Boyfriend Material: An Enemies to Lovers Hockey Romance (Hawthorne University Book 2) Read online

  BOYFRIEND MATERIAL

  HAWTHORNE UNIVERSITY

  BOOK 2

  ILSA MADDEN-MILLS

  Boyfriend Material

  Copyright © 2022 by Ilsa Madden-Mills

  Cover Designer: Letitia Hasser, RBA Designs

  Photographer: Michelle Lancaster

  Photographer Website: www.MichelleLancaster.com

  IMM Publishing

  Copyright Law:

  If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, this book has been pirated and you are stealing. Please delete it from your device and support the author by purchasing a legal copy. All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the above copyright owner of this book or publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked statue and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  First Edition July 2022.

  88bee1be0e7f59b91ccff48a3d3d88625d7a351b57c28eaae8c124871b947dea

  CONTENTS

  Trigger Warning

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Epilogue

  Excerpt - I Dare You

  Also by Ilsa Madden-Mills

  About the Author

  TRIGGER WARNING

  This book contains scenes of sexual assault

  PROLOGUE

  Before

  Julia

  Meet me at my locker. Can’t wait to c u.

  OK, I reply back to the text with a grin.

  Five minutes later the bell rings, and I hand in my essay and dash out of class. A sea of maroon and green uniforms greet me in the hallway, girls in crisp pleated skirts and knee socks, guys in khakis and blazers. Welcome to Bellemeade Prep, a private school for the rich.

  I avoid a cluster of students, stumbling and nearly losing my backpack as I hurry. Giddiness races over me, and for a second, I feel goofy for the excitement, then shove it away.

  He’s a piece of nirvana in a world I don’t belong in.

  It’s okay to feel as if I’m floating.

  I’m in love with him.

  And today is the day.

  We’re going to do it.

  It’s been weeks of hot glances, erotic kisses, and his fingers in my panties in every private place we could find. The gym. The drama room. The yearbook room. Once in the cafeteria while I sat in his lap with a coat over my skirt.

  The crowd parts and I see him leaning against his locker.

  My breath catches.

  Dark red hair frames a face that angels carved. Angular jawline, lush lips, piercing topaz eyes.

  His lashes are long and dark and dramatically thick.

  He’s not a pale redhead. His skin is golden. Like a lion.

  He could have any girl here.

  I’m not the pretty cheerleader.

  Or the social butterfly.

  Or rich.

  “Hey, gorgeous. Finally.” He smiles as he curls his arms around my waist and gazes soulfully into my eyes.

  “Hey,” I breathe.

  “School’s over. Wanna go take a ride in the Aston Martin? We can put the top down and go wherever you want.” His eyes lower. “Do anything you want.”

  I don’t even have to think about it. “Okay.”

  His fingers playfully untie the black ribbon around the neck of my shirt. He tugs it off, then unbuttons the top two buttons. His hand snakes in and presses against my sternum as we move closer and breathe each other in. We need to touch each other. It’s been this way since he sat next to me in poetry class after Christmas.

  He dips his head to my neck, then bites my ear. “I want to fuck you in that car.”

  I gasp as tingles erupt over my skin.

  I’m new to this school, but I’ve heard the rumors about him. That he’s the king of breakups. That he has sex with girls, then moves on.

  But they don’t know him like I do.

  He’s perfect boyfriend material . . .

  1

  Present Day

  Julia

  You know you’ve hit rock-bottom when you’re allowing yourself to be groped in an alley by a guy in a vomit-covered shirt.

  Even worse, a Kappa shirt.

  I play nice. Vomit boy has been my best customer of the night, laying an endless supply of dollars at my feet.

  It’s not enough. Not nearly enough. But it will be.

  If it isn’t, I might be dead by sunrise.

  More likely hurt or disfigured, but none of those options are on my to-do list.

  I need more money tonight . . . or this morning . . . or whatever is chronologically correct.

  Sweat dots my face. It’s the end of August in Sparrow Lake, Minnesota, so the temperature is dropping, but humidity lingers. Kappa-guy swims in sweat.

  He pulls me to him and runs his tongue down my neck. It leaves a wet trail on my throat like a wriggling worm.

  Shuddering in revulsion, I push him away. “Private dance only, remember? Nothing below the belt and no kissing—or licking.”

  Inside the club all they can do is look. Even during the lap dances in the VIP room they have to keep their hands on the couch. Those rules are told to them by a huge-ass bouncer and written in neon letters on a sign in the room. Not that I get many requests for private dances—until tonight.

  Only it wasn’t for a dance inside the VIP room. He wanted me to meet him in the alley.

  When I started working at Platinum Nights, I drew a line in the sand. Some of the girls bring the guys out to the alley for “more” while the manager looks the other way.

  I swore I’d never do it.

  Guys like this, if you give them an inch, they take a mile. Every one of them thinks the world should bow before them.

  They can be dangerous.

  Especially when they’re drunk.

  I swallow down my disgust.

  And morals.

  Don’t think about it, I tell myself.

  Think about butterflies. The smell of daffodils. A sunrise over the lake.

  When that doesn’t work, I close my eyes and concentrate on the several hundred-dollar-bills he flashed at m
e as my shift was ending. Sure, I recognized him. We had a sociology class together this summer and he seemed manageable, even nice. He flirted with me but never took it too far—for good reason. Last semester I dated Parker Cavendish, the current Kappa president. You can guess what happened next. The frat black-balled me after we broke up.

  Not that I care. Those parties aren’t my scene anymore.

  I thought doing a dance for him out here would be easy, but that’s desperation talking. It’s been a slow month as students migrate back to school, and I’ve run out of time.

  “Lean back,” I coo, nudging him back against the wall. Get as far away from me as possible.

  “What if I don’t want to?” He slurs as his gaze roams my body.

  “Those are the rules.”

  “Show me your tits then,” he demands.

  Fine. I abandon all seductive de-clothing and pull off my shirt and bikini bra. In the club I wear pasties over my nipples, but those are in the trash already. He’s getting his money’s worth. A guy hasn’t seen all of my boobs since, well, Parker.

  I look around the alley. We’re alone. Good. I think.

  He licks his lips. “Yeah, baby, nice. Now get those shorts off.”

  Anxiety spikes higher as blood rushes through my veins. “I said topless only.”

  “For three hundred? And I can’t kiss you? I might as well watch porn.” He reaches for me again, and I rear back, laughing nervously.

  “But a porn video can’t say your name. Do you want this or not . . . Scott?” I bat my eyelashes as I make my voice sound breathless.

  His eyes narrow. “All right. Get on with it.”

  My jaw clenches. He’s rude and disrespectful. He makes my skin crawl.

  “Let me dance. I promise, you’ll be happy.” I do a twirl and run my hands through my long brown hair as I shimmy my hips, doing a routine from Madonna’s “Like a Virgin”.

  She croons about being touched for the very first time while I’m just praying Vomit Boy keeps his hands to himself. Singing the song in my head, I stare at a point over his shoulder and move my body from muscle memory. I end with a big, fake smile.

  He jumps at me. His hands wrap around my waist as he whips me around so that I’m the one up against the wall.

  “Your dance sucked, babe. You lacked enthusiasm.” His hands move to my throat. “I expected more.”

  Fear slams into my skull. My heart beats like a snare drum. “Easy now. Play nice.” I tug at his fingers and they loosen. A little.

  “Suck my cock and I will.”

  “Not happening.” I place my hands on his chest and push, but the guy’s built like a linebacker, thick but compact. I may as well be shoving a tractor.

  He leans in to nuzzle at my hair, pressing closer. His hand gropes my body, and I flinch. My gaze darts down the alleyway to the street as college girls hurry by and frat-hop without a care in the world.

  I wish I could be one of them.

  I was one of them.

  I try to jerk away as he puts pressure on my shoulders, nudging me down. The brick of the wall scratches my back as his fingers dig into my skin.

  “No . . .” I protest, but he cuts me off.

  “Yeah, baby . . .” His hand moves between us as he pulls down his zipper. I fight the rising bile in my throat and beat at him.

  I never should have agreed to this.

  Even if I am at the end of my rope.

  Disappointment in myself, mixed with anger for him, bubbles up inside me like lava.

  I angle my head up and hold his bleary eyes as I grit my words out. “You asshole! I don’t have sex with clients.”

  He reaches into the confines of his pants. I smell his rankness, loosely veiled by too much body spray.

  I try to jab him in the nuts, when . . .

  “That you, Scott?” a male voice calls from the street.

  He lets go so fast that I fall to the side and land on the asphalt.

  He’s spared the pain in his crotch, but I get it screaming up both of my elbows. My backside is covered with bits of crumbled concrete. Blood blooms on my knees.

  These damn shoes. With hands that tremble, I undo the gold stilettos from my feet. Scratches line the shiny plastic coating and one of the heels has broken off.

  Cheap. Useless. A metaphor for my life.

  I toss them in front of me as I crawl towards a dumpster.

  “Yeah, it’s me. Hold the fuck on. Be there in a minute,” Scott mumbles to his friend, then looks back at me. “Hey! Where are you going? We’re having fun, baby.”

  I stare at him. At his flushed face and vomit-covered shirt.

  How did I get here?

  When I was a kid, I dreamed of college. Of being my own person.

  But this? This is a joke.

  Taylor’s voice sounds in my head: You are your own universe, Julia. You’re made up of black holes and glittering galaxies. You are beautiful. Vast. Limitless.

  He tells me this when I get low. I’m pretty low now.

  Clenching my hands, I rise up.

  “Give me my money,” I say as I snatch my bra and strap it on.

  “What? Come on. Let’s try this again, yeah?” He puts on his friendly face, and I start at the way he switches from jerk to nice guy.

  “No,” I mutter.

  The voice comes again. “Scott! Get your ass out of the alley. Your girlfriend just showed at the frat house.”

  He blinks hard. “Fuck.” He tucks his dick in his pants and zips, then gives me a smirk. “Catch you later, baby.”

  He wanders towards the street as I wipe the asphalt from my skin.

  You need his money, keeps running through my head. Yeah, but am I willing to get close to him again?

  Moving fast, I tug on my flowy t-shirt.

  Just ask him for what I’m owed. Plus, his girlfriend is here; he won’t be forcing me to my knees in front of her.

  “Scott,” I call out. “You got what we agreed to, so—”

  His eyes thin as he looks at me from over his shoulder. “Get lost. You’re not even that hot.”

  He turns away, adjusting his shirt and running both hands through his longish dirty-blond hair.

  I stand there for a beat, then follow. When he reaches the edge of the alley, I catch up with him.

  “I came out here with you. We made an agreement in the club. You said one private dance. I’ve never done that before. You owe me.”

  He scoffs. “For what? The pleasure of your company? Why would I pay for that? I don’t owe you a damn thing.”

  “Scott!” a female voice cries in excitement from the porch of the Kappa house. We’ve reached the end of the alleyway and houses sit on each side, all of them Greek at Hawthorne University.

  Kappa is the biggest mansion, complete with imposing columns a la the White House. Our current dean of the university was a Kappa here. A sitting senator was a Kappa here. Whatever. Maybe those guys are okay, but now it’s home to some of the biggest pricks on campus. Most of it because Parker is their leader.

  I follow the female voice to a gathering of co-eds with perfect tans after Instagram-lake-life summers. They’re drinking beers from Solo cups.

  I look down at my pale skin from studying at the library and dancing inside a club with no windows.

  It’s the first party weekend of the fall semester at a small school, but these people feel like strangers.

  The girl at the front, a petite girl with red corkscrews down to her shoulders, waves at him. With her hand cocked on her hip, she’s dressed to kill in a strapless black dress and heels. “Pookie Bear, I’ve been waiting for you. What were you doing back there?” Her red lips make a pout.

  Scott shrugs then jogs up the steps, meeting her on the porch. He kisses her on the mouth and I grimace.

  A frat brother hands him a beer.

  “Just coming back from the bars,” he says cheerfully. “Closing time.”

  It’s true; two is closing time for the bars, and it sends a wave of pe
ople to this side of campus where the parties go all night.

  Platinum Nights, relatively new to Sparrow Lake, is also closed. My stripping career began at the Boobie Bungalow, a decent place I liked, plus my old roommate Sugar worked there as a bartender. Unfortunately, it’s several miles off campus and requires a car. I had to sell mine for the cash. The Bungalow’s clientele was mostly older men escaping their lives. Sometimes there would be a bachelor party that included some douchebags, but the regulars knew the drill. Watch the girls, then leave.

  Platinum Nights is within walking distance of campus and has an entirely different animal: frat boys. This brand of douchebag doesn’t follow any rules.

  My head churns. My stomach rolls. I can’t leave empty-handed.

  I have to pay Connor so his goons don’t take it out on me or my mom.

  I feel eyes on me. Assessing. Mostly male. I stiffen as I smooth down my shirt. It’s sleeveless but covers my ass, something I slipped on after my last set. There’s a monarch butterfly on the front with the caption: Give up being a caterpillar and fly.

  My throat tightens. I’m never going to fly at this rate.

  “Hey, Scott,” I call from the front lawn of the Kappa house, feigning confidence even though I keep plenty of space between us. The bass inside the house pumps hard, mirroring my own heartbeat.

  Scott must have amnesia because he stares at me like he doesn’t know who I am.