Then there’s Jasper, who somehow makes everything feel lighter just by existing. He gets me. Hell, he gets everyone. But everything with him feels effortless. Those dark eyes of his don’t miss a thing, and that smile could talk me into anything.
Zeke is different. He’s like sunshine breaking through storm clouds—warm and steady and so kind it hurts. Black hair that always falls into his eyes, and those green orbs? Yeah, they could pull you under before you even realized you were drowning.
He’s beautiful, inside and out.
Okay, so I might be a little bit of a mess over all three of them. Like, full-blown good-girl-gone-hopelessly-feral.
The guys’ house isn’t far from Mikey’s place. I’ve only been here once before, when I dropped off some paperwork for my dad last semester.
Jasper pushes open the front door, and I step inside, my buzz from earlier fading fast, replaced by a nervous energy that makes my stomach flutter.
“We’ve got beer, wine, tequila, vodka…?” Jasper offers, already moving toward the kitchen.
“White wine?”
“Think we’ve only got red.” Jasper rummages through their collection of mostly empty bottles.
“Just give me whatever you guys are having.”
His wicked grin should’ve been my first warning. “Shots it is, angel.”
We drift from the kitchen into the living room, and suddenly the space feels smaller than it looks. Maybe it’s the way Zeke settles onto the couch beside me, his thigh brushing against mine, or how Roman lounges across from us like some brooding god of hockey.
Jasper returns with what looks like liquid death in shot glasses, handing one out to each of us.
“What are we toasting to?” Jasper asks.
“How about ‘We just won the fucking championship’?” Roman says with pride.
Jasper leans in toward him, fingers squeezing his knee. “To the future NHL stars in this room—may we always be this fucking spectacular.”
We all drink, and I nearly gag because, holy crap, this is strong.
“Jesus.” Zeke laughs, rescuing my glass before it slips out of my hands.
“That was… disgusting.”
“You want another?” Jasper smirks.
“Absolutely not,” I say, laughing, but he doesn’t look away. He holds me with that steady, too-intense gaze, and then drops the question I know he’s been dying to ask.
“Okay, so, can we talk about what happened between you and Zeke earlier?”
“Um, no.” The words shoot out of my mouth as I accidentally catch Roman’s eyes—a catastrophic mistake because he’s fucking beautiful.
“What? Why not?”
“Because drunken kisses don’t need a discussion… especially when—” I cut myself off, not wanting to acknowledge how Roman watching me kiss his best friend feels like some kind of betrayal, even now.
I’m the worst.
“Don’t stop on my account, princess. I’ve been getting my dick sucked for the past year, so you’re welcome to kiss whoever the hell you like.”
Yeah… that hit exactly the way he meant it to.
Fury ignites in my chest, spreading like wildfire and burning everything in its path. I stare him down, my body vibrating with rage.
“Yet they haven’t stuck around?” The words fall out before I can stop them, my voice colder than I feel, and cruel in a way that makes me want to bite my tongue until it bleeds. “Must be a you problem.”
