CHAPTER ELEVEN
THE INVITATION
Jordie
I catch her between classes.
She’s walking across the quad with her backpack slung over one shoulder, hair pulled back, looking exhausted. Like she didn’t sleep. Like something kept her up all night.
Someone, probably.
Grant came home from his “study session” last night looking like he’d been hit by a truck. Locked himself in his room. Hasn’t come out since.
Doesn’t take a genius to connect the dots.
“Elise!” I jog to catch up. Deploy the full charm offensive—dimples, bright smile, the works. “Hey. Got a second?”
She stops. Turns. Those hazel eyes are guarded. Tired.
“What do you want, Jordie?”
Straight to business. No small talk.
“I’m throwing a party Friday. You should come.”
“No thanks.”
“Come on. It’ll be fun.”
“I have studying to do.”
“You always have studying to do.” I shift my backpack. Step closer. “One night. I promise it’ll be worth it.”
“I don’t do parties.”
“Everyone does parties.”
“I don’t.”
She starts walking again. I follow. Can’t help it. She’s magnetic.
“Why not?” I ask.
“Because parties are loud and crowded and full of drunk people making bad decisions.”
“Exactly. That’s the appeal.”
She gives me a look. “You have a very different definition of appeal than I do.”
“Maybe you just need the right party.”
“Or maybe I need to finish my anatomy homework.”
“Anatomy can wait.”
“Medical school can’t.”
Fair point. But I’m not giving up.
We reach the science building. She stops at the door. Turns to face me with this expression like she’s dealing with an overexcited puppy.
Which, okay. Fair.
“Jordie.” Her voice is patient. Too patient. “I appreciate the invitation. But I’m not really in a party mood right now.”
“Because of Grant?”
Her expression shutters. “What?”
“Whatever happened last night between you two. That’s why you look like you didn’t sleep.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you don’t.” I lean against the building. Study her face. “Look. I get it. Grant’s an emotional disaster. He kissed you or something, then freaked out, and now you’re—”
“He told you?”
Ah. So I was right.
“No. But your reaction just did.” I flash her a grin. “It’s okay. Grant’s specialty is fucking things up. Don’t take it personally.”
“I’m not taking it any way. Because nothing happened.”
“Okay.”
“I’m serious.”
“I believe you.” I don’t. But arguing won’t help. “So come to the party. Forget about him for a few hours. Let me make you laugh.”
She hesitates. I can see the war happening behind her eyes.
Time to deploy the secret weapon.
I let my smile fade. Let her see the real ask underneath the charm.
“Please? I’ll keep the assholes away from you. I promise. You won’t have to deal with anyone you don’t want to.” I meet her eyes. “Just… give me a chance to show you a good time. No pressure. No expectations.”
She stares at me for a long moment.
Then sighs. “Fine.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. One party. A few hours. But if it sucks, I’m leaving.”
“Deal.” I light up. Can’t help it. She said yes. “You won’t regret it.”
“I already regret it.”
“That’s the spirit.”
She shakes her head but she’s smiling.
I’m still grinning like an idiot when I turn to head to my next class.
Then I see him.
Grant. At the top of the stairs. He must have heard the whole thing.
His expression is dark. Dangerous. The look he gets right before he destroys someone on the ice.
“A party?” His voice is flat. Cold. “Seriously, Dickson?”
I jog up the stairs. Meet him at the landing. “Yeah. Friday. You should come too, Cap. Might do you some good to relax.”
“I don’t need to relax.”
“You kind of do. You’ve been wound tighter than—”
“Don’t.”
The warning in his voice is clear. But I’ve never been good at heeding warnings.
“Jealous you didn’t think of it first, Captain?” I grin at him. All teeth. “Could’ve been your party. Your invitation. But you were too busy brooding in your room.”
His jaw ticks. “Stay away from her.”
“No.”
“Jordie—”
“You don’t get to call dibs, man. You had two years. You blew it.” I step closer. Lower my voice. “I’m not making the same mistake.”
“She’s not a mistake.”
“Then stop treating her like one.”
We stare at each other. The hallway suddenly feels too small. Too charged.
Then Grant pushes past me. Rough. Deliberate.
I watch him go. Watch that rigid spine, those tense shoulders.
He’s going to lose his mind at this party.
Perfect.
Friday comes fast.
By ten PM, the house is packed. Music thumping. People everywhere. The hockey team showed up in force. Some sorority girls Wyatt knows. ]
I’m in my element. Moving through rooms. Making sure drinks are full. Music’s good. Everyone’s having a good time.
But I’m watching for one person.
Elise walks through the door in jeans and a black top that should be illegal. Hair down in waves. Minimal makeup. She looks nervous.
I push through the crowd to get to her.
“You came.” I have to shout over the music.
“I said I would.”
“Yeah, but I thought you might bail.”
“I considered hiding out at the library.”
“But you didn’t.”
“But I didn’t.”
She’s scanning the crowd. Looking for someone. Grant, probably.
“He’s not here,” I say.
Her eyes snap to mine. “What?”
“Grant. He’s at the rink. Said he had stuff to work on.” Liar. He’s avoiding this party specifically because she’s here. “So you’re stuck with me.”
Something shifts in her expression. Relief maybe. Or disappointment. Can’t tell which.
“Come on.” I take her hand. Lead her through the crowd. “Let me get you a drink.”
We end up in the kitchen which is less packed and therefor, slightly quieter.
I make her something a vodka drink with juice and soda and just enough alcohol to take the edge off.
“Thanks.” She takes a sip. “This is actually good.”
“Don’t sound so surprised.”
“You have hidden talents.”
“I have lots of talents. I keep telling you this.”
She laughs. It’s small but real. Progress.
We stand there talking. She tells me about her anatomy professor who’s brilliant but terrifying. I tell her about my pre-law class that’s putting me to sleep.
“You don’t like law?” she asks.
“I like not disappointing my father more than I like law.”
“That’s depressing.”
“Welcome to my life.” I take a drink. “But hey. At least I’m pretty.”
She snorts. “You’re ridiculous.”
“I’m self-aware. There’s a difference.”
The party swirls around us. But we stay in our little bubble. Just talking. Just existing.
Then someone bumps into her. Hard. Beer sloshes on her shirt.
“Shit.” The guy—some freshman I don’t know—is drunk off his ass. “Sorry, sorry.”
Elise looks down at her shirt. Soaked. Sticky. She grimaces.
I nod toward the stairs. “Go change. I’ll deal with this idiot.”
She nods. Heads upstairs.
I watch her go. Watch the way she moves through the crowd. Confident. Unbothered.
God, she’s perfect.
I turn back to drunk guy. Make sure he’s not about to destroy anything else. Get him some water. Point him toward the couch.
Then I head upstairs.
I shouldn’t. Should give her space. Let her change in peace.
But my feet carry me down the hall anyway. To her door.
It’s cracked open. Not closed all the way.
I knock. Soft. “Elise?”
“Yeah?”
I push the door open. Just enough to see inside.
She’s standing by her dresser. Wet shirt already off. Sports bra. Jeans. Looking for something in her drawer.
I should leave. Should absolutely turn around and—
She looks up. Catches me staring.
“Sorry. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“I’m fine. Just beer-soaked.” She pulls out a clean shirt. “You can come in. Door’s open.”
An invitation.
I step inside and close the door behind me.
Suddenly the party downstairs feels very far away.
I hear rustling. The sound of fabric. My imagination supplies images my brain doesn’t need right now.
“Okay. You can look.”
I turn back. She’s in a fresh black tank top. Simple. Fitted.
Somehow sexier than before.
“Better?” I ask.
“Better. Thanks for checking on me.”
“Of course.”
She sits on her bed. I lean against her desk. We’re five feet apart. The noise from downstairs is distant. The air feels different up here. Charged.
“You doing okay, Elise?”
The question catches her off guard. “What?”
“You’ve had a rough week. Grant has been… Grant.” I cross my arms. “ So I’m just checking.”
She’s quiet for a moment. “Other than drowning in advanced biology? Sure.”
“You’re not drowning. You’re the smartest person I know.”
“You barely know me.”
“I know enough.”
She looks at me then. Really looks. Like she’s trying to figure out if I’m serious.
I am. Dead serious.
“Jordie—”
“If I kiss you right now, are you gonna stop me again?”
The question hangs there. Direct. No games.
Her breath catches. “Why don’t you find out?”
I cross to her in two strides. Cup her face. Give her one second to change her mind.
She doesn’t.
I kiss her.
It’s different from last time. No hesitation. No interruption waiting to happen.
Just her mouth on mine and two weeks of want finally finding an outlet.
She makes this sound. Soft. Needy. It goes straight to my dick.
I deepen the kiss. She opens for me. Her hands find my shirt. Fist in the fabric.
I push her back onto the bed. Cover her body with mine.
She gasps against my mouth, arches up into me, creating friction that makes my brain short-circuit. Her hands slide under my shirt, nails scraping against my skin.
“Just tonight,” she breathes between kisses, and the words don’t fully register at first because I’m too focused on the way she tastes, the way she feels.
I should argue. Should tell her that’s not how this works. That I don’t want just tonight.
But her hands are on my belt. Undoing it with practiced efficiency.
Words are overrated anyway.
I help her. Shirt over my head. Jeans kicked off. She’s pulling at her own clothes. Her tank top hits the floor. I help her with her sports bra and then kinda just blank out for a second.
She’s perfect. All smooth skin and soft curves and this look in her eyes like she wants to devour me.
I’m so here for it.