Ryann winked at me before weaving her arm through mine. “Thank you. Now, let’s go kick some ass.”
I had no idea what she was talking about, but the fact her warm skin pressed against mine made my thoughts funny. Would her brother see this and assume things? Was this an innocent gesture meant to confuse Mark? Where was she taking me?
Our arms were touching. That was it. Yet… I felt her softnesseverywhere. My body tingled from being so close to her, and every shift of her muscles caused a ripple effect. My blood threatened to go south, so I focused on anything except her.
The floor. The smell of stale beer. The screen door she pushed open.
She led us out into the backyard where people hung out around tables, cheering loudly. Once we got onto the deck, she released me and looked up to the sky with laugh lines around her eyes. “Thank you for playing along.”
“He made you uncomfortable.”
Her smile faded, and she tilted her head to the side as she asked, “How did you know?”
“Your posture. You didn’t like it much when Patrick hugged you either.”
She pressed her lips together for a second. “You’re observant, Jonah. Not just when it comes to hockey.”
My skin tingled with heat from the way she said my name, which was counterproductive to my talk with Michael. I waited a beat, found my focus again, and remained truthful. “You’re expressive. Anyone would notice if they were paying attention. It’s not that hard. Those guys should’ve realized it.”
There, that sounded safe.
“Ah, well.” She shrugged and took a sip from her cup. “Personal space is a thing for me.”
“How so?”
She moved to lean against the rail of the deck, lifting one foot to rest on the back of it while she pushed onto her elbows. She looked relaxed, and while this wasn’t an intended move to showcase her chest, her position amplified everything due to the way the light from inside carried out. The front of her shirt hung low, showing a hint of cleavage. My mouth watered.Why haven’t I hooked up in so long?
Focusing solely on hockey seemed like a dumb idea with the lack of control I had over my thoughts of her. Damn it. I took a large sip of beer to cool off and waited for her answer.
“When my parents died, everyone wanted to offer some sort of comfort. So many hugs, hand squeezes, people rubbing my back, that sorta thing. They meant well, but it was too much.” She eyed me over the rim of her cup, her blue eyes twinkling from the light, and she chuckled. “I haven’t shared that with anyone else. I keep it to myself because I figure it’s wrong tonotwant comfort.”
“It’s not wrong or weird. It’s your space.”
She hummed and glanced around the backyard, excitement making her bounce off the railing. “You’re not experiencing all the fun yet, but I know just the thing.”
“I’m not having a bad time,” I said, wincing at how lame that sounded.
She ignored me and bolted down the stairs, waving for me to come with her, so I did. It was hard not to follow when she smiled at me like that. She didn’t seem to notice how guys stared at her as she walked toward a table with eight other people. She had this energy, thisthingabout her that I couldn’t describe. Was it her smile? Her joy? Her blonde hair? Her way of still being happy despite the shit she’d lived through?
“Can we join the game?” she asked. Her welcoming voice was smooth and settled me like hearing skates hit the ice.
Some dude with a green hat and a piercing on his nose smiled. “Hell yeah. Each take a side.” His gaze moved to me, and his eyes widened. “Dude! J.D. is in the house! No way!”
The small group cheered, and my entire body flushed with embarrassment. The guy wasn’t on the team, but he clearly knew most of the players. I waved a hand in the air, feeling dumb. I understood the thrill of being an athlete, a well-known guy on campus, but I didn’t get why people cared about me at all. I wasn’t interesting. I didn’t have a huge following on social media and certainly didn’t do anything remotely cool. I practiced and played my heart out on the ice. That was it. Patrick and Paxton were already drafted while Michael had a large following and made videos all the time. I was as cool as a white wall. But I forced a smile and lifted my hand at them, feeling like a total dork.
“Huge fan, man. Can’t wait to see you play this season,” the guy said, pointing for me to join at the end of the table. “Your stats were great last season. Maybe we’ll win the Frozen Four this year.”
“Thank you.” I stood at the end of the plastic table next to a girl who was a foot shorter than me. Ryann was across from me, her lips curved up in a smirk.
Each person had a half cup of beer in front of them, and the two at the other end cheered with their cups, slammed the bottoms down on the table, and started chugging. The girl on my side of the table finished the beer in two seconds before placing her cup face-down. She then flicked the bottom of the cup, flipping it into the air so it landed right side up.
My side of the table cheered. The person next to her repeated the process while the navy hat guy struggled to flip the cup. The process clicked. I understood the game and focused on the angles they used—how much the cup should lean over the edge of the table, how hard to flick it. My heart pounded as it neared my turn.
The other side of the table caught up after the guy in the middle missed six times in a row. That meant it would be Ryann versus me. Competition flooded my veins, making everything laser-focused.
The short girl flipped it on the first try. Score.
I picked up my cup as Ryann did the same. She chugged, spilling some on her shirt in the process, and she finished before I did. I watched in horror as she flipped on the first try and missed.
