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Why?

I’m trying not to stare. I sip my whiskey neat, but it does nothing to slow the ache in my chest. It feels impossible to turn my gaze away from the two of them. His hand falls on her arm, and my stomach twists.

I clench my hands, the whiskey glass thick, holding my anger and jealousy.

Conrad leads her to our table, bringing her to sit between us.

Just fucking great.

I’d have rather had her at another table, or at least a seat away. Why is he putting her between us?

What the hell game is he playing? Is he trying to make me jealous because he got her out on a date and I didn’t? It wasn’t because I couldn’t. I was the one who stood her up.

Not the other way around.

Although I did pretend to be him.

I swallow the last of the whiskey, slam the glass hard against the table, but I’m not sure anyone notices. For the best. The music crescendo is loud and builds with a fervent passion. My jaw tics, my hands clench, and I avert my gaze to look anywhere but at the silver beauty seated beside me.

She’s not my date.

She’s his.

My best friend’s.

What an asshole.

Why the hell would Conrad invite her tonight? He knows how much I hate her. She’s a vixen sent to destroy my heart.

Juniper certainly tried, but thankfully, I’m immune to her icy chill.

“Myles,” she says. Her eyes smile, but it never quite reaches her lips. She acknowledges me, but I don’t pay her the same respect.

I can’t, because talking to her might unravel the anger and turn it into something I can’t quite comprehend.

Archer plops into the seat on my opposite side just as Conrad holds out a hand, offering her a dance.

She hesitates and Conrad leans in close, likely paying her a compliment of some sort, and she relents, climbing to her feet, following him onto the dance floor.

“Damn, she moves fast,” my brother mutters, watching the two of them in a slow dance.

It kills me inside, but I don’t know why. It shouldn’t. I chalk it up to the fact Conrad is my best friend and my teammate. I don’t want him getting hurt, because she’s bound to break his heart.

“Says the guy who had his tongue down her throat,” I grumble and reach for my glass, realizing the whiskey has already been consumed. “I need a refill.”

I huff under my breath, stand, and head to the bar for another drink.

Archer follows me to the bar, like my shadow.

“Can’t you give me some space?” I growl back at him.

He holds up his hands, forces a smile as we stalk by a set of unfamiliar faces who are watching us. I guess my outburst was a little loud. My eyes flinch, realizing I’ll need to keep myself in check. We’re out in public, and anything I do can affect the team and our image.

“Just grabbing a drink, same as you.” Archer stands right behind me in line, like it’s no big deal. Like kissing Juniper all those weeks ago was a forgotten memory, and maybe to him it was.

Archer and I are nothing alike.

He sleeps and fucks whenever he’s not at practice. If it’s a new girl and she knows who he is, even better. He also doesn’t discriminate against puck bunnies. Turns out, Archer loves the spotlight.