Line Mates & Study Dates (CU Hockey #4) Read Online Eden Finley

Categories Genre: College, M-M Romance, Romance, Sports Tags Authors: Series: CU Hockey Series by Eden Finley
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Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 89535 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
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“It’s … a training exercise. They have water in there. Dad’s private bathroom. It’ll be … fine.” I hope.

Someone tries the handle from the inside, and I hear Asher curse. “Did you just parent trap us?”

“I have nowhere to be,” I point out. “Take as long as you like.”

There’s more swearing, and Beck shakes his head. “This better work. Because if they kill each other, your dad will kill me, and then my boyfriend will dig me up and kill me again for leaving him.”

“It will work.” My voice is a lot more convincing than I feel. “Probably.”

Dad takes that moment to appear, and his gaze immediately flies to the door rattling right behind me. “Why do I get the feeling I don’t want to know?”

“I’m helping the only way I could think how, but you might need plausible deniability on this one. You should probably keep walking.”

“Okay.” He slowly backs up and disappears.

I love that he doesn’t even question me. Dad might be disappointed in me when it comes to hockey, but he trusts me.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Beck says.

Holy shit, so do I.

9

Asher

“What the hell?” I hiss.

“Heard that,” Kole sings like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

I slap the door, making a loud thwack sound because I know punching it will only hurt my hand.

Simms doesn’t seem to care. He just sighs and takes a seat at Coach’s desk.

“Do you know how to pick a lock?” I ask.

“Who doesn’t? Let me pull my lock-picking kit out of my ass.”

“I’d offer to help with that, but I don’t want to get punched in the face again.”

“Are you always so …”

“The most annoyingly arrogant fuckboy in a fifty-mile radius at any one time? Yes. I polish my crown daily. Next question.”

“Why are you like that?”

I look up at the roof and mutter, “I’m going to kick Kole’s ass.” I throw myself in the seat next to Simms. “Do you want the excuse of always having to live up to my NHL star brother or the poor orphan card? I can play either.”

“I want the truth.”

Eww. “What if we beat the shit out of each other and get it out of our systems?”

“Will it make you stop acting like a dick?”

“Nope.”

“Then why don’t we talk, which is what they obviously want us to do?”

“Because that sounds like a healthy way to deal with conflict.”

Simms keeps his face blank. “Oh, the horror.”

“Right? What if we throw crap around the room and make it sound like we’re beating the shit out of each other? They’d have to let us out then, right?”

Simms throws his head back. “Dude. I’m exhausted. That game sucked—”

“Thanks to you.”

“And you. I just want to go home.”

I lean back in my seat. “I have all night, and they’re not going to leave us in here forever. In a game of who’s more stubborn, I will always win.”

“Why are you like this? I’ve never met someone more …”

“Incorrigible, frustrating—”

“So emotionally unavailable I have to question if you’re a sociopath.”

“Ooh, sociopath. That’s actually a new one. No one’s ever called me that before.” I force a smile. “I think I like it.”

“Can we please find some middle ground here?” Simms is begging now, but I’m not ready to give up the fight.

“How about the middle ground that I play center and you stay in your fucking lane.”

“How about the middle ground that you recognize you’re not the only one on this team, and you give me some slack.”

“Nah, I like my thing better.”

Simms throws up his hands. “Then there’s really no point to this.”

“Agreed.”

We both fall silent, and for about five minutes, I feel like I’ve won. Until another five minutes pass, and I realize I really haven’t.

We haven’t gotten anywhere, and I know Kole won’t let us out of here until we come to some sort of truce. Even if it’s superficial.

That’s it—my key out of here. I can pretend to care. I’ll listen to whatever Simms’s sad life story is. I’ll pull the sympathy card. It doesn’t mean anything has to change. “Fine. We’ll do it the healthy way. Just don’t blame me if you grow up to be a stand-up kind of guy because of it.”

Simms’s mouth opens, but nothing comes out, like he’s not sure if I’m being serious or not and doesn’t know what to say.

“I guess we should start with what your first name is,” I say.

“You don’t even know my first name?” he exclaims.

“I don’t know half the team’s first names. All I see is what name is on the back of their jersey. And before you say it, yes, I can read them. Well, except Kvasnička.”

“Wow. There’s that great team spirit coming out again.”

“My kindergarten teacher always told my dad that I don’t play well with others. It stuck.”


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