1. Dylan #2
Before returning to my car, I decide to try once more.
I knock again, harder this time. Not expecting anyone to answer, I turn my back to the door and instead look out over the street, watching other co-eds laugh around with one another while they haul in suitcases or relax on folding chairs on the front lawn.
“Hi? Can I help you?”
“Jesus.” I nearly jump out of my skin, my hand moving to rest over my thundering heart as I whirl to…
Whatever I was going to do or say is instantly forgotten as I stare dumbfounded at the sexiest, half-naked man I’ve ever seen leaning on the now open door.
He’s all cut muscle and casual confidence—abs tight, chest broad, and arms that make my knees forget how to function.
Not to mention the swirls of black ink decorating his left pec and arm.
I can’t look away, he’s that good-looking.
I’m not even exaggerating. I grew up watching hockey— playing hockey with a bunch of boys.
Believe me, I have seen plenty of hot, strong, powerful bodies, but none that come attached to the face of an angel.
A cheeky, smirking, mischievous angel.
Dammit, I’ve totally been caught gawking.
Striking green eyes dance with mirth, framed by thick, dark lashes that leave me envious. His sharp nose sits slightly crooked on his face, giving him a ruggedness that matches his tats. Freckles dance across his cheekbones, and red hair curls messily around his head.
All of it melds together to form a breathtaking scene.
No one—and I mean no one— has the right to look that good.
“Most call me Finn, but, sweet cheeks, you can feel free to call me anything you want.”
His suggestive tone has my jaw snapping shut, and I can only hope no drool leaked out as I crash-land back in reality.
A reality where I’m standing on Finn O’Rourke’s doorstep. The Steelhawks’ number-one right winger. Oh yes, I know precisely who Finn O’Rourke is. I’ve just never had the…pleasure?…of seeing him out of his gear .
And God , I wish that were still the case. At least then, I’d know he wouldn’t be starring in my fantasies when I fall into bed at night.
“Uh, I think I must have the wrong house.” I deliberately look everywhere and anywhere but into those hypnotizing eyes.
“What a happy accident for you,” he teases with a lascivious smirk that… nope!
Ignoring him, I stuff my hand in my pocket, finding the scrap of paper with the address of my new accommodation. Scanning it, I frown. “Number ninety-one?” I mutter to myself before lifting my head, finally daring to meet his gaze. “Is this number ninety-one?”
“The one and only.”
I frown. “Are you sure?”
His laugh is deep and melodic, like being dipped in dark chocolate. “Pretty sure. Only been living here for three years.”
Shit .
He must see something in my expression because he drops the whole flirtatious act, finally pushing himself off the doorframe to stand upright.
“You sure you’ve got the right street?” he asks more seriously.
“Is there another Athletes Row?” My voice is higher than I’d like, and panic starts to tighten my throat.
“Nope. Just the one.”
Fuck. Shit. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I spin away from him, needing a moment to process. To break. To scream at the universe for fucking me over… again. Just in a brand-new and creative way.
Fate, you heinous bitch!
“Hey, it’s okay.” His fingers brush my shoulder, and I flinch away. He instantly drops his hand, stuffing both into the pockets of his sweats. “I’m sure we can get this sorted out. What’s your name?” His softened tone only serves to make tears gather in my eyes. I force them back.
Nope, this is not happening here.
I will get through this just as I have gotten through everything else…and then I’ll cry silently into my pillow when I’m alone.
“Dylan,” I inform him when I finally regain control of my vocal cords. “My name is Dylan.”
His eyes widen in surprise before a cheerful grin splits his face in two, showing straight white teeth that have no business belonging to a hockey player. They must all be fake. I bet he keeps them in a jar on his bedside table at night.
Strangely, believing that makes me feel marginally better.
“There’s obviously been some mix-up. We’re waiting for a new roommate called Dylan.
Admin must have gotten you mixed up.” He waves his hand dismissively.
“I bet he’s having the time of his life thinking he’s rooming with the girls’ swim team for the year.
” My lips twitch slightly, and catching it, his emerald eyes sparkle.
“Lucky for you, that means you get to chill with me and my buddies tonight.” He wags his eyebrows suggestively.
“And in the morning, you can go to admin and sort it all out.”
The color drains from my face at the mention of more of them. Oh gods, which other team members does he live with? Because I know whoever else lives in this house is also a hockey player. That’s how BSU does it.
“Hey.” Misinterpreting my distress, his hands fly up, fingers spread, palms forward.
I notice that he carefully ensures he’s an arm’s length away from me.
“I just meant you can have Dylan’s—the other Dylan’s—room until tomorrow.
You can lock yourself in there, and you don’t have to say a word to any of us.
That’s cool. Or you can go to a hotel,” he continues.
“That’s cool, too. I was only offering ’cause I didn’t know your situation or… ”
Okay, it’s actually kinda adorable when he does that. I’ve watched Finn O’Rourke many times on the ice, and not once has he ever shown anything other than unwavering confidence and blatant determination.
“It’s fine,” I interrupt with a tight smile. “I’ll stay.”
His shoulders drop from his ears as he visibly relaxes.
Grinning broadly, he steps aside and ushers me in. “Welcome to the hottest house on campus.”
Fantastic, and I’m the one about to be tested in the flames…literally.
Because, you see, I’ve already pieced together what Finn has yet to.
That there is. No. Male. Dylan.
And soon enough, he—and whichever other Steelhawks live here—are going to realize that not only am I their new roommate, but I’m also their new teammate.
Yup, that’s right. I’m about to be the only girl on an all-boys Division One hockey team.
What could possibly go wrong?
From experience…absolutely everything.