The Penalty Box - Teagan Kade Page 0,1
nothing has ever felt like ‘it’ before. Nothing has been ‘the one’.
And you think you know what ‘it’ is? I ask myself.
I wouldn’t have the faintest fucking idea.
“You look like you could use a drink.”
I hadn’t noticed the girl in front of me. Her hand’s extended out with a wine glass.
I take the glass cautiously. “Is this wine?”
“Franzia, actually, so it’s hard to say, but you don’t strike me as the jungle juice type.”
I look over to the bowl of said beverage in the corner filled with god knows what. “You can say that again.”
I sip slowly and get a better look at my mystery guest. She’s wearing an impressive dress made of fake flowers that runs diagonally across her body, a hint of skin here and there, haunting jade eyes made only brighter thanks to the downlights above. She seems at once familiar and not. I can’t place her. “Do we know each other?” I ask.
She extends her hand. “Linnea Marsden.”
I take it and shake, surprised how soft her skin is, the warmth below the surface where we meet.
“And you are Nolan King, naturally,” she finishes.
“My reputation proceeds me?”
“Well, you’re hot stuff on the ice.”
“And off it?” I question.
Her eyes narrow. “The Batman of Crestfall.”
I have to laugh. “How’s that?”
She surveys me, doesn’t hide the fact she’s checking out every exposed inch of me. “You know, dark and broody and mysterious.”
“I don’t spend my life holed up in a cave. The mancave that is the King house, maybe, but I think you’ve got me all wrong, Linnea Marsden.”
It’s an unusual name, and again there’s that ding of familiarity. But I’d remember those eyes.
“It’s Swedish, if you’re wondering.”
“Sorry?”
“My name. People often ask.”
And it’s not the fact I’m standing here in nothing but a towel that’s got me feeling buck naked. “You’re a senior?”
She nods, sipping on her wine, the way her lips linger on the rim of the glass strangely erotic. “That’s right. Do you want to guess what sport I play?”
“I’m not into games.”
“Says Crestfall’s star ice hockey player. Humor me.”
I study her back and it’s not a hard thing to do. She’s tall, almost eye to eye with me, in itself a little disconcerting, with a confidence and air about her that’s throwing me way off kilter. “Long jump.”
“I don’t like sand up my ass, sorry.”
Where did this girl come from? I look around half expecting her flying saucer to be parked outside. “I take it beach volleyball is off the cards then.”
“You’d need to be near an actual beach for that. Try the team sports.”
“Soccer.”
“I like to use my hands.”
“Lacrosse?”
“Too hoity-toity.”
“Basketball.”
She pretends to shoot me. “Got it. Think of me like a female Charles Barkley…but with boobs and a better attitude.”
“So, you’re a—what? Power forward, aggressive, intense on the floor? Start the occasional brawl?”
She plays coy, left shoulder tilting towards me. “I’ve been known to get a little competitive—a trait I imagine we both share.”
“Mmm,” I mumble, still unsure how to take this one. But I am intrigued. She called me mysterious, but I get the same sense from her, that she’s a puzzle I want to dig into and play around with myself, mess with until all the pieces fall into place—or apart.
“This doesn’t seem like your kind of party, Charles,” I tease.
She looks behind herself at a girl twerking in what appears to be a Victoria’s Secret shopping bag. “Ah, no. It’s my first ABC party, actually.”
Another surprise. “You’re a senior and you’ve never been to an ABC party?”
“Any party, to be more precise.”
“What, are you Moaning Myrtle, holed up in girls’ bathroom all this time?”
She smiles at that. “I appreciate a man who knows his Harry Potter, but no. Unlike some, I came to one of the best sports academies in America to, you know, play my fucking sport.”
The cussing takes me further off guard. I’ve got zero idea what to make of her at this stage. “So why now? Why tonight?” I ask.
“Thought I may as well go to one, tick it off my collegiate bucket list, so to speak.”
“Dare I ask what else is on this list?”
“Let’s just say the night is young.” She holds up her glass. “Now, escort me to the kitchen. I need a refill.”
I’m not used to being bossed around, but I can’t seem to say no, either. It’s that curiosity which has me hooked here. Everything she says, her hand movements and quirky nature, draw me in. She sits up on the counter in the kitchen like