But she’s afraid of him, too, isn’t she?
He places one hand on each knee and smiles up at me. The picture of politeness. But I’ve seen him nearly slice a player’s neck on the ice. In a tape from last year, before he came here.
It’s not a clip you can find just anywhere.
Wynon showed it to me, asked me if I thought Sylvan “meant it.”
I didn’t then. What player would want to be responsible for murder? No one wants tokillsomeone else on the ice. Just bang them up a little bit or get some mild revenge.
But now, I think I gave Coach bad advice when I told him to let it go.
Besides, the player is still alive. Word is he left hockey after that, and no one really seems to know where he went, but he had nothing except a minor cut, a little red on the ice.
The four men who’ve died on Drayton’s campus, though, they’re not walking away.
“Did you do it?” I ask it directly. “Ace?” I slip my hands inside the pockets of my joggers and I don’t take my eyes off him. I stare directly into his, unblinking. Right now, I don’t give a damn what the rules of eye contact are. This isn’t a typical human interaction. This is an interrogation.
“You think I murdered him?” His mouth ticks up at the corners, making his dimples deepen.
I push my tongue against my front teeth, at the back, so I don’t fall for any of his charm. Despite what I think he did, or had a hand in, I see what it is Neve wants in him. What Tasia wants too, for that matter.
He draws you in with just a look. An angel with shredded wings.
He’s tall, strong, lean, poised, intelligent, charming.
I feel my cock grow hard, but I don’t move and I don’t look away from him. I’ve only slept with a few people, none of them men, but I’ve kissed more than one.
Kissing is not what I want to do to my teammate.
I want to fucking devour him.
“Seriously, Faust.” His smile falls away. He realizes I’m not playing, and now he’s shifting into a different role. A perfect chameleon, ready for any mood.
Any person.
It must be hell, trying to mold yourself to perfection depending on who you’re talking to. Who taught him that?
Neve might be the psych major, but I watched my mother navigate my father’s moods every time he walked through the door, trying to please and pacify him so he never turned his anger and annoyance toward me.
She was glad he cheated. Thrilled he left her.
It meant she could stop being so fucking exhausted trying to be the puppet he needed.
Who is Sylvan Connor on a string for?
“You actually think I hurt any of those?—”
“Stop,” I say, my voice low, but it’s enough. He stops talking, leaning back slightly like I struck him despite the fact there’s many feet between us.
I take a breath in through my nose, out the same, then I stalk toward him after I push off from the door.
When I’m standing directly in front of him, to the point he has to look up at me, I tilt my head and smile at him.
“Stop playing this role.” I keep my voice low. “No one is asking you to perform, Sylvan.” My heart races as his eyes search mine, his full lips parted. “What we both want is to keep her safe, don’t we?”
“Yes,” he breathes.
“Then tell me.” I cup his face in my hand, my thumb tracing his beautiful mouth. “Confess.”
