’s easy to get caught up in the wrong tasks if I’m not careful. One time, I lost an entire afternoon to playing Two Dots on my phone.

Tyler tugs his shirt on overhead—which, while slightly disappointing, is probably for the best—and grabs a mug from the cupboard as I step out of his way. When he takes the carafe off the warmer, my brain finishes rebooting and comes back online.

“That’s decaf,” I warn him.

He stops mid-pour, his brows knit together. “Decaf? Not to be a dick, but what’s the point of that?”

“I take medication that can’t be mixed with caffeine. I tried once and I’m pretty sure I nearly had a heart attack. But I used to be a hardcore coffee addict and I still like the ritual of drinking it in the morning, so I switched to decaf. You can pour out the rest and start over if you want the good stuff. I don’t mind.” Clearly, I’m more nervous than I realized because I just told Tyler far more than he ever wanted to know about my history with coffee. Good move, Sera. Definitely normal friend behavior.

“Nah, it’s not a big deal. Probably wouldn’t kill me to cut back anyway.” With a shrug, he finishes filling his cup. Then he props a hip against the cupboard, facing me. The mug is oversized, pushing twenty ounces if I had to guess, and it still looks small compared to his hands.

Damnit, no. Don’t think about his hands.

I shift my focus higher, tracing the intricate inked designs that adorn his arms and neck before I reach his face, taking in every feature. Somehow he’s intensely beautiful and powerfully masculine all at once. He’s also a lot more intimidating than I remembered.

This situation is like having psychological whiplash. My poor brain is running in circles, scrambling to catch up to what my body already instinctively knows. I’m still trying to grasp that those are the same hands that were up my dress in the bathroom just months ago. The same lips that kissed me on the dance floor until I was breathless and dizzy. And the same guy who murmured filthy, unspeakable things in my ear while he made me come so hard I saw stars.

When he brings the coffee cup to his lips, part of me envies that piece of white ceramic.

Reaching for my mug, I tear my eyes away. “I didn’t think anyone else would be up yet.”

“I have an early biochem lecture,” he says. “Not ideal, but it was the only time they had. What about you?”

“Chronically incapable of sleeping in.” My inability to snooze past seven o’clock in the morning is a royal pain in the ass. It doesn’t matter how late I stay up or how much I drank the night before. The moment the hour hand hits that cursed time, I’m wide awake whether I want to be or not.

On the plus side, being an early bird means I’m already dressed and ready for the day. I’ll have to remain on my primping A-game for the duration of my time here. No schlubby sweatshirts with stray nail polish stains, no baggy period pajamas, and definitely no charcoal face masks anywhere outside the bathroom. Might have to burn my ratty old robe for good measure. Not because I care what Tyler thinks, but because… okay, I definitely do.

“Ouch. That’s rough.” He pretends to wince. Reaching up, he palms the back of his neck. Something flashes across his face that I don’t quite catch. “Are you sticking around for Chase’s birthday party?”

Like I have a choice. Much as my brother likes to pretend otherwise, he’s a bit of a diva. He would hold it against me forever if I didn’t attend his birthday party. And he doesn’t even like birthdays.

I want to attend, though. Chase and I were best friends growing up. Even in high school, we hung around the same crowd, and I was hurt that we grew apart after he moved out for college.

If there’s one silver lining to this situation, maybe it’s that we can become closer again.

“I’ll hang around for a bit. It’ll be a good chance to get to know more people from Boyd.” That Tyler happens to be one of them is merely a coincidence.

He opens his mouth to say something and a quiet knock at the front door cuts him off. It’s quarter after seven, which means Abby is more than twenty minutes early picking me up for our eight am spin class. She was also supposed to text, not get out of her car to retrieve me.

“That’ll be for me,” I tell him, wishing I knew what he was about to say.

Tyler heads back downstairs with his coffee while I go to the entry to let in my incredibly nosy, incredibly sneaky friend. When I bailed on unpacking the other night—because let’s face it, that was bound to happen—I ended up at her place being interrogated over White Claws before we went to XS. She wanted to know Tyler’s life story. Unfortunately, I had little insight to offer. So far, he’s no less mysterious than when he was Hades.

“This isn’t a date, Abbs. You don’t have to pick me up at the door.” I hold it open for her, ushering her inside. Because she’s ahead of schedule, I’m not ready to leave yet. I suspect that was by design.

She cranes her neck, searching the house for signs of Tyler, not even attempting to be discreet about it. I silently mouth “he’s downstairs,” pointing to the basement, eliciting a dramatic pout from her in response.

A few minutes later, we’re out the door and her curiosity remains unsatisfied. The front door slams shut behind us, and I wince at the racket, knowing Chase and Dallas are still asleep upstairs. I’m not used to their house yet. Unlike my old apartment, where I had to drag the door shut with all my strength, this one closes itself with the force of a hurricane wind.

“I can’t believe you’re living with Hades,” Abby screeches, pulling on my arm through my coat. Even with us outside, it’s entirely possible it was loud enough for Tyler to hear. Or for the entire block to hear, for that matter.

“His name is Tyler.” A frigid gust of wind kicks up as I climb into her white Range Rover, issuing a brutal reminder I still need to hit the mall for a proper winter coat. “And it’s temporary.”

“It’s a live-in booty call, Sera. Think of how convenient that could be.”

I cross my legs in the passenger seat, trying to ignore the way my body eagerly responds to her suggestion. “That would be a terrible idea.”

“Please. You told me all about what happened in that bathroom. With chemistry like that, you two are totally going to fuck again.” She throws the SUV into reverse, and the rear tires fishtail as she pulls onto the street.

“Doubtful. The only thing Tyler seemed to care about was making sure we don’t tell Chase.” I was in full agreement because I have no interest in him becoming even more overprotective than he already is. I’m not even sure what he’d do if he found out. Send me to a hotel? Stand guard outside my bedroom? String a little bell along the top of my door?

Other than the brother issue, Tyler seemed completely unfazed when he learned my identity. Like our bathroom hookup wasn’t memorable or noteworthy at all. While that bruises my ego a little, maybe it’s ultimately a good thing. It means it’ll be easier to move on without any awkwardness.

Though if I keep drooling over him in the kitchen, it might remain awkward no matter what.

“If anything,” I add, “I should find someone else to distract me from him.” Entertainment in the form of another warm, willing male would get me out of the house, keep me occupied, and most importantly, take my mind off Tyler. It’s a solid enough plan. Unfortunately, I have zero desire to follow through with it—especially after seeing him shirtless in the kitchen.

Abby laughs. “Come to our next mixer and we can make that happen.”

For some reason, the offer doesn’t sound as appealing as it usually would.

She tugs off her knit purple beanie, freeing her unruly copper curls, and launches into an update on her love life. She’s caught in the middle of the most complicated love triangle I’ve ever heard. Or maybe it’s a love quadrangle? Love square? There’s a hefty amount of history between all of the parties involved, and I could use a flow chart to help keep it straight.

When she wraps up her story, she remarks, “You seem off today.”

I feel her gaze on me as I look out the window, watching the snow-covered trees fly by in a blur. “I’m okay.”

In truth, I’m thinking about my mom. They caught her cancer early and she’s expected to make a full recovery, but it’s hard not to worry. Since they live over an hour away, my stepfather Rick has been taking her to chemotherapy and I’ve been receiving regular updates. I’ll be coming to her next follow-up appointment later this month and attending as many as I can after that. Maybe that way, I’ll at least feel like I’m doing something to help.

Abby barrels toward a red light and I claw at the seat nervously, my gel nails digging into luxury leather. Her SUV skids for a few feet before coming to a stop halfway into the crosswalk. It snowed again last night, and the plows haven’t come by yet. Given that she drives like a speed demon even in the poorest of conditions, I’m rethinking my decision to carpool to the gym.

The rest of our drive goes much the same. I exhale a sigh of relief as she veers into a parking stall, marking an end to our frightening journey.

She kills the ignition, shifting to look at me. “You’re going to reaffiliate with Kappa, right?”

“Soon.” As a transfer student, I’ve been given the choice between switching to early alumni status with my sorority or joining the Boyd University chapter. Reaffiliating seems like the obvious choice, but there’s something holding me back from fully committing.

“I can get them to rush the application,” she sings.

“It’s on my to-do list.”

What I don’t tell her is that every time I go to draft the request email, I freeze. Maybe it’s too much change all at once.