BLAZE: Enemies to Lovers College Hockey Romance Eddie Cleveland (best mobile ebook reader .TXT) 📖

behind her ear looking down at the table. “I could tell you about your chicken tattoo. You told me why you have it, like, why it’s crossing the road.”

That is more specific than I was expecting. If I knew that tattoo would get so much attention, I would’ve gone to a better artist. Then, instead of the simple, black outline of a chicken, it would be something that looks less like I did it myself. Any guy that wants a lot of attention on their tattoo should get it above their cock. Of all the ink that covers my skin, that’s the one every girl asks about it.

My chicken tattoo isn’t my favorite, but it’s the one I have the most fun with. She stands at the edge of a road that’s neatly perched across the top of my pubic hair. When I get the inevitable questions about it, I always say, “Why did the chicken cross the road? To get to the cock on the other side.” It’s not exactly an icebreaker, but it does help draw attention to my other attributes.

“Bunnies talk.” I know the truth in my gut. I don’t remember fucking Prissy, but she remembers being fucked by me. It’s weird to go from feeling like someone is a stranger to realizing your cock has been inside them.

Prissy scans the bar like she’s worried someone might hear her. “Would a bunny tell me you like to say, ‘Sit on my face, babe. I wanna taste the day on you?’” Prissy’s bad impersonation of me is made worse by whispering.

“They might.” I know they didn’t. She’s not gonna crack because she’s telling the truth. “I believe you. It’s just… it’s strange.”

“Yeah. It is. I probably shouldn’t have said anything.” Worry flickers in her eyes.

“Why? It doesn’t change anything unless you tell me you took this job just to get back at me. Then you’ll have more of a backstory for your Becky Ball-Buster persona,” I joke.

Prissy starts laughing. “I swear I didn’t know this job had anything to do with you when I applied.”

“As long as this isn’t a sexy stalker thing. I mean, I’m still down. It’s not a total vibe-killer or anything.”

“Blaze.” She uses her I’m warning you voice. Normally I like to push it just a bit more, wait until her temper blazes in her cheeks and then back off.

She looks at her almost empty glass.

I do the same. We’re both silent for a minute. The whole place has really quieted down. It’s just us and two other tables with stragglers, dragging out dinners they aren’t ready to end.

“It’s getting late.” She pulls her phone out of her purse and checks the time. “We should probably call it.”

“You can’t pull the curfew card on my birthday.”

“Curfew was almost an hour ago. And in ten minutes, it’s not your birthday anymore.” She turns her screen around to show me.

As far as nights go, this one could have gone a lot worse. I decide not to push it. “We’ll share a car.” I figure out how much it is to settle the bill and put the money on the table.

“You don’t live that close to me.” Prissy frowns at her screen, trying to book a driver.

“It’s not that far. Our neighborhoods are like a Venn diagram… a lot of overlap.” I interlock my fingers, and she laughs. We walk over to the coat check.

“A Venn diagram, huh?” She finishes ordering the car, and I grab our winter coats.

“I’m not just a killer hockey player with a pretty face. I know things.”

Prissy laughs. “It must be fun being you. Always impressed with yourself. Never caring about what people think.”

I only ever cared about one person’s opinion, and he’s dead. Not that I’m about to get into any of that.

“It’s easy being me,” I agree with her. When the car shows up, we slump together in the back.

The silence is comfortable. The streets can slide by, and we don’t need to fill the air with pointless chatter. I like that.

“So, this probably wasn’t your best birthday, but was it the worst one you’ve had?” Prissy seems to have a different take on the silence.

“Best and worst were the same birthday,” I roll my head back on the seat, closing my eyes. Memories from the party I had in my last year of high school flood my mind. I can still feel the buzz of the baseline in my chest and smell the Everclear in the air.

“What happened?”

“It was like a movie. You know the typical parents-are-out-of-town party?”

“Yeah.”

“It was that.”

“Okay.”

“There was puke in the potted plant. We had to break up a couple fights. Chicks kept making out with each other in every room.”

“I get the picture.” She rolls her eyes.

“Right. Well, then my parents came home.”

“Ah, did they freak out?” Prissy nods with understanding.

“I wish. If my parents just lost their shit or grounded me or whatever that wouldn’t be so bad. They’ve seen this all before though. I’m the youngest, so there have been other parties. Other freak-outs. Mom took a different direction with me.” I squint, hoping it will blur the image in my mind’s eye. The one I’d pay to erase.

“And that direction was…”

“Dancing.”

“What?” Prissy laughs, but I don’t. “That’s genius.”

“Yeah, not like that Elaine from Seinfeld dance either. Dad was bad enough. He kept telling everyone he could floss.”

“Oh no,” she giggles.

“Mom had that stop-the-record moment though.” Even the memory makes me cringe. The embarrassment is branded onto my soul.

“What did she do?” Prissy is laughing at the idea, and she doesn’t even know what it is yet.

“She cornered a bunch of the cheerleaders and got them to teach her dances.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad.” She tilts her head.

“No son should know what their mom looks like twerking.” There isn’t enough brain-bleach in the world for that one.

“No!” Prissy rolls back and forth in her seat, laughing. “You win. That’s the worst ever.” She struggles to breathe.

The car stops, and she wipes little laughter