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Fuck that—she was waiting for me.

She’s wearing a sexy pink bikini with her ass cheeks hanging out of the tiny string, and she’s wearing my fucking jersey over top like it’s a dress—god fucking damnit. My mom must have put it in Maison’s room accidentally. We can afford housekeepers, but my mom insists on doing our laundry even though she’s fucking horrible at it.

The jersey says Matei number ten—my number—it’s always been my number. Olivia came to a lot of games last year, so she must fucking know that.

She turns to face me and her cheeks blush slightly. “Do you know where he is?” she asks me.

“No.”

The words come out harsher than intended, but I’m not Maison’s fucking keeper. She presses her lips together and stares at me with her pretty green eyes. The same way she stares at me during our family dinners when she’s trying to figure out why I won’t look her in the eye.

My eyes glide to her hands as she toys with the hem of her shirt, staring at her pretty nails. Those delicate fingers grazed along my thigh under the table the other night when she sat next to me.

It didn’t go unnoticed.

She kept her hand there the whole dinner, while my twin—her fucking boyfriend held onto her thigh on the other side of her. Her little finger slid up and down on the hem of my pants, which caused me the most excruciating boner I’ve ever had, as I kept thinking what it would feel like having her hands wrapped around my dick.

Her lips twitch into a smile as I can’t help myself from staring at her bare legs. She must have known I was looking at her sexy, tight ass while she turned from me.

She arches a brow. “Why didn’t you want to go to the lake with everyone, Micah?”

It’s the first time she has ever said my name, and a deeply gratifying thrill shoots through me at the sound of it. And I guess I was wrong; she seems to know exactly where Maison is.

I shake my head. “I don’t have time for that shit. The pre-season’s about to start. I have to stay in shape.”

She scoffs and grabs some ice. “You don’t have time to have any fun with your friends? Man, you are boring for a hockey star, and the last I checked, it’s summer.”

I lean my hands back into the counter and take her in fully now. Drinking in all of her as she pours herself some vodka. She looks fucking delicious with my jersey on her like she meant to wear it.

“Not particularly,” I say with an edge in my voice. “I don’t really like Ezra. My parents make us hang out with him.”

Plus, unlike Ezra and Maison who seem perfectly content with how we did at the state finals last week, I am fucking humiliated. Bronze isn’t good enough. Bronze won’t get me scouted.

She pauses and stares at me and blinks her pretty green eyes a few times before lifting her ass up on the counter. Her pink bikini is all I can stare at now as her trim thighs part slightly with her legs hanging down. My stomach twinges thinking of how tight it was when I slid my dick into her. Fuck, I need to get laid—I haven’t done it since her.

She pops a piece of ice in her mouth. “So, tell me, what does New Ocean’s top hockey player like to do for fun?”

I give a half shrug. “I don’t do fun.”

She tilts her head. “Everyone needs to have a little fun. Have a drink with me, Micah.” She jerks her chin toward my dad’s liquor cabinet. “We should at least get to know each other a bit? I am your twin’s girlfriend. And it’s like … I don’t know … you’re repulsed by me or something.”

The exact opposite, actually, which is the exact fucking problem. I stare at her and frown as I’m tempted to toss one back and not let a pretty girl drink by herself.

Fuck, Maison … where are you?

She continues swinging those long legs over the counter. “I promise you, Micah,” she teases. “I’m really not a good time at all when you get to know me.”

Bullshit. I remember how much fun I had with her. I can’t stop thinking about it, actually. As if on cue, my phone lights up in my hand.

Maison: If Olivia shows up there, let me know. I ghosted her today.

Me: She’s here.

My eyes drift up to Olivia, who’s locked in her gaze right at my phone. “Is that Maison?” she asks, still holding her glass, sipping on it. “When will he be back? He’s not answering my texts?”

“Yeah, hold on,” I tell her, glancing down at my phone.

Maison: Fuck. I’m about twenty minutes away. Cover for me.