“I’m pretty sure you’re seeing things,” Miles mumbles, following me into Haven.
We lost our game. Fucking spectacularly.
My plan is to get fucking blasted and go home. I could’ve just skipped the going out part and drank at home, but Miles and Knox are convincing assholes.
Knox and Greyson are ahead of us, first in the door, and they’re greeted with cheers of support. More subdued than if we had won, but damn it. Our first game of the season, and we were as jumbled as newborn kittens.
“Coach is going to have our ass tomorrow,” I warn. My job is to stop the puck before it gets to Miles, but it felt like getting hit with a freight train. Repeatedly.
“We can’t win them all,” Finch says, ever helpful. “They’re one of the best teams in the league, it’s just bad luck that we got them first…”
Miles groans. “Which makes it worse.”
We get to the bar, and I lean against it until the bartender reappears. She smiles at me, sliding a beer my way. Then one to Miles, who definitely isn’t old enough to drink. Not that anyone gives a fuck.
Haven isn’t as thoroughly packed tonight. There’s a sea of blue and silver, sure, and there are fans gathering around each teammate already. Less than five seconds after we walked in. And I’m really just sick of trying to put on a good face.
I scout out Greyson, who’s having none of the bullshit either. He’s in a corner booth with Violet and her friends, so I take my beer and head their way.
A weird sense of déjà vu washes over me a split second before I arrive at the table.
“Join us, O’Brien,” Greyson offers. He points to the end seat across from him.
The horseshoe-shaped booths are nice for cramming in as many people as space will allow, and the girls dutifully shift to make room for me.
“Have you met our two new transfers, Steele?” Amanda asks, batting her eyes at me.
“I thought you graduated.” I sip my beer.
Still, I take the bait and look at the girl sitting beside me. Long, light-brown hair. Blue eyes. Petite.
Then the other, sandwiched between Violet and Willow, is her.
My heart picks up speed, but I don’t know how to react. She’s not looking at me. Her eyes are glued to the table, to the pink drink in front of her. The harder I stare, the more she seems unwilling to acknowledge me.
Doesn’t matter.
I know her all the same.
“Thalia Armitage,” Violet is introducing, although her voice is registering like bees, but it snaps to surprising clarity when she says, “And Aspen Monroe.”
Aspen.
Monroe.
A name I would never fucking forget.
And a face I could never forget.
Immediately, the hatred rises in my chest. It’s fucking suffocating, but I don’t know what to do. My instinct is to drag her over the table and out the bar, throwing her to the curb.
That instinct is contained—barely.
I need to leave. I need to get the fuck out of here before I do something stupid.
But then she looks up at me, and those perfect green eyes of hers burn into my soul. And she’s just as magnetic as the first time I met her. It’s not meant to be like this. I shouldn’t be attracted to her and want to hurt her in the same breath.
“Can I get out?” she asks Violet, her voice so fucking raspy.
It goes straight to my dick.
Violet nods, and her and Greyson rise to let her slide out.
I turn and watch her stride across the bar, in the direction of the bathroom. Her full ass sways with every step, looking damn good in those jeans.
“You okay, man?” Greyson asks me.
I shake my head slowly and stand. I know something similar happened between them. Violet and Greyson. That damn bathroom is where everything started for them.
But that’s not what’s going to happen with Aspen. I’m going in there to fucking finish it.
I follow her without a thought and push into the women’s bathroom. She’s at the sink, scrubbing her hands, and her head shoots up at the sound of my entrance. I duck down to check for feet in the stalls, then lock the door.
“What are you doing?”
I hate her voice. I hate her voice. I hate her voice. Say it enough times, and it may become true.
“You remember me.” I stalk forward. “Yes?”
“Y-yes.” Her eyes go all wide, darting around. “From the party. From—”
“The lake house,” I finish. “But you know me from somewhere else, don’t you?”
She winces.
It’s confirmation enough.
I reach out and wind my fingers into her hair at the base of her neck, more surprised than anything when she doesn’t bat me away. No, she lets me grip her and tilt her head back.
“Tell me,” I whisper in her ear. “What was it like living in my house? Enjoying my family’s money?”
Her breathing is her giveaway. It’s rough, shallow. Her chest rises and falls too quickly. And I’m fucking turned on by her, by her reactions.
“Are you a student here, Aspen?” I asked her the same question over the summer. If she was a student. If, before I showed her my secrets, I had any chance of seeing her again. Because if she had said yes, it would’ve been an entirely different night.
There’s still a possibility that she’s visiting friends. But from the CPU sweatshirt hiding her tits from me, and the blue makeup on her eyelids, I’d say the evidence that she’s a student here is damning.
“I transferred in,” she whispers.
“Why?”
“B-because…” Her gaze crashes into mine, and some of her fight comes back.
I don’t know where it comes from, or why, but suddenly she’s pushing back against me. Her silky hair slips through my grasp, and she forces me back a step.
“Your daddy is paying for it,” she finally answers, her lip curling. “In exchange for watching out for you.”
I laugh. Because it’s fucking funny that Dad marries a gold digger with three kids, and now one of them is going to be shadowing me. Feeding back information to him? About me, and what I do, where I go?
“A spy,” I repeat.
She lifts her chin. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
I sneer. “I’ll give you a warning in return, then.”
I step closer, knocking her hands aside. She’s pinned between the sink and my body, and she grips the edge of the counter instead of touching me. Except for where my hips press into hers, my thighs on her legs.
“Every day you stay at CPU, your life will get worse.” I run my finger down her jaw, and a spark of pleasure goes through me when she jerks her head away. “If you leave, it all stops. But if you stay… I’m going to have so much fun tormenting you, sweetheart. Fucking count on that.”
I step back, and she sags against the sink. Her gaze is hot on my back, but she doesn’t seem inclined to snap back. Maybe my threat will be enough to hold her at bay.
But I do know this much: she’s going to be begging to drop out by the time I’m through with her.
