44. Dylan
DYLAN
I’m nervous the next day as we carpool to campus. So far, the morning has gone like any other, each of us rushing through our morning routines to get out the door so we’re on time for practice. It takes until we’re pulling through the gates onto campus before I figure out why I’m a ball of nerves.
I feel like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.
I’m half expecting one of them to turn around and tell me this is all some cosmic joke. That they’re actually pissed and this is all some twisted plan to get back at me.
I don’t believe that they’ve suddenly gone from being as hurt and confused as they looked on Friday night to being on my side. It just doesn’t feel real. I glance at each guy as the four of them banter back and forth while Ethan pulls into a parking space outside the arena.
This all feels too smooth.
It’s too easy to fall into this sense of camaraderie.
And yet, I find myself soaking up every minute of it.
Getting out of the car, we grab our bags from the trunk before making our way inside.
Griffin is immediately at my side, no hesitation as he slides his hand into mine.
I can feel the other guys watching us, but nobody says anything as they crowd around, the five of us forming a unit as we navigate the arena hallways.
Heads lift as we walk into the locker room, greetings exchanged. I’m cautious at first, until our teammates greet me with the same warmth and easy “ Mornin’” the guys receive.
I make a beeline toward my locker, but my steps slow when I notice the guys who occupy the lockers on either side of mine are now sitting elsewhere.
“What’s going on?” I ask when Griffin and Ethan step up to the lockers beside mine, dumping their bags on the bench in front of them like this is where they’ve always gotten changed. Finn and Jax have moved to their other sides, the four of them fanning out beside me.
The crease between my brows deepens.
“Everyone already knows we’re all together,” Griffin says with such casualness that it takes a second for his words to penetrate.
“We figure, what’s the point in hiding it any longer?” Ethan tacks on.
“Not that that’s what we were doing,” Finn quickly adds, flashing me a crooked smile.
He’s been doing that all morning—smiling at me.
Gone are his surly scowls and forbidden glances of longing.
Instead, he openly dropped his heated gaze over me when I came down the stairs this morning, before flashing me a toothy grin and pressing a bagel and cup of coffee into my hand.
I was left in such a state of shock that he had to actually tell me to inhale it all before Ethan ordered us out of the house.
“No,” Jax says, elbowing him. “You were too busy living in denial.”
Finn rolls his eyes as he shrugs out of his top, baring all that glorious tanned and inked skin. Just like the others, he’s all lean muscle. I could lose hours, days even, tracing every ridge and dip with my fingers.
“Funny,” I say, ripping my gaze away before he notices, and it goes to his head. “I don’t recall a single one of you asking me out.”
Instead of being put off by my snark, Griffin grins.
Flattening his arm across his locker in a move that has the hem of his top riding up to flash a slither of sculpted skin, he leans into me until his lips are a hair’s breadth away, and I can smell the crisp minty freshness of his toothpaste as his breath dances over my cheek.
The world comes to a standstill, everything beyond this moment ceasing to exist. I can feel the eyes of others in the locker room on us, but right here, in this moment, I don’t care.
“If I recall correctly, I asked you on a date.”
Air whooshes out of my lungs as I poke him in his ridiculously hard chest. “Not the same thing, and you know it.”
He just smirks. “What’s the point in asking when we already know the answer?”
This time, I shove at him, rolling my eyes as I turn my back to him and begin changing into my gear. “Cocky.”
And yet, something settles in me. Some of that unease I’ve been feeling all morning calms. As ridiculous and possessive as it is, I needed this outward display of acceptance from them.
And it only feels better when Kyle slips into the locker room to find his locker has been moved.
One of the guys points him to the far corner of the room beside the showers, away from the thick of the bantering and celebrating, to an empty locker beside Fletcher and Monroe.
His fury at being randomly moved makes my entire fucking day.
By the end of practice, it’s clear that Kyle is being shunned. Not just by me and my guys but by the entire team. Every single Steelhawk snubs him, interacting only enough to get through a drill and navigate a practice game.
There’s only one person other than Coach who has the power to achieve that, so as we’re crossing campus toward the athletes’ dining hall, I move to walk beside Ethan.
“What did you do?”
He arches a brow. “Not sure I know what you’re referring to.”
“Bullshit. You’re the only one who could get lockers switched and the entire team to rebuff Kyle.”
His lips quirk, a rare smugness lighting up his face. Ethan isn’t one to gloat about his actions, but he’s clearly proud of what he’s achieved.
“Coach might not have the evidence he needs to kick Kyle off the team, but the guys don’t need proof. All they needed was my word.”
“You told them to shun him?”
He shakes his head, his grin turning genuine. “That’s the best part. I didn’t have to. I told them Kyle was the one responsible for the jumbotron, and they were all instantly furious on your behalf. They made the decision to freeze him out themselves. I didn’t have to say a word.”
My mouth drops open in shock, and a softness enters Ethan’s gaze as he stares at me.
He reaches out, his hand hesitating in midair like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to touch me or not, before he traces a line down my temple, pushing a loose strand of hair out of my face.
It might not be the intimate touch my body craves, but his hand lingers, like he can’t quite bring himself to pull away.
“I don’t think you realize just how much the team cares about you.
You’re one of us—a Steelhawk. Coach was right when he said an attack on one of us was an attack on us all, except the team isn’t doing this out of a sense of loyalty or team obligation, but because they are genuinely furious for you.
They have your back. We have your back, and I’ll be forever sorry that I made you question otherwise. ”
I’m still speechless, still turning his words over in my head when we reach the cafeteria and head inside to our usual table in the middle of the room. No sooner have I sat down, when a tray is placed in front of me, the plate loaded with scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast.
Typically, Finn drops off my food before hightailing it as far down the table as he can get, but today, he slides into the empty seat beside me. He flashes me another one of those charismatic smiles, this time following it up with a cheeky wink that has my insides fluttering traitorously.
I look away before he can notice the heat in my cheeks. What am I doing, I’m acting like a schoolgirl with a crush!
“Thanks,” I mumble before diving in. Despite my pre-workout bagel this morning, I’m starving . There’s a temporary lull in conversation while everyone stuffs their faces, before conversation turns to this week’s hot topic—Halloween.
Just like on Roster Day, Athletes Row is hosting a street party this Saturday for Halloween.
I spent a good portion of my week trying to convince Wren to go since apparently attendance is mandatory for all hockey players—cue eye roll—but no matter what I offered her, she wouldn’t budge.
Honestly, it surprises me that she’s so anti-house party.
Wren is so outgoing. She loves a fun night out and getting drinks at The Stanley, but she absolutely refuses to attend an Athletes Row party.
Makes me wonder if there is someone on the street she is trying to avoid—and if so, who and why ?
“What are you dressing up as for Halloween?” Finn asks casually.
I shrug, not having given it much thought. I’m not exactly buzzing to go, given how my last Athletes Row party went.
“Probably just throw on my Steelhawks jersey and call it a day.”
“Original.” Finn smirks. “Is it dressing up if you go as yourself, though?”
“All right, I’ll put on your jersey and walk around with an arrogant swagger, flirting with anything in a skirt.”
Throwing back his head, he barks out a loud, carefree laugh.
It’s the first time he’s done that—with me, at least—and it warms my chest. I realize that for the first time since I arrived at BSU, we’re having an actual conversation.
Not one where we’re throwing barbs at one another or riling the other up, but an actual, genuine conversation.
“Nah, I wouldn’t be wearing a jersey.” Lifting the hem of the navy top he’s wearing, he smacks a palm against his rock-hard abs. “Would be a shame to hide all this from the ladies.”
Leaning in, his voice dips an octave as he rasps, “I wouldn’t mind seeing you in my jersey, though. But not at the party.” His gaze dips lower before flicking back to my face. “I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from pouncing on you, and I wouldn’t give a shit who all was watching.”
My entire body flushes. I grow uncomfortably warm as I shift in my seat, pressure gathering between my legs. I’m momentarily speechless, struggling to remember to breathe, never mind form a coherent sentence.
When I finally recover enough brain cells to make my lips move, my voice comes out breathless. “Oh.” Yup, that’s what I came up with. Oh. Real smooth, Dylan.
My teeth sink into my lower lip, and he tracks the motion, the green of his eyes deepening as desire flashes across them. It seems to take physical effort for him to drag his eyes up from my lips, but when he finally does, he smirks mischievously.