PROLOGUE
ELI
TWO YEARS AGO
The silence surrounds me for the first time in years. As I sit alone in the house for the first time since I moved to Parma, Ohio, I wonder what the fuck I’m going to do with myself now that my roommate, co-owner, best friend, and his wife have moved to their own place.
I’m alone. This whole house is now mine. Every room, the basement, everything. It’s daunting. Luke and Clara have lived here for several years, and it’s been nice having someone around.
Now that I’m alone and can do what I want when I want, it’s a foreign feeling. I wonder if I should ask one of the other guys to move in with me. The only people who I would possibly want to move in already have their own places, so that wouldn’t work. I guess I just need to figure out how to live on my own.
Picking up my phone from the nightstand, I scroll through social media as a way to entertain myself. Or distract me; I’m not quite sure. Probably both, if I’m being honest. It works, though. I don’t know how long I scroll, but my thumb is working overtime. And I’m completely distracted by the deafening silence around me.
Then I see her.
My god, she’s absolutely stunning. She’s not made up with a bunch of makeup. She’s got her hair up in a messy bun, and she has a smile plastered on her lips. That smile reaches her eyes, which is what causes me to pause. She’s not trying to be sexy. She seems just plain happy.
I touch her image so it takes me to her page, and I start to scroll through her posted content. She’s checked in at a lot of places around here. Most of them I recognize, and some of them I’ve been to myself, like theMidnight Hourclub and bar.
Her long dark hair, her green eyes. I’ve never seen anyone this beautiful in my life, and I’ve seen a lot of gorgeous women. I’m no slouch, but it helps that I play professional hockey. Maybe it’s the way her eyes stare into the camera, almost like she can see through it and into my soul.
Chewing on the corner of my bottom lip, I think about sliding into her DMs but then set my phone down. I don’t want to seem like a fucking creep. Deciding I’ve had enough internet for the night, I turn on the television in an attempt to distract myself yet again.
I’m not sure how long I search for something to watch, but nothing holds my interest—not a single thing. Mainly because that phone is calling for me to pick it up again and contact her. I hold off, but only for a few moments.
Giving in to temptation, I reach over and pick up the phone, opening the social media app again. I expect her profile to be gone, the app having been refreshed or something. But it’s not. It’s right there, her eyes staring into mine, and I go ahead and touch the Follow button.
Then, I touch the message icon. My fingers move without my brain even registering what the hell is going on. At least, that’s what I tell myself. The little green dot that indicates she’s active right now is displayed.
I decide to shoot my shot.
You can’t ever know if you don’t at least try. And I’ve never been one to be shy. Plus, she’s hot as shit. I don’t know if I would want a relationship with anyone. I’ve never done that before, but it would not be a hardship to have this woman in my bed more than once.
Hey. I’m Eli. I scrolled to your page and stopped. Wanted to say you’re beautiful. Hope that doesn’t come off creepy af.
I’m so cheesy. I’ve never actually tried to hit on anyone via social media before. I typically find girls in clubs or puck bunnies after a game, which doesn’t take much finesse on my part to land.
This is the most awkward thing I’ve ever done, but I can’t just ignore the fact that she’s absolutely stunning.
I’ll regret it if I don’t at least try.
It takes her a few moments to actually reply. My gaze slides up to the television, and I assume it’s all a lost cause, but then my phone buzzes in my hand. Unlocking and tapping the message icon, I smirk at the sight of her reply.
WrenlyFoster: Hey yourself. I had to go on your page to make sure you aren’t some weirdo, except I’m not so sure you aren’t a weirdo. Your page is full of hockey pictures, so I’m just going to assume they’re all stolen.
My lips curve into a smirk. Holy fucking shit. I love this. Every part of it. Instead of attempting to convince her that I am who I say I am, I send her a selfie of me shirtless, sitting in bed, my back resting against the headboard, my hair no doubt a fucking mess.
Not stolen. It’s me.
WRENLY
Holy. Shit.
EliAbbott15is hot, not just a little, but insanely. The selfie he snaps causes my entire body to freeze in place. My heart even stops, and so does my breathing. I can’t help but wonder still if this is fake, but my god, it’s worth continuing. His white smile, his short, dark, messy hair. His almost hooded eyes. Don’t even get me started on half of the chest stacked with muscle he’s showing and his bulging biceps—wow, those biceps.
I have never been into online dating or dating at all, generally speaking. At nineteen, my life consists of college classes, studying, and the occasional party after a football game. When I first moved here, my roommate and her friends asked me to go toMidnight Hour, the club, with them. But I think I was a drag because they never asked me again.
Really, I don’t care for the parties much. I only go when my roommate begs me to join her, and that only happens when her real friends are too busy.
