Chapter 3 #2
“I’m gonna go talk to her,” Beau announces, stumbling to his feet. His eyes are slightly glazed, telling me that he’s buzzing pretty hard right now.
“Dude! One: bro code. Two: leave her alone. You’re drunk, and she’s with her friends.” I sip my warm beer and try not to let the annoyance show on my face.
“What bro code? You just said you fucked her roommate, not her,” Beau argues. He’s got a point. I didn’t claim to want Stella for myself. But there’s just something about her that’s drawing me in.
Booker must see it in my face because he grabs Beau’s arm and forces him to sit back down. “Drink some water, at least, before you embarrass yourself,” he says. Being Captain has its perks. He can be bossy without Beau telling him to fuck off.
We sit there and chat a while more. Peter Simmons, another teammate, comes over to join us. The whole time, I’m stealing glances at Stella and her friends. It’s obvious that they’re getting tipsier as time goes on. And the drunker her friends get, the more uncomfortable Stella looks.
When some meathead comes up behind her, putting a hand on her waist, she visibly jumps as if she were anticipating pain.
The reaction bothers me. As the guy leans over to say something in her ear, he’s very obviously rubbing up on her backside, and Stella looks like she’s about to throw up in the middle of the dance floor.
Without thinking, again, I jump up and go to her.
I grab her hand and pull her into my chest. “Babe, is this guy bothering you?” I ask, cradling her gently. She’s shaking in my arms.
“N—no, he was just telling me that he liked my dress,” she stammers. I can tell she’s trying to avoid saying something that’ll piss him off.
I, on the other hand, really don’t give a fuck. I’m six-foot-four, two-hundred-and-twenty pounds of muscle with an entire hockey team at my back. This creep doesn’t scare me. I’d like to see him try something.
“Next time, keep your hands to yourself, asshole,” I say to him. He looks like he wants to argue, but decides against it and walks away.
Looking down, I see that Stella is as white as a sheet. “Come on, let’s go outside for a second and get some air,” I suggest. She nods, and we make our way to the back door.
“Are you alright?” I ask once we’ve escaped the roar of the music.
“Yeah, I—he just—thank you. For that.” She clearly isn’t okay. I can practically see her pulse thumping in her neck because her heart is beating so fast. She wraps her arms around herself, trying to block out the late-night chill.
I shrug off my hockey jacket and wrap it around her shoulders. “What did he say to you? I’ll go back and kick his ass right now.” I’m on the verge of rage. No one should ever be made to feel like this when they’re just out trying to have fun with their friends.
“Nothing. He didn’t say anything I haven’t heard before,” is all she replies with. She pulls my jacket tighter around herself and looks out across the parking lot, avoiding my eyes.
“So, I never caught your last name,” I say, trying a different tactic. Maybe I can distract her, get her mind away from whatever dark place it’s wandered to.
She gives me a half grin, letting me know that she knows what I’m up to. “It’s Anderson.”
“And where are you from, Stella Anderson? Don’t think I didn’t catch a hint of that southern drawl you are trying to hide,” I tease. When we first met, I must’ve been too preoccupied to notice, but she has a slight southern accent that I find myself very fond of.
This time, she does laugh, which brings a rush of warmth to my chest. “I’m from a small town in Georgia.
I transferred here from Georgia State at the beginning of the semester.
” She threads her arms through the sleeves of my jacket, so she doesn’t have to keep holding it on herself.
She’s not a small girl, at least six feet tall, but my jacket swallows her.
The caveman in my brain loves the image of her wearing my number.
“Why’d you move? Georgia to Pennsylvania is a crazy change,” I comment.
“Just—volleyball. I had a better opportunity here than down there.” Volleyball. Of course. I should’ve guessed that from the beginning.
“Do you want to play professionally? Or go to the Olympics?” I have no idea if she’s any good, but I’m assuming that if she switched schools for it, she must be above average.
“I wouldn’t turn down a chance to play on the Olympic team,” she says, “but it isn’t my end goal. I want to go to PT school.”
“Physical Therapy? That’s awesome! What made you choose that?” I ask, impressed. As an athlete, I know firsthand how important PTs are.
“When we were younger, my sister and I used to get into a lot of trouble. One day, we were climbing a tree at my grandparents’ house, and she stepped on a dead branch.
She fell twenty feet and landed on a root.
Shattered three vertebrae. I used to go to her therapy appointments with her.
They taught her how to walk again. It was…
inspiring, I guess. Being able to teach someone how to overcome difficult situations like that.
Being able to help people get back to what they love.
” She looks at me with bright eyes for the first time since we came outside.
I can’t help but be awed by her ambition.
This girl has a heart of gold, and I find myself even more enamored with her as each moment passes.
“What about you? What’s your major? What does the great Colt Crosby have planned after graduation?” she asks with a tilt of her head.
“The dream is the NHL, if you couldn’t guess,” I say.
She laughs and nods at my obvious answer.
“I’m working on a double major: English and Communications.
I figured if hockey didn’t work out, my backup plan was to be a sports reporter or a journalist. I love reading and writing, but come on, this face was made to be on TV. ” I smirk as she laughs again.
“Your humility is refreshing,” she replies.
“Happy to serve.” I can’t stop myself from reaching up and tucking her hair behind her ear. If I’m not careful, I could let myself fall for this girl so fast; I’m already crushing big time.
A pretty, pink flush rushes to her cheeks as my fingers brush her skin. The air between us suddenly becomes charged with tension. It must make her nervous because she breaks eye contact with me and keeps talking.
“I have to admit, I thought you were just one of those pretty-boy athletes. Consider me impressed that there’s actually a brain in your skull. Double majors aren’t for the weak.” She looks slightly bashful, as if she’s ashamed that she misjudged me.
I chuckle, hopefully showing her that I’m not offended. “Most people think that, sweetheart. Don’t feel bad. I’ve taken so many hits to the head, I’m surprised I can still read.”
Her smile shines under the streetlights, and I’ll be damned if I don’t want to find a way to keep it on her face permanently.
It’s the kind of smile that makes your heart skip a beat.
The kind of smile that’s reserved for special moments, showcasing that she’s genuinely happy standing out here with me.
Before I can reconsider, I step forward so that we’re mere centimeters apart. I cup my hand along her jaw, tangling my fingers in the silky strands of hair behind her ear.
“You have the most beautiful smile,” I whisper, tilting her face up toward mine.
Her breath hitches. Her scent surrounds me, lavender and cinnamon, the perfect blend of sweet and clean. My blood turns hot at our proximity. Her big green eyes meet mine, and I give her every opportunity to pull away, but she doesn’t.
My lips brush hers in a questioning caress. I need to feel her mouth, to taste her. Her body melts into mine, and all thought rushes out of my head. She’s all soft curves and smooth skin.
I grip her waist with my other hand, pulling her hips to mine.
She parts her lips, and when her tongue meets mine, my knees almost give out.
This girl… she’s intoxicating. I guide her backward so that she’s pressed between my body and the wall.
Her hands find my waist, and her fingers dance up under my sweatshirt, tracing my abs.
Fuck. I groan into her mouth as she arches into me.
Her breathy sigh makes my half-hard dick go rock solid.
Out of nowhere, a car alarm starts blaring in the parking lot behind me, causing us to jump apart.
In the blink of an eye, Stella’s face goes from lust-filled to ashen, looking like she just saw a ghost.
“I—I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. I have to go.” She sheds my jacket in record time, shoves it into my arms, and darts back inside to find her friends.