Chapter Eight
Leila
“I swear, if Professor Dean assigns us one more essay, I’m going to lose my mind,” Abigail whines, stirring her iced coffee with unnecessary violence. “Like, I get it, art reflects society, but can’t we just appreciate that some paintings are pretty without analyzing them to death?”
I nod absently, only half listening to her as we sit in our usual corner booth at the coffee shop on campus. Underneath my oversized sweater, the heart pendant is warm against my skin, and I keep catching myself touching it through the fabric.
My phone buzzes on the table, and I glance down to see a new message.
GlowStick
Hope you slept well. Did you dream about me?
My smile spreads across my face as I type back. I’d wondered whether they would message me today. If after what we did, they had gotten what they wanted and would ghost me.
Kane
Wouldn’t you like to know?
GlowStick
I would. In vivid detail
My cheeks flush, and I quickly lock my phone, but not before Abigail notices my expression.
“Okay, spill,” she says, abandoning her coffee to lean across the table. “You’ve been grinning at your phone like an idiot a lot lately. Who’s making Leila Kane smile like that?”
“It’s nothing,” I say, though I can’t wipe the stupid grin off my face.
“Bullshit. I know that look.” She narrows her eyes. “Are you seeing someone? Is that why you’ve been so distracted?”
I fidget with my coffee cup, debating how much to tell her. Abigail is a close friend, but how do I explain that I’ve been texting three masked strangers who may or may not be my brothers’ teammates?
“It’s complicated,” I finally say.
“Complicated how? Like, ‘he’s dating someone else’ complicated, or he’s your professor, or . . .?” She gasps dramatically. “Oh my god, is it Knox—your project partner? I knew there was chemistry there!”
“It’s not Knox,” I hiss quickly, though the idea makes me blush for an entirely different reason. In a different life, I would definitely be interested in him.
“Then who?” She reaches across and grabs my phone before I can stop her. “Let me see these messages.”
“Abby, no!” I lunge for my phone, but she’s already swiping it open using my code.
“Who the hell is GlowStick?” she squeaks, reading the contact name. “And why is he asking about masked strangers?”
I slump back in my seat, realizing there’s no way out of this now. “Okay, fine. But you have to promise not to judge me.”
“When have I ever done that?” She pauses. “Okay, don’t answer that. But seriously, what’s going on?”
I take a deep breath and launch into the story—starting with the party and ending with last night at the quarry. Abigail’s eyes get progressively wider with each detail, and by the time I finish, her mouth is hanging open.
“So let me get this straight,” she says slowly. “You’ve been texting with strangers and last night you drove to an abandoned quarry to let them chase you?”
“When you put it like that, it sounds insane.”
“Because it is!” She throws her hands in the air. “Leila, this is literally how every Bailey Sarian video starts. A woman meets mysterious strangers online, then she agrees to meet them in an isolated location and is never seen again!”
“But they didn’t murder me,” I point out. “They gave me a necklace.”
“A necklace?” Her voice rises. “Show me.”
I pull the collar of my sweater down and pull out the silver chain and red heart pendant.
Abigail stares at it for a long moment. “Okay, that’s actually really pretty.”
“That’s what I thought too.”
“And you’re still wearing it.”
“It matches everything,” I say defensively.
“Uh, huh.” She leans back in her seat to study me. “And you think these guys are your brothers’ teammates?”
“Yup, the masks are too much of a coincidence.”
“Fair point.” She takes a sip of her coffee. “So what happens now?”
“Nothing. Eventually it will end, but for now we are just having fun. I doubt they will tell Levi or Landon—it would sign a death certificate for them all.”
Abigail raises an eyebrow. “Is that what you want?”
Before I can answer, a familiar voice interrupts us. “Mind if I sit? Everywhere else is packed.”
I look up to see Jagger Holt standing next to our table, holding a large coffee and wearing the cocky smile that probably gets him laid on a regular basis.
He’s in dark jeans and a fitted gray henley that shows off his athletic build, and his rusty-brown hair is still slightly damp like he just got out of the shower.
His hazel eyes meet mine, and my heart does a weird flip, but I tell myself it’s only because he’s objectively attractive.
“Of course,” Abigail says before I can deny him, scooting over to make room on her side of the booth. “I’m Abigail, by the way. Leila’s roommate.”
“Jagger.” He slides into the seat across from me, his knee briefly brushing mine under the table. “I saw you through the glass at the game against Stormhaven.”
“And you’re the one who tried to start a fight with her brother,” she retorts.
“Hey, he threw the first punch.” Jagger grins. “I was defending myself.”
“You blew a kiss at me,” I point out, which only makes him laugh.
“I have done worse things than that to chirp at players.” He takes a drink of his coffee, though his eyes never leave my face. “He earned it with that cheap shot.”
“Should I be taking notes? It sounds like important rival dynamics,” Abigail says. “This whole sports thing is new to me.”
“There’s nothing dynamic about it,” I reply quickly. “Jagger plays for Gravepoint, and my brothers play for Stormhaven. They try to kill each other on the ice occasionally. That’s it.”
“Is it, though?” Jagger’s gaze drops briefly to my throat, and I suddenly remember I’m wearing the choker. “Because you’re here at Gravepoint, wearing our colors.”
I look down at my outfit—dark jeans and a black sweater with the Gravepoint logo embroidered on the chest. “I go to school here.”
“So you do.” His smile becomes more genuine. “Smart choice. Better academics, a better hockey team, and way better coffee.”
“Better coffee?” Abigail laughs. “That’s your selling point?”
“Hey, don’t underestimate good coffee. It’s essential for surviving college.” He gestures to his cup. “Anyway, that’s a nice necklace, Leila.”
My hand automatically goes to my throat. “It’s none of your business.”
Abigail kicks me under the table, but I barely feel it. Something about the way Jagger is looking at me makes my skin prickle.
“So,” he continues, “what are you ladies up to today?”
“The usual,” Abigail says, clearly enjoying this interaction more than I am. “Though Leila here was telling me about some interesting extracurricular activities she’s been up to.”
I want to disappear into the floor. “Abby,” I hiss.
“Really?” Jagger leans forward, his attention now focused entirely on me. “What kind of extracurricular activities?”
“The kind that are none of your business,” I say, but my cheeks are burning.
“Come on, now I’m curious.” His grin widens. “Does it have anything to do with why you keep touching the chain?”
“I’m not . . .” I start, then realize I am, in fact, touching it. I tuck the necklace back under my sweater.
“Interesting,” he murmurs.
My phone buzzes on the table, and all three of us look down at it. I see a message on Insta from Knox.
Knox: Hey, are we still on for our study session at my place? 4pm?
My eyes go wide as I realize what time it is. “Oh shit, I completely forgot!”
“Forgot what?” Abigail asks, but I’m already grabbing my bag and coffee.
“That I have a study session with Knox for our sports nutrition project. I’m already late.” I stand up quickly, nearly knocking over my chair.
“Knox?” Jagger raises an eyebrow, looking amused.
“Yeah, we’re partners for a class project,” I explain as I type back frantically. “Why?”
“Just curious.” He smiles as he also gets up from his seat. “See you both later.”
We watch as he walks away, and then I turn my attention back to Abby. “I’m so sorry—I forgot I had a thing with Knox.”
“Leila . . .” Abigail starts, but I’m already walking away.
“I’ll text you later,” I call over my shoulder.
The drive to Knox’s house takes fifteen minutes, and I spend the entire time cursing myself for losing track of time. The last thing I need is to screw up this project because I was too distracted.
Knox lives off campus in a house he apparently shares with some other hockey players. The place is nicer than I expected; it’s a two-story colonial with a well-maintained yard and expensive cars in the driveway.
I press the doorbell and wait. When the door opens, I nearly choke on my own tongue.
Riven stands in the doorway, wearing nothing but gray sweatpants that hang dangerously low on his hips. His dark-blonde hair is messy, like he just woke up from a nap, and his green eyes meet mine as he speaks. “Hi.”
“I . . . um . . . I’m here to see Knox?” I manage to get out, trying very hard to keep my eyes on his face and not let them slide down to the defined lines of his abs.
“He’s expecting you.” Riven steps aside to let me in, and as I pass him in the doorway, I catch a whiff of his cologne.
No, Leila, do not picture him naked just because he smells nice.
The house is even nicer inside, with hardwood floors and furniture that definitely wasn’t bought at a college furniture store. As Riven closes the door behind me, I hear footsteps on the stairs.
“Hello again,” a voice says from above. “Look what the cat dragged in.”
I look up to see Jagger coming down the stairs. “I didn’t know you lived here too,” I say, trying to sound casual.
He must have sped all the way here to beat me.
“We’re one big happy family,” he replies, as his eyes go to my throat. “Still wearing that pretty necklace, I see.”
My hand instinctively goes to the necklace.
“Piss off, both of you,” Knox’s voice interrupts as he appears from where I assume is the kitchen. He’s wearing basketball shorts and a tank top, and his dark hair is tucked behind his ears. “She’s here to study, not deal with your bullshit.”
“I’m just being friendly,” Jagger says innocently.
“Your version of friendly usually involves someone getting punched,” Knox snaps, then turns to me with an apologetic smile. “Sorry about them. Come on, I set up everything in the kitchen.”
“Wow,” I say, following him through the living room. “This place is nice. Way better than my dorm.”
“Thanks. The three of us split the rent, and it beats dealing with campus housing.” Knox leads me into a spacious kitchen with granite countertops and stainless-steel appliances. “Plus, we can cook actual food instead of surviving on cafeteria mystery meat.”
Textbooks and notebooks are already spread out on the large dining table next to the kitchen, along with a laptop and what looks like several nutrition charts.
“This looks very organized,” I say, setting my bag down and pulling out my own laptop.
“Knox is obsessed with being prepared,” Jagger says, as he wanders into the kitchen behind us and opens the refrigerator to grab a water bottle. “Though I have to warn you, Leila, this kitchen sees a lot of . . . interesting activities.”
Knox shoots him a warning look. “Jagger.”
“What? I’m just saying, we’re very active guys. We can work up an appetite.” Jagger’s grin turns wicked. “Sometimes we get hungry at the same time. Sometimes we share, or sometimes we walk in on others feasting.”
“Share . . . food?”
“Among other things,” Jagger says with a wink.
“Jesus Christ,” Knox mutters, running a hand through his hair. “Will you please go find something else to do? Preferably something that involves leaving us alone?”
“Actually . . .” Riven’s voice comes from the doorway, and I look up to find him now wearing a fitted black T-shirt that does absolutely nothing to hide his muscles. “I need to grab my stats textbook. I left it in here earlier.”
He moves past us to retrieve a book from the counter, but instead of leaving, he leans against it, his arms crossed. Heat creeps up my neck as I remind myself to look at his face and not at his cock print in his sweats. I swear, men do this on purpose—gray sweats are like crack.
“Don’t mind me,” he says. “Pretend I’m not here.”
That’s impossible, and he knows it.
Jagger perks up immediately, abandoning any pretense of leaving. He pulls out the chair next to me and spins it around, straddling it backward. “So, Leila. We know you’re into hockey, but what about hockey players?”
“Knox and I are supposed to be working on a project,” I say, trying to ignore the way my heart rate has picked up with all three of them suddenly in the room.
“I am working . . . on my charm.” He leans closer. “What do you think?”
Knox’s jaw tightens. “Jagger, I swear to god.”
“What? I’m just being friendly.” Jagger’s grin widens. “You don’t mind that I’m being friendly, do you, Leila?”
I feel Riven’s gaze on me. “I mind when it interferes with my grade,” I manage, forcing myself to look at my laptop screen instead of at any of them.
“Your grade will be fine,” Knox says. “Because we’re going to work on the project. Alone.”
“Possessive,” Jagger whispers to Riven. “I like it.”
“Out,” Knox orders, standing up to his full height. “Both of you. Now.”
Riven pushes off the counter with a small smile. “Come on. Let’s give them some privacy.”
“But I was getting comfortable,” Jagger whines.
“Now.”
Jagger stands, but not before leaning down near my ear. “See you around, Kane.”
Then they’re gone, and I’m left sitting across from Knox, whose knuckles are white from where he’s gripping the edge of the table.
“Sorry,” he mutters, sitting back down. “They’re . . .”
“Intense?” I offer.
“That’s one word for it. Now let’s focus on the project.”
But although I try to concentrate on our assignment, all I can think about is gray sweats and hockey players railing me on the ice.