Chapter 68
NOW
Paloma
“Are you sure you want to wear that?” I ask, cringing at the question. “Are you gonna be comfortable?”
Lily nods, but her eyes scrunch a little in the mirror where she tries to pull up the slightly gaping cups of the corset top she’s borrowed. I’m letting her have her moment, but she’s not leaving in this ridiculous top.
Partially because it covers none of her.
But mostly because it’s the most not Lily thing I’ve ever seen her attempt to wear.
She looks uncomfortable, messing with it continuously, chewing on her lip with a frustrated divot between her auburn brows.
She’s trying, for some reason, to be someone else. And I don’t want that for her.
She’s perfect as she is—and maybe no one has told her that.
Except for a large, usually hovering defenseman.
Biting my lip, I turn back toward her closet to rummage through her messy stacks of clothes, most of which aren’t even hung on the slightly empty rack.
“What about this?” I ask, pulling out a spaghetti strap black dress with a thin scarf of matching material looped over the hanger. It still has the tag on, with a price higher than I’ve ever paid in rent, let alone for clothes.
“Oh,” Lily breathes, fingers tapping over her lips as she settles onto the edge of the bed facing me. Her blue eyes are comically big with the work I did on her makeup, lips shiny and rosy. “I forgot I had that.”
I let out a small, low laugh and pull the dress off the hanger.
“Maybe with your stockings and heels?”
She nods as if in a trance, takes the dress from my outstretched hands, and heads to her bathroom to change. There’s a cacophonous sound of stumbling before she reemerges with the scarf in hand, biting her lip.
“Can you do it?”
I pat the seat at her vanity, deciding to pull her auburn locks up and out of her face into a bouncy ponytail. Then, I carefully wrap the scarf securely around her neck to drape down her pale, slender back.
“You look very pretty, Lily.” My smile is real, bright next to my best friend. “This is going to be fun. Are you ready?”
She nods. “You look really hot,” she says, eyeing my plain black dress. “And we match.”
“Like twins.”
Her smile widens, eyes twinkling. The moment feels vulnerable, like we both want to stay here and prevent the inevitable cracks and breaks we’re both so used to. Lily is a little weirdo, but she’s my little weirdo.
So it doesn’t feel cheesy to tease her with a, “C’mon, bestie. Let’s go,” as we stand and slip arm in arm out the door.
· · ·
The party is already in full swing when we arrive. I wanted to show up earlier, just in case Lily decided this wasn’t her scene and wanted to go home. Or . . . if it was too much for me and I needed to make an escape.
But it’s nice. Comfortable, because for the first time I’m not here to punish myself with hate-fueled sex or upsetting hookups. I’m here for a boy I’m in love with.
Bennett is against the far wall, huddled with the other guys from his line—Holden, Freddy, Rhys—and dressed in a black long sleeve and jeans.
Somehow, he looks bigger. More powerful.
More all-consuming. He’s sporting a backward hat to tamp down the unruly brown and amber curls pouring out the back.
He’s so beautiful my breath catches, chest tightening like if I step too close, he’ll disappear.
I take Lily’s hand in mine before heading toward them, because without even looking back at her, I know her gaze is all over the place. Probably looking for a six-foot-six defenseman, though she won’t admit it.
Bennett’s eyes are on mine the whole way over, like a magnet pulling our gazes to each other across lifetimes. Only, this time it doesn’t hurt.
Holden notices us next, eyes brightening with a playful, flirty edge.
“Ladies. Paloma, good to see you,” he greets with a beaming grin. There’s an apology in his gaze, but I nod toward him.
“Dougherty,” I say. His smile renewed, he turns his eyes toward the girl at my side.
“Lily.” He nods to my roommate with a sharper edge to his smile.
Lily blushes and wrinkles her nose. “Holden.” Her arms cross, then release at her sides, hands flexing like she’s not sure how to stand, let alone talk to the flirty defenseman.
“Hey, Bennett,” I whisper as I step into Bennett’s already open arms. He’s so soft and warm, so resolute and solid as his hands slip over my hips and to my lower back with a heavy pressure.
“Hey, P.” He smiles. His eyes are half-lidded, and he smells like citrus—no doubt from the IPAs he’s drinking. Like he’s at a fancy brewery and not a college hockey party.
And then, as if we’ve done this a million times before at a million other parties, he kisses me. Bold and sensual, his tongue slipping to open my lips. My heart thumps so hard I can feel it trying to pop out of my chest and into his hands. Like it always feels with him.
His hand slowly climbs my spine and into my hair.
I laugh lowly as he releases my lips but keeps hold of my hair.
“How early did you start on the beers?”
He smiles lazily, more relaxed and boyish than I’m sure I’ve ever seen him. “Like . . . five o’clock.”
A brighter laugh pulls from me then as I shake my head at my slightly drunk boyfriend. “You’re drunk, love.”
“Drunk on you,” he flirts, pulling me in for another kiss before sliding his nose against mine affectionately.
His hands grip my hips in a way that has me blushing more than the kisses do, mostly because it brings back flashes of last night—the way he held me so solidly as I begged for him. I’m sure there are still slight marks on my wrists from the tie he used to keep my hands tethered.
Bennett spins me to settle with my back to his front. His hand sits low on my abdomen, possessive and warm, as he continues to chat quietly with Freddy about something hockey related. I can barely tell. My mind is floating too far above me.
No, I think. I’m the one drunk on Bennett Reiner.
“Want a drink?” he asks, head tipping down to my ear, his lips and tongue lightly brushing the skin there. “I’ll make it for you.”
“Yeah?” I grin.
He nods, boyish and handsome, his hair a mess as he pulls off his baseball cap and readjusts it, pushing the mop of his curls back again. “Anything you want. I’ll make it for you, P. Anything for you.”
His words are slightly slurred, but he’s not wasted yet—just enjoying himself with his friends. And with me. My cheeks warm as he spreads his hands across my waist and presses behind me to march us across the hall and into the kitchen.
A couple of the guys holler his name, and he nods politely, but his body heat never falters from my back, fingers squeezing on my hips.
The kitchen is dimly lit and crowded, an entire table dedicated to shots of different kinds. Bennett moves behind the makeshift bar where the freshmen are working and shoos them out of his way when they try to help him.
“My girlfriend—no one else touches her cup,” he says when one of the guys says something. I feel light and airy—almost giddy with affection for him.
The playful side of my serious, stoic poet. Every facet of him beautiful and shimmering, like spinning a diamond in the sunlight.
I tell him to make me whatever he thinks I’d like, and he goes to work—only minorly spilling the liquids. I get distracted when he spills the tequila across his hand, because it makes him giggle before he licks the side of his hand and sticks his thumb in his mouth to suck it off.
My entire body flushes with heat and I discreetly cross my legs.
Whatever strange fruity cocktail he’s made, it’s delicious and I can barely taste the alcohol. “It’s not much,” he promises. “I know you don’t like to feel out of control.”
Another burst of warmth from my chest, affection swirling because I didn’t have to explain it. He understood. He read me like his favorite poetry book, as he always has.
We stay in the kitchen, sipping on my drink together. I spend most of my energy trying to stay upright with Bennett Reiner whispering filthy words into my ear. It feels so good I want to freeze time.
Us. Here. Young and goofy and in love.
“Stay here for me?” he asks, leaning me against the bar top. “I just need to pee.”
A blush takes over his face, head shaking as his hands come up to cover his eyes. “Why did I say that?”
I laugh, full and open as his hat topples off his head—though I catch it easily and slip it onto my own voluptuous curls, spinning it backward. I feel like I’m flying while flirting with him in the dingy light of the Hockey Dorms kitchen.
“Need me to come with?”
“No—if I get you into a room alone right now, P . . .” His voice rumbles off as he crowds into my space, dipping his head to kiss my cheek, my jaw, my neck. “Just stay here. Don’t move.”
He steps away, mussing his curls with one hand as he hangs on to the doorframe with the other. In his absence, another massive shadow appears—Toren Kane in his usual all-black fit, tattoos fully on display.
“Blake,” he nods.
“Kane,” I say, hip checking him as he settles next to me at the bar. He smiles but tries to hide it with a sip from a bottle of beer, not his usual alcoholic beverage. His rings click against the glass.
Music thrums in the silence between me and my substitute shadow. Someone yells loud enough to draw my attention toward the shots table—where my little roommate has become the center of attention, whether she realizes it or not.
Lily grabs for Holden’s hair, jerking his head back a little roughly where he kneels patiently for her to even reach him. Toren straightens, shoulders tight, jaw locked.
“Stay still,” Lily’s bell-like voice rings out. Holden nods excitedly, eyes wide on her as she tilts the bottle to pour into his mouth for a long pull. He swallows, gasping for air with a rough pant as Lily pulls her hand away from his hair.
I watch Toren for a long time, though his eyes never leave the odd couple in front of him.
“Feel sick yet?” I ask.
His jaw somehow locks further, eyes flaming gold as he darts them toward me. My smirk is uncontainable—but before I can say anything else, a stumbling six-foot-six handsome man makes a reappearance.
“Blake—”
“Sorry, I gotta go,” I say sarcastically with a laugh tossed over my shoulder. I point my thumb toward Bennett. “That’s my ride.”