"Hey, Silas." Juliet comes down the aisle of the plane, stopping at my seat. She looks perfectly coiffed in a knee-length white dress, five inch heels, and perfectly-applied red lipstick. "I need you to do a charity event on Vashon Island. They run a clothing drive out of their rec center every year. I'd like you to attend."
I make a face. "Sounds boring."
"But not torturous," she's quick to point out. "I have Thorne and Tate judging a local talent show this weekend. Count yourself lucky you're just helping with a clothing drive. You can show up with a couple of boxes of Havoc shirts and track pants like a damn hero."
Something possesses me to ask, "And... would I have to be alone?"
"Well, no..." Juliet's eyebrows rise. "Most of the players have their own local charity events this weekend, though. Do you have someone in mind?"
Just my roommate who I'm obsessed with. No biggie.
I shrug. "Maybe. I'll let you know."
"O...kay." Juliet touches my shoulder ever so gently. "Let me know if you need any help. I'll send you the details and have someone drop the merch off at your house."
"Sure. Uh... Thanks, Juliet."
She moves on to the row behind mine, talking to Connor Li about his charity assignment. An idea worms itself into my brain. I grab my phone and shoot Scout a text.
Me:How do you feel about ferries?
Chapter Seventeen
Scout
The ferry cuts through dark gray water, steady as a heartbeat under my boots. Seattle fades into haze behind us while wind needles across the car deck, keeping my cheeks cold and my thoughts anything but clear. I stand with my gloves tucked under my arms and pretend I'm not cataloging every detail of Silas Huxley's body.
Juliet dispatched Silas to Vashon Island, about an hour from downtown Seattle, to help with a charity drive event the island puts on every winter. Because I live with Silas and need to make sure he takes it easy and doesn't strain his shoulder, of course I volunteered to keep him company. It just makes sense for me to accompany him rather than Juliet in her role as public relations manager.
Not at all because I want to see what Silas will be like outside of the rink and without the pressure the Havoc brings.
That would be crazy.
Silas leans against the bulkhead a few feet away, hood pulled up over his Havoc cap, hands loose in his pockets. Even dressed down in jeans and a hoodie, everything about him screams athlete. The hoodie's charcoal gray, stretchedtight across his chest and shoulders, the fabric pulling at the seams when he shifts. His dirty blond hair falls in those messy waves beneath the cap's brim, catching the weak sunlight filtering through clouds. Those blue-gray eyes scan the horizon with that focused intensity he brings to everything.
Pure controlled power, even at rest. Coiled and ready despite the injured shoulder. The width of his shoulders blocks wind from reaching me. His thighs strain against dark denim when he shifts his weight, muscle evident even through heavy fabric. The scruff along his jaw is a few days old, making him look rugged instead of polished. He's beautiful in a way that has nothing to do with being pretty and everything to do with his masculine presence.
I force myself to look at the water instead.
A deckhand swings past with a coil of line, does a double take, then grins. "You're Huxley, right? Number twenty-three?"
Silas draws a quiet breath, and I watch his chest expand with it. "That's my brother Hunter. I'm number twelve."
"Right, right, sorry. Big fan." The guy fumbles for his phone, cheeks reddening. "Can I...?"
That muscle in Silas's jaw flexes, the one that makes me want to trace it with my fingertip. He nods once. They angle toward better light near the stairwell. For three seconds, he gives the camera a neutral half-smile that doesn't reach his eyes. When the deckhand disappears down the ladder well, Silas's gaze finds mine immediately, like he's been aware of exactly where I was standing the entire time.
"Got your boss hat?" His voice is lower than necessary, rough from the cold or something else. "Since I fully expect you to boss everyone around."
"You know what? I've got my medical clearanceclipboard." I keep my tone light even though my pulse kicks up when he steps closer. "And a mean glare if you try to lift something you shouldn't."
"You could try." He's close enough now that I can smell him over the salt air. Cedar and something clean, masculine.
I raise my chin defiantly. "I could succeed."
His eyes drop to my mouth for a fraction of a second before returning to the horizon. The wake spreads behind us in a foamy V while a gull hangs weightless over the stern. I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, aware of how his gaze tracks the movement.
Yeah, I need to change the subject, stat.
