Eight
Holden
The house is in complete chaos when I get home from practice over Thanksgiving break, and for once in my life, I’m not the reason for it.
There are at least fifteen people jam-packed on the first floor of our three-story townhouse, and I can tell there are more spilling out onto the deck in the backyard for beer pong—even if it is late November in Chicago.
Add in the music thumping through the floor, my guess is there’s a good amount of people in the rec room we have downstairs too.
What the hell?
It takes me a few minutes to find someone who actually lives here, and I’m not surprised when my eyes finally land on Braxton manning the beer pong table out back.
“What’s happening here?” I ask slowly while he aims for a cup.
“We’ve finally started winning,” he says with a shrug, as if it’s enough to answer all my questions. “I only invited a few guys from the team over for a few beers to celebrate, so if you’re pissed, don’t look at me. It’s not my fault it turned into this.”
This being one step below a full-blown kegger in the middle of our townhouse.
“Of course not,” I mutter as I continue taking in the scene before me.
Most of the people I vaguely recognize from other frat or sorority parties I’ve attended the past few years, and true to his word, there are a bunch of Braxton’s teammates back inside the house.
But when I glance through the window, I don’t see the two other hockey players I live with.
And while that’s not not normal, I’m a bit surprised by it.
“Where’s Oak?” I ask, still looking around for my best friend.
Braxton shrugs for what might be the eighth time since I walked into the backyard. “Beats me. But with our game tomorrow, I’d assume he’ll be home soon.”
And he’s gonna be thrilled when he sees the state the house is in. Ever the golden boy.
“And Cam?”
“Fuckin’…” is all Braxton says before catching the pong ball his opponent throws a little long.
“Theo?”
“Downstairs with some of the baseball guys.” His attention shifts to me after he throws again, and this time the ball bounces off the rim of one cup before bouncing into the one beside it. “And you’re right here, annoying the shit out of me with all your goddamn questions.”
Well, all right then.
I’ve never been much of a Braxton fan, but he’s Oak and Cam’s teammate, so I shut my mouth and deal. Except moments like this make it really fucking hard.
“Just wanting to make sure you cleared it with the other people living here before throwing a house party.”
Braxton doesn’t so much as bat an eye when he replies, “Not like you don’t do the same thing.”
I’ll be the first to admit I’m the usual perpetrator when it comes to parties at the house. The main difference is, I tend to let the rest of the people who live here know when a party is being thrown, rather than everyone being greeted by a sight like this when they get home.
So if I know better, there’s no reason Braxton shouldn’t either.
“As long as everyone knows,” I say dryly, which is as close to biting my tongue as I can get.
“And now you do.” His attention shifts back to the game at hand. “So, if you don’t mind, you’re kind of ruining my vibe.”
He just pulled two cups on the last throw while I’ve been standing here, though I’m not about to point it out. I’ve got no reason to keep talking to the asshole as it is.
Ducking back inside, I grab a beer from the fridge and pull out my phone, two ideas battling in my head as to what to do.
In the end though, I decide what’s done is done, and there’s no use trying to end this prematurely—especially when my roommates don’t say shit when I have people over.
Besides, the last thing I want is Braxton retaliating when I decide to bring in a keg and my fifty closest friends.
So I do the only logical thing at this point.
I open the football team’s group text and extend the invite—making sure to text Kason again separately.
I haven’t had much time outside of practice with him since our date last week.
A date that was downright abysmal, filled with far too much awkwardness—mostly on his end—to consider a success.
Especially when the most fun I had all night was seeing the look on Phoenix’s face the moment I showed up at the door with his glove covering my dick to pick Kason up in the first place.
We could’ve ended it right there, and I’d have been just fine. But I’m still hoping it was a fluke incident; first date jitters or whatever, and maybe another time hanging out in a group setting will make him a bit more comfortable around me.
Which is why I’m happy as a clam to see he texts back seconds later, opting to head over here and join the party.
Kason: Where are you? This house is packed.
The corner of my mouth curls up in a grin as I read the text twenty minutes later.
Me: Downstairs. Rec room.
Kason: Meet me somewhere a little more private?
Me: How private are we talking?
Kason: Private enough that we won’t risk someone walking in and finding us in a precarious situation.
A smirk spreads across my lips into a full grin at the same time my brain thinks a single victorious word.
Finally.
Kason has been adamant about letting things progress naturally, taking it slow and whatnot.
And while my agreement has given me a killer case of blue balls—they honestly might be purple now—it’s also enabled me to prove a point to Phoenix.
Though, if I’ve learned anything from the past few weeks, it’s that it was the dumbest agreement I could have ever made.
Me: Meet you in my room?
His reply is almost immediate.
Kason: Five minutes. Lights off. We don’t want anyone walking in.
Me: And why’s that?
Kason: Because I want you naked when I get there.
Excitement shoots through me as I reread the second text enough times I think I’m hallucinating the words altogether. Because if this conversation is leading where I think it is, I’m about to fold like a house of cards; agreement with Phoenix be damned.
Then again, if we don’t have sex, maybe I haven’t broken this unspoken deal at all?
Hell, if I know. And it’s not like I’m gonna track down Phoenix to find out.
Yet even throughout all the excitement, there’s a weird, nagging feeling in the back of my mind as I reread the text. As if this is too good to be true. Especially when the house has an additional thirty people milling about.
Fucking—or even messing around—with a house full of people doesn’t seem his style.
It’s still not enough to keep me from texting back.
Me: I better not be the only one naked for long.
Kason: ;)
I glance up from where I’ve been sitting on the couch with Theo and a few of his teammates, ready to head off to my room and wait for him. Except I don’t make it into the hallway before a familiar figure comes walking down the stairs.
Phoenix.
He sees me. I know he has to, but he makes it a point to ignore me as he moves to brush by me. That just won’t do. Not after the little stunt he pulled last week when he found out I was taking Kason out for a proper date.
I reach out my arm in front of him, pressing my palm to the wall to prevent him from going any further.
“Seriously?” His dark, penetrating stare lands on me, entirely unamused. “Move.”
“I don’t think so.”
Phoenix lets out an indignant huff before going to duck under my arm. Little does he know, he’s not getting away that easily.
With a quick maneuver, I cage him with his back to the wall, my arms on either side of his head.
“Fuck off, Holden. I’m not doing this with you right now.”
“Didn’t realize they were inviting just anyone to this little gathering,” I say, ignoring his commentary.
“Not even you get to control the guest list.”
“I definitely should have some sort of veto power, especially after the stunt you pulled last week.” I lean forward, my lips brushing the shell of his ear when I speak.
“Tell me, are you planning to steal my entire wardrobe this time, Nix? Because if that’s the case, I think I need to go lock up my room. ”
“Feel free to lock yourself in it so I don’t have to look at you the rest of the night.”
I pull back to stare at him, our noses close enough to touch. “Maybe I will. But feel free to send your buddy Kason my way once he arrives.”
I’m expecting irritation or anger from him, so when a grin appears on Phoenix’s lips, I’m taken by surprise. Although not nearly as much as by the response leaving his mouth.
“I’ll be sure to pass along the message.”
I’m left gaping at him, completely shocked that he’s not making some sort of snide remark. I don’t even try fighting him when he ducks under my arm again and heads toward his teammates, because my brain has just been whipped, scrambled, and tossed in a blender.
What…?
I watch after Phoenix far longer than I should—waiting for my equilibrium to return—only to find him smiling and laughing with his teammates the second he joins them.
Like he’s a normal guy for once, instead of the anti-social, cock-blocking demon who has been making my life hell these past few weeks.
It’s then I realize this is the first time I’ve seen Phoenix out without Kason, and my confusion only grows.
There’s no way he doesn’t know Kason’s coming; they’re roommates, after all. They had to have come here together. So why isn’t Phoenix acting like the guard dog he usually is?
All these questions run through my head at warp speed as I stare at him, not sure what to think while also knowing I don’t really have the time to worry about it.
Shaking my thoughts free, I push through the door to my room and let it fall closed behind me.
I keep the lights off as I strip, surprised to find that the more articles of clothing I remove from my body, the more anxious I get.
And not in the fun, sexy, exciting way I get when I’m ready to tear someone else’s clothes off.
It’s the same unsettled feeling from earlier, telling me something isn’t right.