I don’t drink alcohol. Ever. But that doesn’t stop the drunken idiots from shoving their cups full of who knows what in my face or trying to drag me toward the keg planted in the middle of the kitchen, encouraging me to do a keg stand.
It took me far too long to ditch the overambitious drink sharers and find a quiet corner to sulk in. And now that I’m here, it’s taking everything in me not to go home.
Life of the party, right?
Andre ran off a few minutes ago, chasing the heels of a girl up the stairs and abandoning me at my own going-away party.
It’s really not a big deal. Or that’s what I tell myself, anyway. That’s just how Andre is. I never planned to be here long, so it’s not like it matters much.
I suck back the rest of my water before dumping my empty red cup in one of the trash bins and making a beeline for the back door. If I’m going to be stuck here for at least another hour, I will not spend it stuck inside this hotbox.
The night air is tight and muggy, but I embrace it. Anything is better than the second-hand smoke and booze from inside. Several voices float from the pool deck, so I take off in the opposite direction and park myself in a camping chair that I find tucked beneath two trees. It’s not the most private spot, but it could be a lot worse.
A heavy silence surrounds me despite the music coming from the house. My thoughts are a scattered mess. I don’t think it’s fully hit me yet that tonight is the last time I’ll see most of the guys inside. It’s sad as hell to think about playing hockey without them.
When I first joined the team, I used to act like I single-handedly hung the moon. And yeah, I had the skill to back it up, but my attitude cost us way too many games.
Maybe it was the need to prove myself after falling behind and slacking on my prior team, or maybe it was simply that I wanted to be the best. Either way, it was Coach Yaras who knocked me down a few pegs.
I learned the hard way that being the best on the ice means nothing if you don’t have your team’s respect. They won’t follow you otherwise. That realization was why I worked my ass off in the second half of my first season to do exactly that. Then, during my second season, I earned the privilege of having the beloved C on my jersey.
I can happily admit that all the work was worth it, considering I just came out of this season as the number one goal scorer in the minor league.
Someone flops down beside me, grumbling lightly. The smell of weed takes me by surprise before I notice the lit joint between Andre’s fingers. “Tell me you’re not hiding from your own party.”
Meeting Andre’s disappointed stare, I lift a shoulder. “Did you not have fun upstairs? You’re back quick.”
“Changing the subject. Noted,” he says before taking a drink from his cup and setting it back down on the ground beside him. “When do you leave tomorrow?”
“Early.” Too fucking early.
Andre hums. “Tough. I guess you’ll be leaving the party soon, then, hey?”
A heavy silence falls between us when I nod. The knowledge of what’s coming is painful. Andre and I have been friends and teammates since our peewee days. I feel guilty as hell for ruining that.
“Get out of your head, Oakley. You’re destined for the pros. Don’t think twice about taking your shot. We’ll survive.”
“It just seems wrong to be playing for a team without you.”
Andre scoffs a laugh before taking a hit from the joint and letting it out in puffs. “You know that hockey isn’t my end game. But it’s always been yours. This new team will lead you there. Don’t be a pussy about it, eh?”
I drop my head back and laugh. “There it is. I was wondering how long it would take for you to lose the sweetness.”
He grins wickedly. “Just don’t forget about us when you’re making millions.”
“Like I ever could.” Or want to.
A loud crash comes from inside the house, and Andre jumps off the ground. Raised voices leak through the open windows and the screen door.
I wave at the house. “Go. I’m good here. Make sure nobody’s dead.”
He offers me an apologetic smile. “I’ll be back. I swear if anything’s broken, I’m going to kick some serious ass.”
“Good luck,” I say before he spins and heads back inside.
I lean back in the chair and stare at the sky. It’s a cloudy night, but I search for the stars anyway. Constellations are not my thing—hell, I don’t even remember my star sign or whatever they’re called, but there’s something about a clear, white-flecked sky that calms me.
“Pisces? Gemini?” God, Gracie would chastise me for not remembering.
The rustling of grass grabs my attention before the gentle voice does. “Pisces is for end of February or March birthdays. Gemini is end of May and June.”
I double blink.
A tall brunette is walking my way, her arms wrapped nervously around her front. The closer she gets, the easier it is to make her out in the dark.
Piercing green eyes are locked on me where I sit, but there’s a red ring around them that’s too obvious to ignore. Her slim cheeks are flushed, and I know it isn’t from the weather. It’s too warm.
I clear my throat. “Pisces, then. What about you?”
She stops a few feet from me and drags the toe of her white sneaker in the grass. I have to swallow to keep my throat from drying out. She’s beautiful, even with the smeared black lines beneath her tired eyes.
“Aries. Early April birthday,” she replies, tearing her eyes away and darting them around the yard. “My best friend loves star signs.”
“So does my sister.”
She nods but makes no move to sit down. For some reason, that bothers me. I want this stranger to sit with me, even for just a few minutes.
“Care to join me?” I ask. She hesitates, eyeing the ground. “You can tell me why you were just crying, or we can sit in silence. I have a sixteen-year-old sister, though, and I’ve been told I’m a great listener.”
She chews on that for a minute. “Why are you outside alone?”
“Honestly?”
“Honestly.”
“I’m not much of a partier.”
“Yeah, me neither.”
I wring my hands together and chew on my lip. “Want my chair? I can sit on the ground.”
She answers me by closing the distance between us and sitting on the grass, holding her legs to her chest. I slowly turn to face her and find her already looking at me. My heart thumps—hard.
“You’re a hockey player.” It’s not a question.
I swallow. “Is that bad?”
“My ex-boyfriend is a hockey player.” Her words are venomous, and my curiosity grows.
“Is he here?”
“Oh, he’s here. I found him in the bathroom with his dick down a random girl’s throat.”
“Shit.” I wince.
She laughs, but it’s dark, humourless. “Have you ever done something like that? Taken a girl in the bathroom and let her suck you off even though you have someone who already loves you waiting for you in the other room?”
My palms tingle with the urge to reach out and hug this girl, but I wipe them along my thighs instead. “No. It’s not something any guy should do.”
“You’re right. It’s not.”
“Is that why you were crying? That prick?”
“Pathetic, right? If Morgan were here, she would be shaking some sense into me.”
“Is that your best friend?” I ask. She nods. “Sounds like a good friend. I could shake some sense into you, but I don’t think it would be the same,” I say, keeping my voice light.
When she cracks a smile, I grin. A swirling feeling ignites in my stomach as she holds my gaze, her curiosity unwavering.
“I think it would look terrifying if someone were to see that. You’re much bigger than me.”
My brain is immediately flooded with images of the different ways we could explore that size difference, and my dick stirs. With a shake of my head, I’m flinging those thoughts away.
“You’re what? Five six? That’s not small,” I say.
“Close enough. I’m five six and a half.”
I chuckle. “Can’t forget that half.”
She rolls her eyes. “Not all of us have feet to spare. Let me keep my half in peace. Let me guess, six three?”
“Six three and a half,” I reply slyly.
“Liar.”
“Nope. If we had a way, you could have measured me right now.”
Her cheeks flush a deep red, and I break out in a fit of loud laughter. I’m surprised I don’t draw out a crowd.
“Not what I meant,” I assure her.
“Riiight,” she sings. A smile pulls at her mouth.
There’s a splash in the pool across the yard, and we both turn to find a shirtless guy with spiky blond hair doing drunken laps in the red-cup-filled water. He’s bellowing out the lyrics to a song I vaguely recognize. It sounds terrible.
“Is that . . . a song from Moana?” She mutters.
“Like, the movie with the Rock?”
“That’s the one.”
I narrow my eyes on who I know recognize as Bradley Caplan, a power forward on the Storm, and bark a laugh. “That’s Brad for you. He has twin younger sisters. They’re four years old.”
“Makes sense. Me and my friends have movie nights every Saturday night. Moana was the pick a few weeks ago.”
A spark of jealousy flares before I stomp it out. “Are you all close?”
She hums. “Yes. I’m lucky to have them.”
“Have you told them what happened tonight?”
If I were one of her friends, I would have already been on my way here to beat the shit out of this guy. Hell, if I thought she would tell me who the prick is, I would march inside and break his nose for her.
“God no.” She chokes on a laugh. “That would be a disaster.”
I arch a brow. “They’re protective of you?”
“Very.”
I offer her a smile. “Good. They’ll take care of you, then.”
My sincere words must surprise her because she doesn’t say anything in return. Her emerald eyes watch me intensely, like she’s trying to get inside my head. They shine even in the dark.
I tap my knuckles against the arm of the chair. “What’s your name?” I blurt out.
Her mouth twists to one side. “I barely know you.”
“My friends call me Lee,” I offer, surprising myself.
“And mine call me Ava.”
I grin. “So, Ava. Does this mean we’re friends now?”
Our eyes lock and hold. Her mascara-clumped lashes brush the skin beneath, and I fight to keep from wiping away the black mess with my thumb.
My stomach erupts in a fluttery sensation that has my head running laps, trying to figure out what’s happening right now.
“Yeah, Lee. I guess it does,” she whispers.
Her smile short-circuits my brain, leaving me with only a single thought.
I’ve never liked having a friend as much as I do right now.
