Standing in front of the hockey house, listening to the house practically shake from the noise inside, my hand hovering near the door like I might knock.
Or I might just run.
My heart's hammering so hard. My palm's clammy against the wood, but I finally force myself to knock. Once. Twice.
Nothing.
Of course nothing. With all that noise? I'd need a damn megaphone to be heard.
I knock again, harder this time, but it's pointless. The bass is rattling the windows, the kind of chest-thumping boom that makes conversation impossible unless you're yelling.
Then a group comes up the walkway—two guys in jerseys, a girl tottering in heels with a beer already in her hand. They don't even pause. One of them just yanks the door open without knocking first, like that's the most normal thing in the world, and the rest trail right in behind him.
I shuffle out of the way, cheeks burning, then slide in behind them, trying not to look like the awkward outsider who doesn't belong.
The foyer hits me like a wall of noise and beer fumes. People are crammed shoulder to shoulder, cups sloshing, conversations overlapping in shouts. A guy in a backwards cap is yelling over the music about who's"next for beer pong,"while two girls squeal over a spilled drink like it's the funniest thing in the world.
I move slow, careful, threading my way through the chaos. Every step makes me hyper-aware—of how out of place I feel, of how long it's been since I set foot in a house party like this.
As I edge deeper inside, the space opens up into a massive living room. The middle's been cleared for a dance floor, bodies packed tight and grinding to the pounding beat.
In the corner, a group of guys lean over a pool table, sticks clacking as they shout bets across the room.
Everywhere I look, there's something—two people making out against the wall like they'll suffocate if they come up for air, a girl practically dry-humping one of the hockey players on the sofa while he just grins and lets her.
Wow. So classy.
The staircase is packed too, people stumbling up with bottles, others tumbling back down red-faced and laughing.
It's chaos. Pure, unfiltered, college-house-party chaos. And somehow I'm smack in the middle of it.
I crane my neck, scanning the crowd. Part of me's already regretting not texting Sam that I was coming.
Luckily, I don't have to look long.
She's exactly where I should've guessed: parked at the pool table, eyes glued to none other than team captain Elijah Deveraux.
He's bent low over the felt, pool cue in hand, his dark brows pinched in concentration. The overhead light catches the sharp lines of his face as he squints down the stick, and with one smooth motion, he cracks the cue ball. Two stripes and a solid sink like it's nothing, and the third drops right after.
Sam cheers for him, practically bouncing on her toes. At the same time, she cuts a death glare at the two girls leaning on the rail, very obviously ogling Elijah too.
It's ridiculous—Sam's barely five-foot-nothing, but she radiates pure menace when she wants to. The second she noticesthe girls ogling Elijah, her whole face shifts: eyes narrowing into sharp little slits, lips pressed so tight it's a miracle they don't disappear completely.
And those poor girls? They freeze like deer in headlights. One even fumbles her cup, nearly spilling beer down her shirt. The other tries to play it off with a laugh but ends up staring at the floor like Sam's glare might actually set her hair on fire.
It's absurd. Sam's tiny, but she's terrifying. Like some pint-sized mafia boss who could snap her fingers and make you vanish if you so much as breathe in Elijah's direction.
I shoot my hand up and wave. "Sam!"
Her head snaps up, and just like that, scary mafia boss Sam disappears. Sunshine explodes across her face.
"You came! You came! I knew it!" she shrieks, already sprinting at me.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Elijah looking over. He spots me, squints for half a second, then gives me this casual little nod when he recognizes me... and goes right back to playing pool with the other guys.
Then Sam slams into me. Literally. Arms locked around my waist, squealing in my ear. "Oh my God, you're here." Squeeze. Squeeze.
Girl is tiny but she hugs like a boa constrictor.
