“Not Santa,” Sloan says. “Someone cuter.”
I pick up a suitcase. It’s blindingly pink and feels like it’s packed with bricks. There’s only one person I know who likes pink more than a six-year-old girl.No way.Absolutely no freaking way am I lettingherstay here just because this party might go late.
I turn around too quickly and accidentally drop it on my foot.
“What in the—” I mutter, trying not to curse in a house full of people. I can’t imagine what she’s packed in there—rocks? Dumbbells? A full-grown reindeer?
I limp down the hall on my bruised foot. “Who’s responsible for the pink suitcase that just tried to kill me?” I call out. “Pretty sure the small one holds a bowling ball.”
“I’ll give you three hints,” Sloan says. “She’s prettier than you, skates better than you, and her apartment is underwater from a burst pipe.”
“Victoria?” Sothat’swhat her neighbor’s message was about. “Please tell me she’s donating these to charity and not moving in.”
“Oh, she’s staying,” Sloan says. “And not just for one night. She already took one bag up to her room earlier when she showered.”
“You let her use my shower?” The thought torments me. No way am I letting Victoria invade my space, where I’ll have to see her morning, noon, and night—in two-piece pajamas, no less—looking at me with those soft lips that scream,Kiss me, but also,I might kill you.
It’s hard enough to be her skating partner. Letting her into my personal space just might be the death of me.
“Why not?” Vale asks, strolling in with perfect timing to enjoy my misery.
“Because she’s...” I falter. I can’t exactly tell them details about our history. How I once thought she was the love of my life before she dumped me so hard, I still feel the whiplash.
“Annoyingly pretty?” Sloan offers, smirking.
“Inconveniently immune to your charms?” Vale adds.
“I was going to sayunpleasant,” I correct. “Especially toward me. Might have something to do with our breakup.”
Which isn’t fair, considering I should be the one holding the grudge. She didn’t even have the decency to break up with me face-to-face. Instead, she sent a text message.Who does that?A cartoon supervillain twirling their mustache, that’s who.
“Maybe you should try being nice to her,” Vale suggests.
“I have tried,” I snap. “She’s impossible.”
“And you’re so easy to live with?” Sloan counters, raising a brow. “Besides, it’s not your house.”
Good point.But the last thing I need is her bath gel hoarding space in my shower, that delicious strawberry scent bringing back all the memories I’ve worked years to bury—like kissing thespot next to her earlobe or nuzzling my face into the curve of her neck.
I cross my arms. “As long as she’s here, I’m going to lock myself in my room—pretend she doesn’t exist.”
“Let us know how that works out,” Vale says with a grin. “By the way, she’ll be here any minute.”
“For the party?” I ask.
“Rourke invited her,” Sloan says. “And she said yes.”
“That dirtbag,” I mutter under my breath before downing a cup of punch in one gulp.
I need to pretend that Rourke doesn’t make me want to chuck this cup at him like a football—preferably between the eyes. We’ve never gotten along on the ice because we’re too similar, both competitive and unwilling to back down. It’s like trying to skate alongside my own worst impulses. But the thought of him flirting with her? It’sinexcusable.
For the next twenty minutes, I fume in a corner, rehearsing a mental reel of snarky comments to drive her straight to her room and away from Rourke. My plan of attack feels bulletproof—until she walks in looking like a gorgeous snow angel Santa delivered just to torment me. She’s wearing an off-the-shoulder sweater so distracting, it might as well be a weapon.
Tearing my eyes away isn’t an option. I feel like a cartoon character whose eyes bug out and tongue lolls sideways out of his mouth the second he sees a pretty girl. Her eyes meet mine across the room, and I do the only thing I can think of. I scowl.
Nice one, Leo. Way to drive her away.
I open my mouth to say something, and Rourke walks between us, ruining everything.
