The Breakup Plan

  The Breakup Plan

  Jennifer

  USA Today Bestselling Author

  Sucevic

  Copyright 2019 by Jennifer Sucevic

  Kobo Edition

  All Rights Reserved. This book is licensed for your enjoyment only. This e-book may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in critical articles or reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, places, businesses, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, actual events or locales is purely coincidental.

  Cover by The Reading Ruth

  Also by Jennifer Sucevic

  Claiming What’s Mine

  Confessions of a Heartbreaker

  Don’t Leave

  Friend Zoned

  Hate to Love You

  If You Were Mine

  King of Campus

  Love to Hate You

  One Night Stand

  Protecting What’s Mine

  Stay

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Epilogue

  Love to Hate You

  Hate to Love You

  About the Author

  C

  hapter One

  Gray

  I lift the bottle of beer to my lips and take a swig while scouting the vicinity. It’s Saturday night and I’ve got my arm wrapped around a pretty girl who’s more than willing to spend a little quality naked-time with yours truly. I glance down at the strawberry blonde-haired chick who is busy pawing at me like a kitten. When our gazes meet, she flutters her lashes and makes a mewling noise.

  Savannah is one of my go-to girls.

  We have a strict no-strings attached policy.

  I’m thinking about taking her up to my room when I catch a flash of dark hair from the corner of my eye. My head snaps in that direction and I’m surprised I don’t come away with whiplash.

  My brows shoot up.

  Well, I’ll be damned.

  I never thought I’d live to see the day that Whitney Winters willingly graced one of our parties with her presence. I’m tempted to check and see if pigs are flying out of someone’s ass because that’s the only reasonable explanation.

  I narrow my eyes, watching her while she’s unaware of my scrutiny. Whitney is hot as hell, with long hair that hits the middle of her back and espresso-colored eyes that dominate her face. She has a slim build, which I will fully admit is not my usual type. I like a girl with nice round titties. Whitney doesn’t have much of that going on.

  I’ve never been able to figure out what it is about her that I find so damn attractive. And trust me, I’ve tried. More times than I care to admit. It’s aggravating as hell to be into a girl who wants nothing to do with you. It’s like having an itch I can never quite scratch. No matter how many chicks I fuck, I can’t evict this particular one from my brain.

  “Gray?” Savannah purrs, trying to reclaim my interest. “Do you want to get out of here?” She walks her fingers up my chest.

  “Huh?” I hate to say it, but I almost forgot she was there. That’s what Whitney does to me. I watch the dark-haired girl maneuver through the crowd. She’s yet to spot me. And when she does, it’s doubtful she’ll be dancing for joy.

  More like the opposite.

  I have no idea why that should turn me on, but it does. Everything around me falls away as I continue to watch her with undisguised interest.

  “I asked if you wanted to get out of here,” she murmurs again, her voice laced with impatience. Savannah isn’t used to being ignored. She’s a girl who commands attention.

  When I don’t immediately shoot back with an answer, the fingers that had been trailing over my chest settle under my chin and manually turn my face so that I have no other choice but to meet her eyes.

  Seriously?

  My forehead furrows.

  I’m not into bossy chicks.

  “Why don’t we take this little party upstairs for a while?” The sly look in her eyes reveals all the dirty tricks she’s got planned for me. I’ve been with Savannah enough times to know that she’ll make good on those silent promises.

  The girl is an absolute beast in bed.

  As piqued as my interest had been a few moments ago, I’m going to take a hard pass on what she’s offering. She thrusts out her lower lip in a sexy pout when I pry her hand away from my face.

  My eyes dart to Whitney as she stops and takes in the chaos unfolding around her. People are drinking and dancing. The bar has been stocked and shots are being passed around. There’s a group in the corner playing beer pong and if the skunky scent permeating the air is any indication, there’s more than just alcohol being served. Clothing has yet to be shed, but it’s only a matter of time before that happens.

  Whitney’s gaze continues to slide around the room until it collides with mine. That one look sends a bolt of electricity shooting through my body. Which is fucking ridiculous, but still…

  That’s exactly what happens.

  Every damn time.

  Until I can figure out what it is about her that fascinates me, there’s no way I can move on. Been there, done that. Nothing works. Besides, quitting isn’t in my nature and I love a good challenge. And Whitney is nothing if not a challenge. I wouldn’t be where I am today if I was willing to throw in the towel when shit got tough. That thought is enough to have my lips bowing up at the corners.

  Making a calculated move that’s sure to piss her off, I hold up my beer and tip it in her direction. The girl doesn’t disappoint, not that I thought she would. Whitney’s lips flatten as her glare morphs into a scowl. Instead of turning away, she continues to glower in my direction.

  It’s like we’re engaged in a silent game of chicken from across the room. The longer she holds my eyes, refusing to back down, the more my cock stirs with interest.

  Or challenge.

  Take your pick.

  My attraction for her is seriously perverse. Don’t think I’m not aware of it. I just don’t give a damn.

  “Gray,” Savannah whines. “I’m bored. Let’s get out of here.”

  There’s no way in hell that’s happening.

  I lift the beer to my lips, draining it before shaking the empty bottle. “Hey, would you mind getting me another one of these?”

  “Sure.” She nips the bottle from my fingers and disappears through the packed living room. Now that she’s gone, I consider my game plan. Before I can take off in Whitney’s direction, my friend and teammate, Collins O’Brien, sidles up to me with a couple of guys from the team.

  We share a house off-campus. We’re notorious for hosting the most outrageous parties at Hillsdale. Although this year, I’m looking to take it down a notch. I’ve got enough shit going on with graduation and the draft in the spring. This upcoming season will be my final one playing defense for the school. Not only do we need to have a winning record, we need to bring home the Frozen Four Championship.

  Goals. You gotta have them, baby. And I do.

  It goes a little something like this—I crush the upcoming season, staying laser focused on hockey. I get snapped up in the first or second round of the draft, play in the pros for a solid decade, and rake in the money.

  Sounds pretty sweet, right?

  You bet your ass it does.

  Right now, I’m so freaking close to making it happen that I can almost taste it. I spent the last decade focused on hockey and clawing my way to the NHL. When you have doctors tell you that you’ll never achieve your dreams, you dig deep and make those dreams a reality for the sole purpose of shoving their prognosis right down their egotistical throats while you tell them all to fuck off.

  Not that you’ll hear it from me, but I’ve already attained the impossible by being out on the ice. I don’t like talking or thinking about the accident. It took years to work my way back to a place I’d always taken for granted. It’s almost amazing how life can change in the blink of an eye. It’s like playing a game of Chutes and Ladders. One minute you’re on top of the world and the next you’re sliding down a chute and back to square one.
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  I shake my head, needing to clear away those ugly memories.

  I don’t make a habit of looking backwards.

  Only forward.

  Playing at Hillsdale is the sweet buttercream frosting on a triple chocolate cake.

  And the NHL will be the fucking cherry on top.

  A whole goddamn jar of them.

  “Hey,” Collins says by way of greeting.

  “What’s up?” I ask without taking my eyes off Whitney. It would be just my luck to lose her in this jam-packed crowd. I’ll be damned if I allow that to happen.

  When he elbows me in the side, my gaze shoots in his direction. Once he has my attention, he grins and waggles his brows like the asshole that he is.

  Obviously, the object of my interest has not gone unnoticed.

  Great.

  The last thing I need is an audience waiting with bated breath for me to crash and burn. Especially with this girl. She’s liable to wipe the floor with my ass before handing it back to me. Then I’d never hear the end of it from these jokers.

  “Damn, but that girl is hot with a capital H,” Mike, a sophomore defensive player, says before lifting the beer to his lips and draining half of it. The way he looks Whitney up and down sets me on edge.

  And it shouldn’t.

  I’ve never cared enough about a chick to feel jealousy where one was concerned. Hell, I’ve boned a good number of the same girls as my teammates. Which is exactly why my number one rule is to wrap it up tight. God only knows what gets passed around.

  “Yeah, that’s definitely one ass I’d like to tap.” Justin Tinley gyrates his hips like he’s in seventh grade and has no idea what he’s doing. “All night long.”

  My jaw locks as I glare. “Shut the fuck up, Tinley.”

  Justin glances at me in surprise and shrugs. “What?” he says, too clueless to understand why I’m jumping down his throat. “I’m just saying that I would do her.”

  Collins smirks. He gets it. “That doesn’t mean much,” Collins laughs. “Show me a girl you wouldn’t do.”

  His words break the tension that had been gathering in the air like storm clouds and I roll my shoulders before making a concerted effort to relax them. I’ve never had a girl jack me up like this. Whitney is an anomaly. Most of the time, chicks are interchangeable. One pussy is as good as the next.

  “Can’t.” Justin glances around the crowded first floor of our house. “I’d do all of them.”

  “Yeah, but the real question is how many of them would do you?” Collins shoots back.

  Justin gives him the finger in response. “I’m getting another beer.” Then he stumbles off toward the kitchen.

  On his way, he makes the mistake of grabbing a girl’s ass. Before he can move on, the chick in question whirls around and slaps him squarely across the face. Tinley’s mouth falls open as Collins and I collapse in laughter.

  Fucking Tinley…

  It wouldn’t surprise me in the least to discover he’s a virgin. In fact, I’d be shocked to learn that he actually gets some.

  As if reading my thoughts, Collins shakes his head. “That guy is never going to get laid.”

  “I don’t see it happening anytime soon,” I agree. Which is funny as hell because most of the guys on the hockey team are drowning in pussy. Girls throw themselves at us. And yet…Justin Tinley can’t get laid to save his life.

  There’s definitely no clitty pity for that guy.

  Collins glances at Whitney and smirks. “Looks like you and Monroe have your eye on the same girl.”

  I straighten to my full height.

  What the hell does that mean?

  My eyes snap back to Whitney just in time to see her flash a smile at Evert Monroe.

  Well, fuck me.

  Looks like Collins is right.

  Why haven’t I notice this before?

  Evert is one of my roommates. He’s a decent enough guy. Solid hockey player. I’ve never had any problems with him.

  At least I didn’t before.

  Now?

  I’m not so sure. We’ll see how this situation shakes out. Normally, there’s nothing I love more than a little competition. Especially if it involves a chick.

  Hell, bring it on.

  But Whitney is different.

  I’ve screwed the pooch where she’s concerned.

  Whitney’s been on my radar from the moment I stepped foot on campus. She’s not one to hang out at the games or parties where we congregate. And she hasn’t slept her way through the Hellcat team roster like most of the jersey chasers around here.

  If I’d been thinking with the right head when we hooked up freshman year, I would have steered clear and found a different chick to blow my wad on. But that’s not what happened. A shit ton of shots later, hooking up had seemed like the best damn idea I’d ever had. I wanted to get Whitney out of my system and screwing her had seemed like the easiest solution.

  Unfortunately, that plan backfired spectacularly.

  After experiencing the best damn orgasm of my life, I didn’t know what to do. There was no way in hell I was ready to jump into a relationship. And Whitney had monogamy written all over her. Instead of talking to her about it, I pussied out and avoided her like a little bitch.

  Sure, I can admit it now.

  Young, dumb, and full of cum.

  That’d been me.

  So, do I necessarily blame her for hating me?

  Hell, no.

  I get it.

  It’s just that most chicks would have softened their stance over the years. I would have been able to wear them down with my charm. But not Whitney.

  The thing is, I’m not the same guy I was freshman year.

  I’ve grown and matured.

  Sort of.

  Do I still love to dip my wick?

  Guilty.

  I won’t even try and deny it. But nailing a different woman every weekend gets old. I never thought I’d hear myself say that, but it’s true. And the one girl I’m interested in getting to know on a more personal level wants nothing to do with me.

  That, ladies and gentlemen, is called irony.

  Sure, I can appreciate it.

  Even if it does suck balls.

  Chapter Two

  Whitney

  With my best friend, Katelyn, hot on my heels, I shove my way through the packed party. Unsurprisingly, the place smells like a brewery. Everyone has at least one red Solo cup in their hand. Some have two, which seems like overkill in my opinion. Apparently, the beer gods have smiled down upon this party and blessed it with an abundance of alcohol. There’s an ocean of glassy-eyed stares.

  As if to punctuate that thought, a guy staggers over and leers. “Hey, baby,” he slurs incoherently.

  “Not interested,” I snap, pushing past him and moving further into the living room.

  The hockey house is the last place I thought I’d spend my Saturday night. As much as I want Katelyn to get together with the guy she’s been crushing on, I’m already regretting my decision to be her wing woman.

  I make it a rule to steer clear of hockey players. That being said, I’ve always made an exception for Evert. We met freshman year and since we’re both in the same major, he usually turns up in one of my classes each semester. I’ve offered to introduce them a ton of times, but Katelyn always ends up chickening out.

  Those two would be a match made in heaven. If I could get them talking, they’d realize how much they have in common.

  Looking for Evert, I scan the crowd until my gaze collides with Gray’s bright blue one. It might be dark in here, but his eyes still pop. A little sizzle of awareness skitters across my spine before I lock it down tight. The last thing I need is for this attraction to settle in my core.

  Gray raises his bottle in my direction and I scowl in return. The corners of his lips quirk and I grit my teeth in aggravation.

  Why does he take so much pleasure in messing with me?

  What the hell is wrong with him?

  He could have any girl he wants. At this very moment, Savannah Mitchell is clinging to him like a baby rhesus monkey. By the looks of it, baby monkey doesn’t appreciate his attention being drawn elsewhere.

  Whatever.

  It’s not like I care.

  As far as I’m concerned, the girl with the overinflated boobs can have him. I have zero interest in tangling with Gray for a second time.