The Goal(Off-Campus #4)(5)

By: Elle Kennedy

Everyone but Dean, who was screwing the TA.

And—shocker!—she gave him an A, which he absolutely did not deserve. I know this for a fact, because we were paired together for the final assignment, and I saw the garbage he turned in.

When I found out he aced it, I wanted to chop his dick off. It was so unfair. I worked my butt off in that course. Hell, I work my butt off for everything. My every accomplishment is stained with my blood, sweat and tears. Meanwhile, some asshole gets the world handed to him on a platter? Fuck. That.

“She’s getting mad again,” Hope stage-whispers to Carin.

“She’s thinking about how Di Laurentis got an A in that one class,” Carin shout-whispers back. “She really does need to get laid. How long has it been?”

I start to flip her off again when it occurs to me that I can’t remember my last hookup.

“There was, um, Meyer? The lacrosse guy. That was in September. And after that was Beau…” I brighten up. “Ha! See? It’s only been a little over a month. Hardly a national emergency.”

“Girl, someone with your schedule isn’t allowed to go a month without sex,” Hope counters. “You’re a walking ball of stress, which means you need a good dicking at least…daily,” she decides.

“Every other day,” Carin argues. “Give her lady garden some time to rest.”

Hope nods. “Fine. But no rest for the pussy tonight—”

I snort in laughter.

“You hear that, B? You’ve been fed, you had an afternoon nap, and now you need some sexy times,” Carin declares.

“But Malone’s?” I repeat warily. “We just established that the place is crawling with hockey players.”

“Not exclusively. I bet Beau is there. Want me to ask D’Andre?” Hope holds up her phone, but I shake my head.

“Beau’s too much of a time commitment. Like he wanted to talk during sex. I want to do the deed and leave.”

“Oooh, talking! Scary.”

“Shut it.”

“Make me.” Hope tosses her head, her long braids smacking against my coat, and then exits Professor Gibson’s house.

Carin shrugs and follows her, and after a second of hesitation, I do too. Our coats are drenched by the time we reach Hope’s car, but we have our hoods on, so our hair survives the downpour.

I’m really not in the mood to chat up any guys tonight, but I can’t deny that my friends are right. I’ve been plagued with tension for weeks, and these past few days I’ve definitely been feeling the…itch. The kind of itch that can only be scratched with a hard, ripped body and a hopefully above average-sized cock.

Except I’m extremely selective about who I hook up with, and just as I’d feared, Malone’s is thick with hockey players when the girls and I stride inside five minutes later.

But hey, if that’s the hand I’ve been dealt, then I guess there’s no harm in playing it and seeing what happens.

Still, I have zero expectations as I follow my friends to the bar counter.



“Stay away from that one, kid. She’s toxic.”

Dean is dispensing his (usually misguided) wisdom to our freshman left wing, Hunter Davenport, as I walk into Malone’s out of the pouring rain.

The roads are shit, and I don’t particularly want to be here tonight, but Dean insisted that we needed to party. He’d been restlessly pacing our townhouse all day, grumpy as hell and obviously upset, but when I questioned him about it, he shrugged and said he was feeling antsy.

Which is bull. I might be considered quiet compared to my loud-mouthed teammates, but I ain’t slow. And I sure as hell don’t need to be a detective to put the clues together.

Allie Hayes, the best friend of our other roommate’s girlfriend, crashed at our place last night.

Dean is a manwhore.

Chicks love Dean.

Allie is a chick.

Ergo, Dean slept with Allie.

Plus, there were all the clothes scattered around the living room because Dean is physically incapable of having sex in his bedroom.

He hasn’t fessed up to it yet, but I’m sure he will eventually. I’m also sure that whatever went down between them last night, Allie’s not looking for a repeat performance. Though why that should bother Dean, the one-night stand king, I’ve yet to figure out.

“She doesn’t look toxic to me,” Hunter drawls as I shake the water out of my hair.

“Hey Fido,” Dean grumbles my way, “go dry off somewhere else.”

I roll my eyes and follow Hunter’s gaze, which is Krazy Glued to a slender brunette facing away from us at the long counter. I see a short skirt, killer legs, and thick dark hair streaming down her back. Not to mention the roundest, tightest, sexiest ass I’ve ever had the pleasure of admiring.

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