The noise of the rink fades. The sting in my shoulder? Gone. The shitstorm in my head? Silent. It’s just her. Just us.
And I see it in her eyes.
She cares.
And I fuckinghatethat she does.
Because if I let myself go there—if I eventhinkabout her for more than a second—I’ll crack. I’ll say I’m sorry. I’ll spill everything I’ve been choking down since that night.
That I haven’t stopped thinking about her.
That I still feel her. Still hear those soft, breathy sounds she made when I?—
Fuck.
And worst of all? I’ll kiss her again.
I tear my eyes away, heat prickling at the back of my neck, and force myself to lock it down.
“Thanks for the notes,” I mutter, the words stiff and dry in my mouth.
I don’t wait for her to respond before I pivot, digging into the ice, and get the hell out of there—before I forget all the reasons I’m not allowed to want her and end up making the same mistake twice.
17
RYAN
Itry my best to avoid Greek row, given that they hate hockey players and think they run the school.
But the guys—or Austin, I should say—dragged me out of bed and threw a shirt at my face, telling me to get my ass up and stop wallowing in bed like a damn hermit.
I kinda wish I was Cole right now. Since that fight last month, he’s been banned from frat parties altogether. He’s probably at home, warm, comfortable, with no loud music and no girls shoving drinks in his face every two minutes. Lucky bastard.
Girls swarm towards us as soon as we walk in, their eyes glistening like we’re some rare species on display. They size us up, checking out the team.
“Hey,” Logan greets a blonde in the crowd, throwing her a flirty smirk that she returns right away. When I first met him, I thought he’d be a dead end with girls. He’s the rookie, younger than all of us, and I figured he’d be the one sitting on the sidelines while the rest of us did our thing. But nope. The guy gets more action than anyone, except maybe Cole. Who the hell knows what that guy does? He’s a fucking enigma.
Logan flashes his signature grin and swings an arm around her shoulder. “I’m Logan. Single. Hot. Solid eight inches.”
I roll my eyes, trying not to laugh.
Nathan scoffs and shakes his head. “Seriously? This is how you got two girls to go upstairs with you?”
Logan just winks at him. “Don’t pretend you’re not curious,” he teases, turning to face the blonde. “So, what’s your name?”
“Daniella,” she says, practically melting into his side.
Logan chuckles, pulling her in closer. “You like what you see?”
She hums and stands on her tiptoes, leaning in like she’s about to whisper something sweet in his ear. Instead, I hear it loud and clear. “I’d like it even more if there were no clothes in the way.”
I snort, shake my head, and take a sip of my drink. If some girl said that to me, I’d probably burst out laughing. I’m not about cheesy pick-up lines. I like girls who tease me, who talk about something other than fucking hockey. I like?—
“Izzy!”
My head snaps to the left so fast, I swear I hear my neck crack.
The noise of the party—laughter, the pulse of music, the clinking of glasses—fades into nothing. None of it matters. Not when she walks in.
