Chapter 2
Iopen my mouth to answer, but nothing comes out except a strangled noise that sounds embarrassingly like a whimper.
Devlin’s eyes narrow. “I heard my name mentioned in your little conversation.”
Something hot and strange unfurls in my chest—not fear exactly, but something sharper. Anger, maybe.
Which is bizarre because I don’t get angry. I smooth things over. I smile until the tension breaks.
But right now, with those dark eyes boring into me and his entire massive presence radiating hostility, I feel the lie form on my tongue before I can stop it.
“No one mentioned your name.”
The silence that follows is suffocating.
Oh shit. God, that was so stupid. I literally just said his name thirty seconds ago. Will is standing right there. Spencer heard it. Probably half the team heard it.
“Val—” Will starts, but Devlin cuts him off with a voice like a blade.
“Haven’t you noticed that fucking training is going on while you’re standing here cooing with him?” Devlin doesn’t even look at Will, his gaze still locked on me. “Are we in your way, Will? Why don’t you get back to the ice? It looks like Val has something he wants to say to me directly.”
The words are directed at Will, but I feel them in my bones. Cooing. Like I’m some pathetic groupie hanging around the rink hoping for attention.
“Will and I were discussing a fundraiser for the animal rescue room.” The words come out steadier than I feel. “All the coaches and the university administration are aware of it. The hockey team can participate so we can raise more funds.”
Devlin’s mouth curves into something that might be a smile if smiles could cut.
“Right, another night with a room full of useless people, all circle-jerking and patting themselves on the back for doing absolutely nothing.”
I expected this. I knew he’d say something dismissive, something cruel about the work I do. Another mockery of my favorite pastime.
But somehow, hearing it now—after Monica’s passive-aggressive radio show, after struggling all morning with the student activities board and especially working myself up to come here and beg for help—something in me just… collapses.
I’m so tired.
The anger drains away as quickly as it came, leaving nothing but exhaustion.
I can feel my shoulders sagging, the weight of the flyers suddenly heavy in my hands.
I look away from Devlin. Deliberately.
“Thanks for your help, Will.” My voice sounds flat even to my own ears. “I’ll come back to talk to the assistant coach.”
“Val, listen—” Will starts, his tone encouraging, sympathetic, but I’m already moving.
I walk along the glass barrier toward the exit, keeping my eyes down.
I don’t want to look at the ice, don’t want to see the other players probably watching this whole humiliating spectacle.
I just want to get out of here. Finally, to breathe air that doesn’t smell like him, to think about anything other than how much space he takes up in my head.
My legs feel heavy. Each step requires conscious effort.
Then there’s a sharp scraping sound, and Devlin is suddenly right there on the other side of the barrier, skating parallel to my path.
“Give me that stupid flyer.”
His voice sounds strange—rough, tense.
But I refuse to look at him. I keep walking.
“Do you want the fundraiser to be successful or not?”
Now he sounds angry. And very, very tense.
“Please take the flyer from the assistant coach,” I say, proud of how polite I sound, how even my tone is. “It has all the necessary information.”
“Wylie—”
“Hey!” Will’s voice echoes from the middle of the rink. “Val, you need help?”
The sound that follows is like an explosion—Devlin’s stick or fist slamming against the boards so hard I feel the vibration through the floor. I don’t know which it is, because I stubbornly refuse to look at his direction.
Then the scrape of skates as he drives away toward the rest of the team.
I don’t look back.
* * *
For the rest of the day, I don’t let myself think about it.
I focus on Gerald’s medication schedule. On the new rescue rabbit that came in this morning. Someone found her in a cardboard box behind the gym, pregnant and terrified. On my biology assignment that’s due tomorrow.
Not on dark eyes. Not on the way his voice sounded when he said my name.
I’m halfway home when I cross paths with a student Cupid. She’s a miserable-looking freshman draped in a cheap red-and-white getup, her cardboard wings wilting as she shoves envelopes at people like she’s handing out court summons.
She’s practically throwing Valentine’s Day cards at people, her face set in a scowl.
“Take it!” she snaps at some guy I don’t recognize. “It’s got your name on it, so it’s yours. I don’t make the rules!”
The guy protests that Valentine’s Day isn’t for three weeks, but she’s already stalking away, her quiver of arrows rattling on her back.
Any other day, I’d find this amusing. The university’s tradition of early Valentine’s Day cards delivery is usually charming in a chaotic way.
But today I can barely summon a smile.
Any encounter with Devlin Bower messes with my head.
And if I start thinking about him more than usual, it starts to tear me apart—this confusion of attraction and resentment, this inability to understand why someone who clearly dislikes me takes up so much space in my thoughts.
I notice it’s starting to rain as I reach my building.
My room is on the first floor, just off the main hallway, and through my window I watch water begin to stream across the pavement. The sky has gone dark, heavy with the promise of a storm.
I’m considering making tea when someone starts pounding on my door.
Not knocking. Pounding.
My heart jumps into my throat as I pull the door open.
Devlin Bower stands on my threshold, soaked to the skin, his black hair plastered to his face, his eyes blazing with fury.
Lightning flashes behind him, illuminating his face in stark white relief.
“I have to say,” he growls, “your joke was a success. I’m even somewhat impressed.”
I stare at him, my brain completely offline. “What?”
“What’s up, sweetie?” His voice drips with venom. “You’re not usually so talkative.”
Sweetie?
“I’m sorry… what are you talking about? Did something happen?”
The smile that splits my face is automatic, defensive, the one I use when I’m nervous or scared or completely out of my depth. I can’t help it.
Devlin’s expression darkens.
He steps forward, and I step back reflexively. Then he’s inside my room, the door swinging shut behind him, water dripping onto my floor as he advances on me.
“You think saying ‘sorry’ and giving me those puppy dog eyes will fix this? Like I’ll just walk away and forget it happened?” His voice is low, dangerous. “I’m not that pathetic.”
“Sorry—” I start, then grimace. “I just want to understand what the hell… err, what exactly are you talking about?”
Devlin slowly raises his hand to brush the wet hair from his face, and that’s when I see it—crumpled in his fist is a large piece of red paper.
Exactly like the ones that Cupid freshman was handing out earlier.
“What’s that?” The words tumble out.
Devlin’s face darkens even further.
He takes another step toward me, and suddenly my back hits my closet door with a hollow thud.
“That’s exactly what it is, yes.” He’s so close now I can feel the heat radiating off his body despite his wet clothes. “It arrived as intended, just as you wanted. And it was appreciated by the entire hockey team.”
My heart is hammering. “I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”
His jaw clenches, muscles jumping beneath his skin.
He exhales sharply as I reach out and pull the Valentine’s Day card from his grip, my fingers brushing his.
The contact sends electricity up my arm.
I smooth out the red paper with shaking hands and start to read.
Mmm, so yeah, I know you dream about me, Bower. During the day and especially at night. I bet you’d wet your pants if I just bit my lip and looked at you.
Maybe you’d like to smell me just once? Let’s make a deal—even though I don’t play for your team lol. IFYWIM.
If you win in two weeks, I’ll kneel in front of you and suck your cock for a loooong time while looking into your eyes.
Oh, wait, it won’t take loooong. ‘Cause you’ll cum as soon as I take you in my mouth.
So yeah, it’s me.
Val
The paper slips from my fingers.
“I didn’t—” My voice is barely a whisper. “I didn’t write this. I didn’t send this.”
“No?” Devlin’s voice is deadly quiet. “Then explain the phrase ‘play for your team.’ We both know you used that exact expression in our one and only full conversation.”
My stomach drops. He’s right.
I had said that—a stupid joke shortly after Sasha introduced us. Something about not playing for his team, but being more than happy to cheer from the sidelines. I’d just been trying to be friendly, trying to make conversation with my brother’s intimidating teammate and his best fucking friend.
“Someone else must have—I didn’t write this. I wouldn’t—”
“Maybe the rest of the team will believe you. But not me, sweetie.” The words are venomous.
Horror floods through me. “The whole team saw this?”
“Cupid announced the sender’s name when she brought it.” His smile is cruel. “Everyone realized it was a joke. An amusing joke, really—you decided to show everyone how gay I am. And how you’re not.”
“But Cupid has no right to reveal the sender’s name!” I protest, then hear how ridiculous that sounds.
The look in Devlin’s eyes tells me I’ve just confirmed his suspicions.
He leans in, his nose almost touching mine. We’re breathing the same air. I can smell rain and sweat.
“Did you really think that would humiliate me so much that I wouldn’t come back for revenge?”
“I didn’t think—I didn’t do it—”
But I’m stammering, and god, he’s so close.
My body is reacting in ways I absolutely cannot control right now, heat pooling low in my stomach, my pulse racing.
The door behind me creaks loudly as I press back against it, trying to create distance that doesn’t exist.
“I never thought you were gay,” I whisper. “That’s true?”
Devlin goes very still.
Then he nods—a strange movement, his nose dragging against mine—and my breath catches.
Oh fuck.
“If I had known you were gay,” I whisper frantically, “I definitely wouldn’t have written that. Especially considering that I—”
I cut myself off, panic flooding through me.
Devlin’s eyes flash. “Considering what?”
“Nothing.”
“Tell me what you were going to say.”
“It was nothing.”
“Stop playing games with me.” His voice is a threat.
“I’m not playing any games!” The words burst out of me, emotional, raw. “I have no idea how anyone could have come up with such bullshit because no one would believe it—”
This, somehow, is the worst thing I could have said.
Devlin’s hands slam down on either side of my head, caging me in.
His breath is so hot against my face.
“It’s time to stop this charade.” His voice drops to a whisper. “I know you’re lying right now. I upset you at the rink this morning, and you decided to take revenge. Creative. But you’ve always been very creative, haven’t you?”
“Devlin—”
“So now I’m going to start making everything you promised me in your card come true.” His eyes are black, bottomless, burning. “And I’m not joking, Val. I mean it. Seriously.”
The rain pounds against the window. Thunder rolls overhead.
And I can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t do anything except stare into those dark eyes and wonder if I’m about to make the worst mistake of my life.