Don’t Puck His Best Friend (Don’t Puck Around #3)

Chapter 1 Party Pressure

Party Pressure

Harper

“Holy shit, Mads,” I breathe, staring up at the mansion ahead. “Whose place is this?”

“Connor’s parents’ house,” she says, like that explains anything to me. I don’t know who the hell Connor is. “They’re in Europe for the month, so naturally he decided to throw the mother of all victory parties.”

I sink deeper into my seat. “This is not what you said when you dragged me out. You said, ‘small get-together.’ This looks like half the university is here.”

My eyes flick through the parked cars and the others arriving. There’s a group of girls and one girl is wearing a short enough dress that I can see her ass cheeks. Nice. I widen my eyes as I slowly turn my attention to Maddie.

“Where did you bring me?” I groan, not surprised by the ass cheeks but definitely annoyed. I imagined a barbeque with hot dogs and playing board games, not whatever college frat party this is.

Maddie turns off the engine and pivots to face me with that look. The one that says she’s about to deliver a lecture I don’t want to hear. “Harper, honey, you’re welcome! You’ve become a hermit. A cute, well-dressed hermit, but a hermit nonetheless.”

“I’m not a hermit. I just like to stay in bed and read books,” I argue.

Her eyes narrow. “All day?”

I scoff. “Yes, all day. It’s the best––”

“You’re twenty-one and you haven’t been on a date in eight months.”

I narrow my eyes at my cousin. “A date? So what I’m not dating. I’ve been busy with school—”

“You’re in freaking college acting like a nun! That’s not busy, that’s hiding.” Her eyebrow raises. It’s the same expression my mom always points out about her. She said Maddie makes a face when she’s mad and her eyebrows look like little rooftops.

I want to argue, but she’s not entirely wrong.

Ever since the spectacular implosion that was my relationship with Bobby, two years of my life I’ll never get back, thank you very much, I’ve been perfectly content with my quiet little bubble.

No drama, no disappointment, no waking up to find out the guy you thought you knew has been lying to your face for months.

“Look,” Maddie continues, her voice softening slightly and her brows toning down, “I’m not saying you need to fall in love tonight. But you’re too young and too hot to spend every weekend binge-reading through an entire library of books.”

“Hey, nothing is wrong with reading,” I counter, shaking my head. “I really need to get you on the Sarah J Maas because girl––”

She snorts. “Enough with the nerd talk! I’m not reading about some fairytale bull crap, not when there are parties like this happening.” Her eyes widen as she points at the mansion. She starts dancing to lighten the mood, doing the same disco move since we were kids.

Despite myself, I laugh. This is why Maddie is my favorite cousin, she can call me out on my bullshit while still making me smile. And her tin roof eyebrows always make me chuckle.

“Fine,” I say, unbuckling my seatbelt. “One hour. One drink. Then I’m calling an Uber and going back home to my very smutty book club read of the month.”

“Deal. But Harper?”

“Maddie?”

She grins wickedly. “Try to have a little fun. And maybe talk to someone who isn’t me or our Instacart delivery guy.”

“Whatever,” I mouth.

The music hits me like a wall the second we walk through the front door. The house is packed with people celebrating what I’m assuming is a sports victory, based on the jerseys draped over various shoulders and the general aura of testosterone-fueled celebration.

Oh God. Why would she bring me here?

There are crystal chandeliers casting a warm light over a crowd of college students who clearly don’t belong in a house this nice, red Solo cups everywhere despite the fact that there’s an actual bar setup in the corner, and more backward baseball caps than should be legal in one location.

“This is exactly why I avoid parties,” I mutter to Maddie as we push through the crowd toward the kitchen.

“What, because they’re fun?”

“Because they’re full of...” I gesture vaguely at a group of guys who are clearly athletes, all broad shoulders and cocky grins, “...that.”

“Hockey players?”

“Hockey?” I question, glancing around. This time I’m keeping my eyes at my height level. I don’t need to see more ass cheeks, camel toes, boners, angular faces, sharp eyes, or anything inappropriate.

We end up at the kitchen where a guy our age is playing bartender and asks for our drink order.

Maddie is on it as my eyes do a traitorous sweep of the room, automatically cataloging the various types of trouble on display.

There’s the pretty boy trouble by the windows, the bad boy trouble near the stairs, and the—

Oh.

Oh.

That’s a problem.

Across the room, leaning against the wall with a beer in his hand and surrounded by what I can only assume are his teammates, is the kind of trouble that should screams fuck boy.

He basically comes with an invisible warning label on his forehead.

Tall with dark hair that looks like he’s been running his fingers through it, and a smile that’s currently directed at whatever story one of his friends is telling.

He’s wearing a simple black t-shirt that fits him in a way that’s definitely not good for a sex-deprived smut lover.

As if sensing my stare, he looks up. Our eyes meet across the crowded room, and I feel that little flip in my stomach that I’ve been successfully avoiding for months.

He does a slow, deliberate once-over that starts at my face and travels down to my boots and back up again.

Oh, God.

I look away quickly, focusing on Maddie who’s squealing towards a group of her sorority sisters.

Great. So much for moral support. Maddie is like my older sister.

Much cooler, more popular, and ditches me at the sight of anything more exciting.

Suddenly the mission she put me on is not as important as her friends.

I’m frozen, watching her socialize while I try really hard not to look across the room again.

I make my way to the kitchen island, figuring it’s the safest place to plant myself while I wait for a socially acceptable amount of time to pass before I can escape.

The granite countertop is covered with an impressive array of alcohol.

I take a sip of the drink Maddie handed me. Mmm, wine. Perfect.

“You look lost,” a voice says behind me.

I turn to find a guy with sandy hair and an earnest smile. He’s cute in a wholesome, could-take-home-to-meet-mom way, which normally would be exactly my type. Safe. Predictable. Unlikely to break my heart or lie about having a secret girlfriend in another state.

“Not lost,” I say with a polite smile. “Just strategically positioning myself near the alcohol.”

He laughs. “Smart strategy. I’m Brad, by the way.”

“Harper.”

“So Harper, are you sure you’re not lost because—”

“She’s calculating her escape route.”

The new voice is deeper, more confident, and when I turn toward it, I’m faced with the exact trouble I was trying to avoid.

Up close, he’s even more ridiculous than he looked from across the room.

There’s a small scar through his left eyebrow that gives him a slightly roguish look, and his eyes are this impossible shade of blue-green that reminds me of the ocean on a stormy day.

Brad takes the hint and melts back into the crowd with a mumbled excuse about finding the bathroom.

“That was rude,” I tell the newcomer, even though I’m secretly grateful for the rescue.

He shrugs, moving closer to lean against the counter beside me. He smells good. Yeah. Wow. Cliché much?

“You looked like you were about to fake a family emergency to get out of that conversation.”

I grip my cup tighter. “And you know this how?”

“Because you’ve been checking your phone every thirty seconds since you got here, and you’re holding that drink like it’s a security blanket.”

Damn. He’s observant.

“Maybe I just don’t like parties,” I say, taking a sip of wine to prove his security blanket theory wrong. It doesn’t work. I definitely grip the cup tighter.

“Or maybe you don’t like hockey players.”

I nearly choke on my wine. “What makes you think that?”

“The way you looked at my teammates like we’re all carriers of some communicable disease.”

“Are you?”

His laugh is rich and warm and does absolutely nothing to help my resolve to avoid his type. “Probably. We’re definitely carriers of bad decisions and questionable judgment.”

I shrug. “At least you’re honest about it.”

“I have my moments.” He extends his hand. “I’m Liam, by the way. Liam Murphy.”

I hesitate for just a second before taking his hand. His grip is firm and warm, and he holds on just a beat longer than necessary. “Harper.”

“Just Harper? No last name?” he says as I release his hand.

“I don’t give my last name to strange boys at parties. It’s policy.”

“Boy?”

I lift my brow at him, and that earns me a smirk. I look down at those lips pulling at the side. My heart races around my ribs. He has a dimple in his cheek and white teeth.

Then I look back into his eyes, realizing we’re just staring at each other.

He hides his smile and finally breaks our stare. “Smart policy,” he says, looking around the room. “What about a stranger who gets you a drink?”

I lift my cup. “I already have one, thanks.”

“What about a stranger who tells you that you have the most incredible eyes they’ve ever seen?”

I roll said eyes, but I can feel heat creeping up my neck. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” he asks. There’s that smirk again.

My stomach does a flip. A back flip then a front flip.

“Pull a line. Like come on.” I look around the room, trying extremely hard not to be flattered, but I can’t hide it. I feel the heat all over my body.

He licks his lips and says, “To be fair, I’ve never seen you before, and you can’t deny that you can’t stop staring at my eyes too.”

That makes me glance at him again. This time he smiles at me, eyes flicking down my face.

“I have blue-green, and you have ice-blue.”