The Boyfriend Zone by Jillian Quinn

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The men’s locker room is sacred for a reason, and now I know why. Keeping my eyes on the floor, I use my hair to block my face and haul ass down the center aisle toward my dad’s office.

My dad has three rules.

No talking to his players.

No hanging out with his players.

No dating his players.

So why did he ask me to meet him after practice? For the past four years, I have followed his rules and steered clear of his players… until today.

Players whistle as I move past them. One guy informs me I’m in the men’s locker room—as if I need a reminder. And another jerk has the nerve to reach out and touch my leg.

I feel like I’m doing the world’s longest walk of shame. Dozens of eyes are on me. The players whisper about me under their breaths. But once I’d stepped into the locker room, I wasn’t turning back. So, here I am.

Go me and my walk of shame.

I glance up for a second to look for the door that leads to my dad’s office… and I run head-first into a bare chest. Pushing out my palm, my fingers graze a wet, muscular stomach. A few inches lower and I would have ripped the towel from his waist.

Blocked by a wall of muscle, I peek up at Preston Parker, all six feet four inches of him. Preston is even bigger close up and hotter too. He’s the youngest son of the famous hockey player, Alex Parker. His mom is a former college basketball player—like myself—and a powerhouse sports agent, who everyone calls Coach.

If any player were ever off-limits to me, it’s Preston.

The corner of his mouth turns up into a wicked smirk that produces an unusual reaction from me.

“Excuse me.” I shove Preston, desperate to move him to the side, but he’s a big guy. “You’re in my way.”

Preston covers my hand that’s still on his stomach with his. “And you are in mine.”

A rush of heat shoots through my fingertips and runs up my arm. Touching Preston shouldn’t feel this good. He’s my dad’s favorite player and the best defenseman in the division. But most of all, he’s out of my league.

Like way out of it.

On another planet.

I’m a scholarship kid. He’s a rich athlete with the potential to go pro. We have nothing in common apart from our athleticism.

Preston holds my hand for a split second before I shake free of his grip and step back from him.

“You have the wrong locker room.” He pushes his long fingers through his short, dark hair that rests on his forehead. Like the rest of him, it’s wet, and now I’m getting wet thinking about how much I’d like to touch him again.

Ignore him.

He smiles, and my silly heart claws its way out of my chest. Water slides down the side of his face, and I have an immediate desire to lick it from his tanned skin.

Focus, Bex.

“No, I don’t,” I counter. “This is the right locker room. Just shitty timing.”

He tilts his head to the side and studies my face long enough to make me feel self-conscious. “I know you. Right? You’re Coach Bryant’s daughter. You look different. Were you always so… tall?”

I’m five feet ten inches, which comes in handy when you play basketball. Preston still has six inches on me, though.

“I’ve been this tall since freshman year. And it’s Bex.”

He scratches the stubble along his angular jaw, still smirking at me. “Bex? What an unusual name.”

“Okay, Peter Preston Parker. This from the guy who’s named after Spider-Man.”

He laughs. “You’re a real smartass, Bex Bryant.”

“So I’ve been told.”

His crooked smile and disgustingly good looks go straight to my core. Stupid body. My physical reaction to Preston needs to fuck off. Like right now.

“Bex is short for Bexley,” I add for clarification.

Not like he cares about my name. He’s too busy staring down my basketball jersey at my boobs.

“Preston,” he says. “Not Peter. No one calls me by my first name. But I’m sure you already knew that.”

I roll my eyes at the arrogant jerk.

But I’m sure you already knew that.

Who does he think he is?

My dad will have a stroke if he sees me talking to one of his players, let alone his precious Preston. After winning the Frozen Four last year, my dad swears Preston will take them all the way again, especially after he won MVP. And from what I’ve heard, Mr. MVP has no problem doing the same with the girls on campus.

I can’t be one of them.

I will never be one of them.

So, why do I want to be one of them?

“Nice meeting you, Bex,” he says, and then struts—yes, fucking struts—down the aisle to his locker.

I look over my shoulder at him, still in shock. My lips part when he removes the towel from his waist and hangs it over the top of his locker door. With his back slightly turned to me, I can’t see all of him. Although, I have an excellent view of his perfect ass.

My mouth is still open in horror. Shock. Curiosity. Take your pick. I blink a few times to make sure I’m not imagining him. Maybe all the steam from the showers is going to my head. Preston and his insanely gorgeous body could be a mirage. It has to be because a guy like Preston would never look at me the way he is right now.

He knows damn well what he’s doing when he slips into his boxer briefs and winks at me. Preston sure can fill out a pair of underwear—like holy shit, he sure can.

And I’m still staring. It’s like watching a train wreck, a spectacular one. I’m too stunned to move, which makes this even more embarrassing because I’m not supposed to be in here.

Every guy is now staring at me, some dressed, while others are shirtless and in boxers like Preston. Most of them don’t seem to give a shit that a girl is standing in the middle of the locker room.

I bite my bottom lip, and Preston mimics me. He’s the spitting image of his father when he was younger—the sexy smirks, the killer abs, all of it. My dad obsessed over Alex Parker while he was in the NHL. Now he’s the head coach of the Philadelphia Flyers—my dad’s favorite professional hockey team.

My dad is just as crazy over his son.

And now, for obvious reasons, so am I.

After an intense stare down, I shake my head at Preston, finally having enough sense to walk away. What’s wrong with me? I’ve never acted so ridiculous around a boy before. Well, Preston isn’t a boy. He’s all man with his chiseled jaw, thick chest, muscular body, and sexy smirks.

I can’t get any of it out of my head. I may never forget how good Preston looks almost naked. And now I wonder about the rest of him. This is so bad. Like the worst thing ever because I cannot break my dad’s rules.

At the end of the long hallway, I find my father’s office. He stands in front of a flat-screen television with a remote in his hand. My dad loves two things—hockey and me. And when he can combine them, he’s at his happiest. I love seeing him in his element.

I inch my way into the room. “Hey, Dad.”

“Hey, honey.” He hits pause on the game tape and drops the remote on the table. “I wasn’t expecting you so soon. Your practice usually lasts until at least four-thirty.”

“Coach Vaughn let us leave early.”

“You should have stayed behind to get more time on the court.”

My dad doesn’t know the meaning of a break. All he does is work. When he’s not coaching hockey, he studies it. He’s obsessed to the point of madness. By extension, he thinks I should be as crazy about basketball, but it’s not like I plan to make a career of it.

“Three hours was enough for me. Coach Vaughn had us running suicides for over an hour. My calves are screaming at me.”

He laughs. “Just make sure you don’t fall behind. You need to keep your position on the team.”

Dad turns to face me. “Did you come in through the side entrance?”

I nod. “Uh-huh.”

Mental note—find the side entrance.

For the love of all that is holy, I do not want to run into more dicks or Preston. Or Preston and his dick. Why am I even thinking of him?

Damn him.

“How was your day?”

I almost laugh, but keep a straight face. “Good. Nothing special. The usual practice and classes.”

I didn’t see a bunch of naked men on my way in here. I didn’t talk to his favorite player and break rule number one. Nope, not at all. That would make for an interesting conversation, one I never want to have with my dad.

“Are you coming to the game on Friday?”

He plops down on the couch in front of the television and pats the cushion next to him. I drop my gym bag on the floor and sink into the plush fabric.

“Yeah, I guess.”

He cocks an eyebrow at me. “You guess? It’s the first game of the season. Bring some of your teammates along.”

“What team are you playing?”

“Boston,” he says, and my blood runs cold.

I sit awkwardly still when I think about who plays for Boston College. Kellan Lehane. The asshole who ruined my life.

Dad notes the fear in my eyes. “I’m sorry, honey. I wasn’t thinking. It’s been so long since everything happened.” He places his hand over mine and holds it there. “You don’t have to come. It’s all right. Come to another game.”

I broke my dad’s rules with Kellan, and that ended horribly for me. Because of him, I no longer have the desire to date another athlete ever again. One rotten apple was enough to spoil the rest. So, why do I keep thinking about Preston?

“No, I can do this. The game is a big deal for you.”

He shakes his head. “It’s another year, a different season, same game. Nothing ever changes.”

“But this is your first season as the head coach of a college team.”

Until last season, my dad was an assistant coach at Strickland University.

“I was thinking we could grab a pizza from Gio’s before I have to get back to work.”

“But practice is over,” I point out.

“Coaching never ends, honey. I have a few hours of tapes to run through.”

I frown. “You work too much.”

He smiles. “Wanna eat with your old man before you head back to your dorm?”

“Sounds good. But only if we can get pepperoni.”

He holds out his hand for me to slap like I’m one of the guys. “Deal.”