Chapter 12 Harper #2
But as soon as the crowd of them disappears around a corner, I take a deep breath. Hockey party. What the hell have I done?
Clutching my drink, I wander into the next room, smiling politely at anyone who looks my way and desperate for a distraction.
Following the flow of people leads me to a foosball table.
I recognize the three people clustered around it—Lucas from my precalc class, Carrie from ninth-grade English, and Sabrina, head of the Spirit Committee.
I’ve never had a class with her, but you simply don’t go to Hamilton Lakes High and not know Sabrina.
For the millionth time, I wonder what I’m doing here.
Is Sabrina going to be one of those people who thinks I’m public enemy number one this year?
Her long blond hair is braided into an intricate crown, she’s wearing ripped jeans and a cozy-looking crewneck, and she has enough social power that she could eat me for breakfast if she wanted. I raise my drink awkwardly in greeting.
“Hey!” Sabrina says, face lighting up in welcome. “Come be our fourth! I need a partner if we’re going to play doubles!”
A rush of relief floods my body. But then I remember. “I’ve never played.”
“Don’t worry. The real jocks are in the other room.
If we lose, it won’t ruin our whole week.
But I shouldn’t make fun—sports are the only way guys get to express their emotions, right?
We should let them have it.” She winks. I’m not sure I’ve seen someone wink in real life before, but she pulls it off.
I would follow this girl into war. The next thing I know I’m grabbing the handles and crouching into some weird battle stance as Lucas drops the ball in.
Sabrina and I make a shockingly good team.
After our third goal, Carrie and Lucas claim they need refreshments to rehydrate.
“Good luck trying to come up with a strategy to beat us!” Sabrina calls after them.
She turns back to me with a grin, raising her hand for a high five.
“I take back what I said about the real jocks! You might have it in you to go pro!”
I slap her hand with a grin, my charm bracelet jangling as I do. “I owe it all to my team.”
“Oh my God, this is gorgeous!” Sabrina grabs my hand, and after a minute, I realize she’s trying to get a better look at my bracelet.
I built each loop myself, all different sizes for an organic feel, and pale blue-and-green sea-glass baubles hang off it.
It was my first big step up from simpler beaded bracelets, and I’ve worn it ever since.
It’s a reminder of what I can do, the soothing ocean colors like the quiet confidence deep inside me, unbothered by the daily waves of Hamilton Lakes.
When Sabrina catches sight of the custom-designed BB emblem latching it together, she looks back up. “Hang on, did you make this? I’ve heard that you make jewelry, but I never expected your stuff to look so professional.”
I blush, full of the familiar glow of pride.
People admiring my work never gets old. And it’s nice to find someone who doesn’t seem interested in the petty gossip, who has no idea about the review bombing or ridiculous boycotting.
“My business is going through some… um, some difficulties right now. But I’ll figure it out. ”
“You will,” Sabrina says, and I’m shocked at how affirming this random girl’s confidence is. I guess she’s not head of the Spirit Committee for nothing. “You’re too talented not to make it work. Can I text you with a commission?”
I pull out my phone, grinning. “Are you kidding? I’d love to make you something!”
Carrie and Lucas return with drinks, and I grab another White Claw from their offerings.
Right behind them is Dawson. He squeezes through the crowd of spectators until he makes it to my side, seemingly uninterested in the glances he attracts along the way.
I have to tilt my head up to look him in the eyes.
“How’re you doing?” he asks, holding eye contact in a way that makes my pulse flutter.
I grin, spreading my hands to draw his attention to the most epic foosball game Hamilton Lakes has ever seen. “Kicking ass, actually. How about you?”
He lets out a sharp, surprised laugh. “I’m glad you’re having a good time.”
I nod solemnly. “Turns out the thing hockey parties have been missing is me and my soon-to-be-legendary foosball skills.”
Dawson laughs again. His eyes crinkle up at the corners. “You know what, I’m not surprised. Feels like if you set your mind to something, you accomplish it no matter what.”
My breath catches. I can’t tear my gaze away from his lingering smile.
“Sorry to interrupt.” Sabrina rests a hand on my arm, eyes flicking back and forth between the two of us. “But I kinda need my foosball partner back if we’re going to finish this thing.”
Dawson holds his hands up in defense, backing away. “Don’t let me distract you.”
I take a shaky breath, regaining my composure. What would I normally do in this situation? Roll my eyes. Roll your eyes, Harper. “You wish.” My voice is light, unbothered.
But the way he raises his eyebrows in challenge, not breaking eye contact until the last possible second…
That smile of his really might be good enough to cost me the game.
Somehow I manage to keep my focus. It helps that I sense Dawson’s eyes on me from across the room, and for whatever reason, I want to win to impress this guy.
When Sabrina scores the winning goal, this time I’m the one who goes in for the high five.
The whole hockey team crowded into the room to cheer us on at the end, a tipsy Ryan making up increasingly loud and ridiculous cheers about our game.
It’s hard to hate a guy who rhymes foosball with your thrall.
He’s halfway to a Shakespearean sonnet before Alex drags him away.
Sabrina grabs us each another drink to celebrate, flourishing two fun twirly straws from who knows where. Hanging out with Sabrina is an unexpected perk of the night, and everyone’s way nicer than I expected. Even the hockey bros cheered at every goal we scored.
I’m sitting on the floor by an old-school record player, flipping through vinyls, when Dawson reappears.
He hasn’t been far away all night, and I kept catching his eye through the crowd of hockey players, glancing away before my staring turned intentional.
Now that he’s weaving through our classmates, his staring very intentional, my stomach flips faster than the little dudes on the foosball table.
He drops down gracefully beside me. “We still good?”
“So good. You know, I kinda get why you people do the sports now. It’s good for the ego. I could… I could slaughter a wildebeest right now, chase down a gazelle with my bare hands. Feet. Whatever.”
Dawson laughs. “Mm, yes. Many have said this about foosball, game of champions. Someone should make sure that power doesn’t fall into the wrong hands.”
I grin. I could spend all night trying to make him laugh.
Everything feels fuzzy and warm, all my worries so distant.
Dawson beside me, his solid, muscled chest inches away, only makes this moment even more unreal and dreamlike.
Just hours ago, we were cuddling in the walk-in, and for a minute I didn’t even mind the cold.
Dawson’s not as bad as I thought.
I drain the last sip of my drink, and my head spins pleasantly. I let it drop to his shoulder. It missed his shoulder. It wants to be there tonight.
“Whoa,” Dawson murmurs.
My brain buzzes right past that, too distracted by the warm, slightly spicy, musky scent of his cologne or deodorant or aftershave or whatever. That’s the best thing I’ve ever smelled.
A low rumble of suppressed laughter vibrates through Dawson’s chest. “Thank you,” he says.
I blink. Did I say that out loud? I can’t even bring myself to be embarrassed, which must be a bad sign. How much have I had to drink? I don’t usually drink, but I’ve had… three? Four? They snuck up on me faster than I expected.
Not sure what to say, I just flash Dawson a thumbs-up.
This time he laughs out loud. “Can I see your purse, please?” Before I can even give him permission, he grabs it and extracts my keys. “I’m hanging on to these. You’re not going anywhere tonight.”
“Hey!” I lunge for my keychain, but he easily holds them above my head.
Dawson grins. “I wish I could say you’re putting up a good fight, but…”
“You’re mad with power!” I squint, trying to figure out a strategy to overcome our height difference—but then one set of keys turns into two, doubling in my vision, and yeah, maybe Dawson’s got the right idea. For once. I sigh. “Fine. Can I get a ride home with your DD then?”
He winces. “Don’t have one. I was planning on crashing here. Can you call someone? Or an Uber?”
I bite my lip. An Uber is going to be expensive. More than I should be spending right now, with money so tight. I really don’t want to tell my parents where I am, and Marissa would freak if I told her I was at a hockey party, and… yep, that’s about the list.
The thought brings an unexpected tightening in my chest. It’s nice to be surrounded by so many people and so much camaraderie, but it reminds me just how short my list of trusted people is.
“Not really,” I admit.
“Oh. Okay.” His eyes search my face, and for once I’m too tipsy to worry about what might be on display there. “Well, um… would you want to stay?”
For a minute, my happy fog lifts, clearing space for all the calculations and worries that are usually churning in my mind. Am I really going to stay the night at a hockey party? Who even am I? And what if my parents find out?
But underneath all the overthinking, the yes in my chest is louder than ever. I couldn’t ignore it if I tried.
So I don’t. I don’t even have a snappy comeback. I just smile. “Staying sounds good, actually.”