Chapter 8
Cade
By the time Bliss Bennett started showing up in my phone more than my own teammates, I had stopped pretending the project was the only reason I looked for her everywhere.
It happened gradually enough that I could have lied about it if I wanted to.
A text after class turned into late-night calls she claimed were “strictly for academic follow-up,” even when she spent twenty minutes explaining why a man at The Sin Bin tried to fistfight a jukebox and another ten roasting Briggs for thinking mitochondria were “the battery ones.”
Coffee between classes became her stealing fries off my plate like they legally belonged to her while I pretended it annoyed me, even though I’d probably hand her my entire meal if she asked for it.
She started appearing at practice with her notebook tucked against her chest, hair pulled back, eyes sharp in that way that made me feel less observed than chosen.
Which should have concerned me more than it did.
It didn’t.
Bliss had this infuriating way of working herself into places without making it look like she was trying.
My schedule. My phone. My head. The passenger seat of conversations I had no business replaying at midnight.
I knew she preferred strawberry protein shakes because chocolate before workouts was “defeating the purpose.” I knew she made tiny humming noises under her breath while she studied.
I knew she checked weather forecasts obsessively before driving like somebody’s paranoid middle-aged father, and I knew she never took the Lord’s name in vain.
Goodness. Gosh. Holy shit.
Never God.
I teased her about it once, and she rolled her eyes before saying, “Be so for real, Cade. It’s rude.
I would hate if people yelled Bliss damn it every time something bad happened.
” Then she’d shrugged, weirdly sincere and completely herself.
“I guess once I thought about it that way, I felt bad turning Him into a swear word. So, I don’t. ”
That was Bliss though.
Sunshine with edges. Drop-dead gorgeous and somehow impossible to define normally.
Not polished or curated like half the girls around campus tried to be.
She was expressive. Warm. Constantly moving.
Flipping her hair over one shoulder while she laughed.
Biting her lip when she was trying not to smile.
Making soft amused noises under her breath whenever she thought somebody was being ridiculous.
Sunshine disguised as a woman.
Which became a serious problem every time my brain wandered somewhere it had no right going.
Because sweetness like hers did something violent to my self-control.
I’d catch myself thinking about her at the worst times.
During drills. In the shower. Halfway through film when Coach Little was talking systems and my brain decided instead to replay the sound of her saying Cross Check in that teasing voice like she’d put her mouth on my name and left teeth marks behind.
I wanted things from her I had no business wanting.
Wanted the laugh. The mouth. The attitude. The softness she tried to hide behind sarcasm. Wanted to know what she sounded like when she stopped being polite and careful and let herself want something without immediately punishing herself for it.
That was the part that kept me in check.
Pip wasn’t some random hookup I could burn through and walk away from afterward.
She mattered enough that the wanting came with consequence.
She mattered enough that I noticed when her smile showed up late.
When she checked exits. When a loud voice made her shoulders tighten before she forced them loose again.
When her hand slipped into her pocket like she needed something there to hold her together.
So, I kept my hands to myself.
Mostly.
I shoved open the front door of Hockey House and immediately got hit with noise.
Music pounded somewhere upstairs while half the team screamed at a basketball game playing across three mounted televisions in the living room.
Girls crowded the marble kitchen counters holding red cups while somebody nearly died laughing near the massive island beneath neon Fury signs mounted against black shiplap walls.
The house looked less like college housing and more like a luxury ski lodge designed by somebody with unlimited money and unresolved anger issues.
Which honestly tracked.
My father’s firm had renovated most of Athlete Row back when KFU decided pretending college athletes lived like regular students was bad for branding.
Football House. Baseball House. Soccer. Lacrosse.
Hockey. Private gyms, recovery rooms, security systems, matte-black SUVs idling outside like we were a minor-league organization with homework.
People on campus joked Athlete Row looked like the Olympic Village with alcohol poisoning.
They weren’t wrong.
“Mercer,” Briggs yelled from the kitchen the second he saw me. “If you disappear upstairs again tonight, I’m telling everybody you’re secretly married.”
I tossed my keys onto the counter without slowing down. “You look like you moisturize with cooking grease. Worry about yourself.”
Easton nearly choked laughing from the sectional.
Briggs pointed at me dramatically. “That’s hateful.”
“You’ll survive.”
Easton sprawled farther into the couch cushions, one arm thrown along the back while he watched the room with that quiet defenseman patience that made him look calmer than he actually was. “Ignore him. He’s upset because one of the freshmen drank his protein shake again.”
Briggs looked ready to commit homicide. “I’m gonna start killing people.”
“That’s leadership,” Rider said approvingly from the recliner.
I barely registered any of it because the second I walked inside, my eyes automatically started looking for her.
Which was objectively insane.
Apparently obvious too, because Rider glanced up from his phone and grinned immediately. “Hell froze over. Mercer’s looking for his girl.”
“Shut up.”
“There’s the look,” Easton said, laughing. “That weird little smile.”
“I don’t have a weird little smile.”
“You absolutely do,” Briggs called from the kitchen. “It’s unsettling. Like a villain discovering affection.”
I started toward the staircase instead of entertaining any of them further because they were already too close to the truth for my comfort.
The problem wasn’t that I liked her. That part I could manage. The problem was the fixation.
Once my brain locked onto something, it consumed me completely, and lately everything circled back to her.
Her voice. Her hands. The ridiculous way she said academic whenever one of us got too close to admitting this didn’t feel like school anymore.
The smell of her perfume lingering on my hoodie after she stole it during a late coffee run and then claimed it was “community property due to weather conditions.”
My room sat at the very top of Hockey House, converted attic space with slanted ceilings and oversized windows overlooking Athlete Row below.
It was quieter up there. Removed from the constant chaos downstairs.
I dropped my bag near the door and scrubbed a hand over my face before my phone lit up across the desk.
Pip: outside :)
My entire chest tightened instantly in a way that was honestly becoming embarrassing.
Me: come downstairs. gym.
Three dots appeared immediately.
Pip: bossy :(
I grinned despite myself before tossing my phone onto the bed. She had absolutely no idea how bossy I could actually be if I wanted to bend her will.
Before my brain disappeared completely into the gutter, I changed into workout clothes and headed downstairs toward the private gym behind the garage.
The space smelled like rubber flooring, metal, sweat, and pre-workout powder. Music vibrated softly through mounted speakers while neon Fury signs glowed against matte-black walls beneath exposed industrial lighting. I was halfway through reracking weights when the door opened behind me.
And there she was. Tiny. Pretty. Catastrophic to my mental stability.
Bliss stepped inside wearing black compression leggings and a tiny gray sports bra with her oversized hoodie tied loosely around her waist like she’d already gotten too warm walking over here.
Blonde hair sat piled into a messy knot on top of her head while her fitness monitor blinked softly beneath the lights.
Her warm brown eyes found mine immediately, glossy lips curving slightly when she caught me staring too long, and something low and possessive tightened in my chest so fast it almost pissed me off.
She looked soft and bright and entirely too tempting standing there in Nikes and attitude, and somehow my brain had already decided Pip belonged specifically to me.
She looked around slowly. “This place is nicer than my entire gym, and I pay an offensive amount of money for that membership.”
“It should be. My father basically funded half the athletic department.”
She snorted softly while pushing loose hair behind one ear. “So, subtle charity.”
I laughed quietly, watching her walk toward the treadmill while the noise from upstairs muffled behind the gym door. “You ready?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Good.” I smiled. “Then we’re starting.”
She rolled her eyes, but I caught the tiny smile tugging at her mouth before she stepped onto the treadmill anyway.
Music played softly while she walked beside me, talking about some disaster at The Sin Bin involving a fake ID and a guy who apparently tried fist-fighting a jukebox after getting cut off.
I listened to her more than I lifted, probably making myself obvious, but I couldn’t seem to stop.
At one point she laughed hard enough she had to grab the treadmill handles.
That was when I noticed it, my stomach tightened instantly.