GOALKEEPER BY ANDI BURNS
Winning games has always been his focus, but will winning her heart become the ultimate goal?
Everyone at Moo U knows the party doesn’t start until Paige Underwood arrives. Not only is she beautiful, she’s fun and charming too. Guys want to date her, and girls want to be her best friend. All Paige wants is to have a good time and make videos for her beauty channel--and maybe get that girl down the hall to do her eyeliner correctly. Is that too much to ask?
According to her parents, yes. They’ve said the party’s over and that it’s time to get focused.
Spencer Briggs knows all about focus. He’s had one goal since he set foot on the ice as a kid: make it to the NHL. After years of hard work and endless practice, he’s the starting goalie for Moo U and mere steps away from his dream. He can’t afford distractions, and isn’t interested in relationships. And he definitely can’t afford to flirt back with the gorgeous girl in his lit class.
He needs to stay serious. She needs to get serious. But now serious sparks are flying . . .
My turn comes up again and it feels like the Drunk Jenga Gods are smiling down on me because the tile reads Handcuffs- L. From out of nowhere Emma grabs a pair of handcuffs and hooks one on Paige’s wrist and the other on mine. I can’t lie-- they’re tight as hell and it’s entirely possible I’m losing circulation, but I don’t give a damn.
“Guess you’re stuck with me, huh?” I say.
“There are worse places to be.” She smiles back.
Holy Jesus. Remind me why I never go to parties?
Doyle picks the Mr. Rogers tile, and slips off his shoes. Then a girl whose name I don’t know (Ava, Ada?) chooses one that says Pick a stripper. I’m clueless as to what this might mean, until she points to me. Shit. Cheers and catcalls go up around me, and I guess this’ll teach me to be careful what I wish for.
The handcuffs prove a bit tricky and my shirt ends up dangling on the chain between Paige and me, but based on the appreciative looks I’m getting from her, I don’t mind at all. And yea, I have no time for dating, but if I did, I’d have a hardcore crush on Paige.
Emma and Andy duet “Don’t Stop Believin” (yes, he continues meowing) and we’re all feeling good.
The game continues and gets increasingly more ridiculous. I’m laughing my ass off at Herrera, a junior forward, who has to announce the next round of tiles like an auctioneer.
I’m laughing, that is until he reads Paige’s. “Kiss a stranger, kiss a stranger... Going once, going twice, sold to the blonde next to Briggsy,” his voice trails off as he points to Paige.
I stop cracking up because she turns to me, reaches up and kisses me like she was born to do it. As cliché as it sounds, the rest of the room melts away. I know we’re surrounded by a bunch of drunk, horny college students, but as she threads her fingers into my hair, I really don’t care. Needing closer contact, which is a little tough since I’ve got almost a foot on her, I reach down and place both hands at the base of her spine. She leans into me, craving the contact, too, and I pay no attention to the wolf-whistle that pierces the air and is surely directed toward us.
I deepen our kiss and she moans with pleasure. Pulling back, I look her in the eyes. “You’re fucking perfect,” I tell her before tasting her lips again. She melts into me, and it’s taking all the restraint I can muster not to lift her up, wrap her legs around my waist, and--
“Briggsy!” Zac shouts in my ear, startling me and breaking the kiss, “It’s your turn.”
Asshole.
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