I clamp my jaw shut and focus on the water pounding my shoulders, like if it's hot enough, I can rinse that heat out of my chest. He’s just talking.
“Nationals are gonna be wild,” he adds, casual as anything, running a hand through his wet hair. “Crowds, lights, cameras, scouts for the NHL. You ready for that?”
“Been ready since freshman year,” I mutter, grabbing my shampoo like it’s suddenly the most important thing in the world. We went to Nationals in freshman year, but I wasn’t the captain; I was just a rookie trying to make a name for myself. “I didn’t work this hard to choke when it matters.”
“Didn’t think so.” There’s a pause, then that damn grin creeps into his voice again. “Guess that means we better get used to being glued together.”
I rinse the soap from my hair, refusing to look at him. “On the ice, Brooks. Only on the ice.”
He hums like he’s agreeing, but it sounds like he’s enjoying himself way too much. The kind of hum that sinks under my skin and won’t shake loose.
FOUR
LOGAN
Friday nightin a college town is basically a migration. Students pour out of dorms and apartments, spilling toward the handful of houses that haven’t been condemned yet or frat houses that are hosting that weekend's party. Music and cheap beer are the heartbeat of this place, and tonight I’m following that pulse with Daniel at my side.
He’s bouncing like he’s already had three Red Bulls. “This party’s gonna be sick. Hockey team, football team, plus half the dance team. You’re welcome, by the way.”
I grin, shoving my hands in my jacket pockets. “I make my own fun.”
“Yeah, well, I want to witness your fun. It’s like watching a soap opera.”
I smirk. He’s not wrong. I’m not shy. And I’m not here to blend in. Guys, girls, I'm not picky.
The house is loud, music vibrating through the porch boards. Someone already broke a chair on the lawn. Classic. We shoulder our way in, and the smell of sweat, booze, and popcorn hits me like a wall.
And there he is.
Todd Shaw, Captain Serious himself, in a fitted Henley that clings to his shoulders. He’s got a beer in hand and that guarded look he always seems to wear in public, as if he’s trying to keep the world at arm’s length. Our eyes meet for half a second, and that familiar jolt hits me. Predictable. Addictive. Probably too distracting to act on, but I’m also reckless, so I know I will.
Daniel follows my gaze and snickers. “Oh yeah. Tonight’s gonna be entertaining.”
Before I can say anything, I spot her—the blonde waitress from the diner that day, hair loose tonight, smoky eye makeup on point. She beams when she sees me, like she’s been waiting all week for round two.
Perfect.
I slide through the crowd toward the makeshift kitchen-bar area, where she’s perched with a red cup against the counter. “Hey, stranger,” I say, leaning in just enough to catch her eye. “Didn’t expect to see you off-duty.”
She laughs, twirling a piece of hair. “I didn’t expect you to be here.”
“What can I say? My friend likes parties.” I nod toward Daniel, who’s already disappeared into a crowd of dancers.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Todd across the room, jaw tight, pretending he’s deep in conversation with one of the defensemen.
Good. He’s watching. I’m not sure when my every move started to be a calculation on how to get his attention on me, but when I say I’m addicted…Yeah, I am.
I take the blonde’s cup from her hand, pretending to inspect it. “Hope this isn’t your first drink tonight. You’ll need at least three to dance with me later.”
She giggles, and I hand the cup back, letting my fingers brush hers. It’s light, casual. But I know exactly who I’m really playing for.
When I glance back at Todd, he looks away too late.
Her lips curl into a sly smile as she leans a little closer, shoulder brushing mine. “I don’t need three drinks to dance with you,” she says, voice pitched low like it’s a secret. “One is plenty.”
Confident. I like that. She’s my type. Not that I’m here for her.
I tip my head, giving her my best grin. “Good to know. Guess that means I get your name before we hit the dance floor?”
