Chapter 13
Jefferson
It’s Friday night, almost a week after winning the Frozen Four, and the high still hasn’t stopped buzzing in my veins.
I’m not the only one riding it. The guys decided to throw a party at The Manor.
It’s our last hurrah before exams, before scattering to the crush of work and graduation.
Why not? Our Wittmore days are running out, and it feels like everyone’s determined to wring every last ounce of glory out of the win.
I’ve got a cold beer sweating in my hand and three puck bunnies orbiting like satellites. Usually, that would be my idea of a good night filled with easy smiles, soft hands, girls who know the game and what I’m good for. But tonight? They’ve got questions.
“Ingrid Flockton,” Chantel says, her eyes glittering with gossip. “Did you really meet her? What’s she like?”
The truth is on the tip of my tongue: smart, sexy, beautiful, fun. Fuck. Too much for words. But I lock it down, sip my beer, and give them the line. “A lot like what you see in the media.”
Alicia leans in, her eyeliner thick and angled. “How did you end up dancing with her?”
We returned from Chicago not just Frozen Four champions, but also with the buzz of having partied with Ingrid. I’ve heard the girls tell the same story over and over: they met her at the Badger Den. Became friendly. It developed from there.
That would have been enough to appease the masses, but the two of us being spotted on the dance floor escalated the gossip another few notches.
Not only that, the pom-pom beanie was one of Reid’s designs for the team.
After she was seen in it at the game, it, and every other piece of his merch in the team shop, sold out in an hour.
This woman is electric.
I look back down at Alicia. “The same way I end up with any woman,” I smirk, though it feels hollow. “I took a chance.”
Ruby lays her hand flat on my chest, nails sharp through my shirt. “Did you kiss her? If I kiss you, does that mean I’ve had one degree of separation between me and Ingrid Flockton?”
“Funny.” My gaze dips to her lips. Soft pink, familiar.
I’ve had them wrapped around my cock before, more than once.
Normally, the memory would stir me up. Tonight?
I close my eyes, and it’s not Ruby’s mouth I picture.
It’s hers. Red lips that taste like sunshine.
Lavender hair brushing my cheek. And a laugh that makes my stomach lurch like I’ve just dropped down the first hill of a roller coaster.
The beer goes flat in my mouth. I need out. I need air.
“Excuse me, ladies,” I give them my heartbreaker smile, but I’m already backing up, sliding past them before one can grab me again.
Pushing through the closest door, I find myself on the porch–only it’s not empty. Wrong turn. It’s Shelby’s room. She’s perched on Reid’s lap, and they’re making out like the world’s ending.
I freeze, then lean against the doorframe, watching.
Not sure why–probably just to remind myself what it looks like when someone’s all in.
Their relationship is still new, they haven’t had time to become tired of one another.
And it’s well known that Reid was Shelby’s first. She’s still getting a taste of sex and love.
I guess that’s why I stand still and track Shelby’s hand in Reid’s red hair, and he’s holding her like he’d fight off an army just to keep kissing her.
Reid breaks first, noticing me. “What the fuck, man?”
I shrug, lifting the bottle in my hand like it explains everything. “Didn’t want to interrupt.”
He’s already annoyed, adjusting himself as Shelby slides off his lap, cheeks pink. “Do you need something? Are you okay?”
“I needed a breather.”
“From who?” Reid asks, shooting daggers at me. I don’t blame him. I’m cockblocking him hard.
“The puck bunnies.” I rake a hand down my face. “Is it me, or are they worse since we won the playoffs?”
Shelby snorts.
“What?” I ask.
“They’re always awful,” she says matter-of-factly. “You just usually enjoy it.”
Reid barks a laugh, eyes narrowing. “Seriously, man, you’re usually balls deep by now, with another one on deck. What’s the deal?”
My shrug is stiff, defensive. I feel stupid even standing here. Should’ve just gone to my room. They’re both watching me, waiting. Pressure builds until I shove a hand through my hair. “I’m just not into it.”
Shelby’s grin is slow, knowing. “Because you’re thinking about someone else.”
Our eyes meet. Fuck. She knows. These girls always know.
Reid sees the look pass between us, and he groans, already standing. “Alright. I’m going outside for some air. You two can have your girl talk in here.”
He drops one last kiss on Shelby–surely hard enough to aggravate the boner still straining his jeans–before he slips out the door that leads outside, muttering about how he’s going to pay me back for this one day, under his breath.
The door clicks shut, leaving me with Shelby’s sly little smirk and the truth she’s already pieced together.
“We don’t have to do this,” I say quickly, wondering how this turned so fast. “I will happily go out there and have a three-way and forget this ever happened.” I look around the room, anywhere but at her.
Shelby still has clothes in here: dresses hung off the bike rack, her work clothes air-drying on hooks originally for plants.
She spends most nights upstairs in Reid’s room now, but she never moved her things out.
A peace offering to Axel, I guess. He can’t handle the idea of his best friend banging his little sister every night.
“Sit,” she says, patting the spot Reid just vacated. I don’t want to, but girls like Shelby make me nervous. She’s got that innocent, girl-next-door vibe that has never been my thing, which means I can’t sweet-talk my way out of this.
I sit and run my hands down my thighs.
“You’ve got it bad.”
I frown. “What?”
She flicks her gaze up at me, sharp and knowing. “Don’t play dumb. I’ve seen that look before. Same one Reid had when he was trying to pretend he was okay with me going back to Texas.”
Within twenty-four hours, he’d followed her home to get her back.
“I don’t know her, Shelby. I just met her and she’s cool, and yes, gorgeous, but she’s not even here. She never will be. So what’s the point?”
Well. That was a lot of truth vomited out all at once.
“Tell me something…” She sits up, tucking her legs under her, smirking like she’s already won. “Did you sleep with her?”
“Where? At her apartment? At the victory party?” I play it off like it wasn’t the second and third time we’d been together. Like there hadn’t been another opportunity. “I work fast, Rakestraw, but not that fast.”
She makes a face like she doesn’t believe that. Fair. I do work that fast. When I want to.
“So you had the opportunity to cross her name off your list and you didn’t do it.” She tilts her head. “Why?”
“It didn’t feel right.”
Her eyebrow lifts. “Jefferson Parks. Wittmore’s resident player had a chance to bang Ingrid Flockton and didn’t because ‘it didn’t feel right’?”
“She’s just–” I cut myself off, shaking my head. “Forget it.”
Shelby studies me, and I don’t like it. “Not what? Not just hot? Not just famous? Not just a name you wanted to check off your list?”
I glance at her, jaw tight. “She’s not a game.”
That earns me a grin, wide and smug. “Oh my God. You actually like her.”
I grab a pillow and hurl it at her, but she just catches it and hugs it to her chest, laughing.
“You’re screwed, Jefferson,” she teases. “Totally, completely screwed.”
“Yeah,” I slump back against the couch, “tell me something I don’t know.”
“Fine, I will.” Shelby leans forward, elbows on her knees, eyes cutting right through me.
“Ingrid isn’t the kind of girl you screw around with.
She’s been hurt in the past. She puts on a brave face, but she’s lonely, Jefferson.
She’s been through heartbreak. She plays it off like it’s just music, just the tour, just the spotlight–but the way she opened her home to me and the other girls?
That’s not normal. That’s someone who’s craving connection. ”
I rub a hand over my face, exhaling slowly.
“If this is something you want,” Shelby continues, steady and sure, “be serious about it. It may not work out in the long run, but if you treat her like you’ve treated the other girls at Wittmore? You’ll lose her–and you’ll hurt her. And she doesn’t deserve that.”
Her words settle like lead in my chest. The worst part?
She’s right. I’ve made a career out of chasing the fun, the easy, the temporary.
But Ingrid? She feels like something else.
Something slippery, like it could easily slide through my fingers.
But most of all, she feels like something that could wreck me if I screw it up.
Reid returns and gives me a hard stare that screams, “Get the fuck out.” I take the cue and head upstairs, the noise from the party trailing after me, and close myself in my room.
It’s quieter up here, though the bass still thuds through the floorboards.
I grab my phone, flop back onto the bed, and before I can overthink it, I hit her number.
She answers on the third ring, voice low–sleepy–face coming into view. “Hey.”
“Hi.”
I smile without meaning to. Just hearing her knocks something loose in my chest.
“Did I wake you?”
“Not really.” She shifts, and I see the thin strap of her tank top falling off her shoulder. “I was working on some new music.”
Of course she was. I picture her on that bus, guitar across her lap, headphones in, scribbling lyrics that’ll end up in people’s veins one day.
“Can I hear it?”
She laughs a little, soft. “Maybe when it’s finished.”
“I can’t wait.” And that’s the thing. I can’t. The idea of her keeping pieces of herself tucked away while I’m out here starving for them makes me restless. “I want to see you again.”