Page 67 of Arctic Titans of Northwood U: Volume 2

My gaze moved over his brown hair. It was still wet, darker than normal, but just as wavy. His neck was long, and his shoulders were broad, strong arms bent at the elbows as he embraced the phone with both hands now, his boxers hanging off one finger. His biceps swelled with the motion. As I observed him, my gaze wandered to his chest. Tyler was not as buff as me, but he was every bit as defined. His body was cut where mine was rounded; his skin was light and creamy, and mine was bronze. His eyes were such a light shade of brown that sometimes they looked like honey or aged gold, while mine were dark like my hair.

Tyler lifted his gaze and met mine. His eyebrows danced over his eyes as he nodded a greeting.

For whatever reason, I felt like I was caught stealing. I averted my gaze as the heat slowly climbed to my face. My mouth was dry by the time I reached my spot and rummaged through my pack for clean underwear. I pulled them on under the towel and then proceeded to dress. Tyler accompanied me silently as we headed out. On my way, Beckett slapped my shoulder. “Are you joining us for drinks?”

I imagined three couples sitting around a table with me and Tyler. It opened a pit in my chest. “Next time, Cap,” I said as lightly as I could. Tyler winked at Beckett, who gave a firm nod.

“Promise?” Caden asked with a kind smile on his face.

“Promise,” I said, hesitating only for one heartbeat.

Tyler and I returned to the house on our own. Phoenix had dragged Asher to some bar off campus where Jordan wouldn’t be able to count his sips, apparently, and Jordan accompanied our captain.

After dropping our things off in our room, Tyler suggested a round of drinks and a table soccer game. Down in the basement, he hooked up his phone to the portable speaker and played some background pop music. He produced two cans of beer from the mini fridge while I observed him. The feeling that I had done something odd and wrong wasn’t leaving me. Even now, as he moved through the basement in his light gray sweatpants, dark green T-shirt, and a zip-up hoodie that matched the sweatpants, I couldn’t shake off this strange feeling. I followed him, observing the way he hopped around, bent to find the beer, and stretched up to place the speaker high on a shelf, a couple of inches of his flesh appearing where his hoodie pulled the T-shirt up.

“You’re very quiet,” Tyler pointed out. Again, he caught me looking, even though I wasn’t doing anything.

I grabbed my beer from the edge of the soccer table where Ty had put it, cracked the can open, and took a long sip. “Lost in my thoughts.”

“Oh, we don’t want that,” Ty said with a grin. “Abort, abort. These aren’t the thinking times.”

I couldn’t stop the chuckle from tearing from me. “I’m stopping, alright? Let’s play.” And so we did. The competitive spirits clashed as we bounced the plastic ball across the table, swinging our plastic players and defending our miniature goalposts against each other. This was the fourth year of us plugging out to the sound of the bouncing ball and rusty springs.

There wasn’t a move Tyler could make that I didn’t see coming from a mile away. His aggressive tactics were predictable at best and plain silly at worst. I knew how his brain worked and what his muscle memory dictated. I knew every move he would make before he even thought of it.

And after laughing, drinking a few rounds of beer, and getting bored of the game, I realized that the same thing extended beyond table soccer. I knew every layer of the silly onion that was my best friend. I knew all his moves.

We crashed on the couch facing the TV that was off, music filling the space in place of the usual chatter of ten guys unwinding around the room.

“Do you believe in soulmates?” I asked, looking at my can of beer. My toes were a little tingly as I tried to count how many I’d had. Three?

Tyler shifted on the sofa to face me fully and cocked his head. “That’s a random question.”

I snorted. “Do you, though?”

Tyler narrowed his eyes in thought. “I’m guessing you’re questioning the whole concept.”

“You’re guessing correctly,” I said. “I’m starting to think there isn’t anything more to dating.”

“How so?” he asked. He was avoiding my question, but I let him off the hook for now.

I drank a little more before speaking. “Relationships aren’t really about love, right? They’re about your tolerance levels. You can have a long, happy marriage if you can put up with the other person for fifty years.” I lifted a knowing finger and realized I was drunk. “Trust me on this.”

Tyler threw his head back and laughed out loud. When he was done, he grabbed my shoulder with his free hand and scooted closer. “So, we’re just putting up with each other, too?”

“Nah,” I drawled. “That’s different. We’re not a couple. There’s no nasty stuff like jealousy. The rules are different. We can’t cheat on each other.”

He snorted. “Try playing soccer with some himbo and I’ll break your arms.”

That drew a laugh from me. “You know what I mean.”

“I hear you,” Ty said. “But it doesn’t matter. You’re saying that because you’re hurt.” A tiny bit of a slur in his words alerted me that he was tipsy, too. “If two friends can have this bond, why couldn’t a couple? Couples should have a stronger one, right? How else do they live their whole lives, raising families, buying homes, arranging dates?”

“I just told you,” I said. “They have a high tolerance level for bullshit. One wants to eat Chinese, the other wants Mexican. One loses. The loser has to shrug and go along with it or the whole thing falls apart.” I shook my head in mild disgust at how the entire system functioned. “I could still be in a relationship if I could make myself move on. But I can’t.”

“With all due respect — and I only say this because I love you — that is a load of bullshit,” Tyler said cheerfully. “Relationships aren’t a boxing match. Though they can feel like it sometimes.” He muttered the last part, then continued in his normal tone. “The point is, it should be nice for everyone most of the time.”

I was silent for a short while. It was hard to look into his bright, brown eyes. “So it’s nice most of the time for you and Courtney?” I asked in a somber tone.