Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
IMPOSSIBLE TO MISS
TULLY
I’m leaning against the kitchen counter, nursing a beer I swore I’d only sip—no way in hell I’m touching that drink—and watching my linemates turn the place into their personal playground.
Dax has two girls giggling against him on the couch, already half-undressed in his mind if not in reality.
Trey’s in the corner doing shots with a cheerleader who’s wearing his jersey like a dress.
Manwhores, the lot of them. They live for nights like this—hookups with no strings.
Which is great for them, I don’t judge. Me?
I’ve never been built that way. I want the real thing.
The kind of connection that sticks around the morning after. The kind of love my parents had.
Then the front door swings open, and the air shifts.
Lola Donavan walks in with two friends. I’ve seen her around campus.
She’s impossible to miss. Tattoos curl up her arms like dark vines, her blonde hair falls in loose waves, and her confident stride says she knows exactly how good she looks and doesn’t need anyone else’s approval.
Black crop top, ripped jeans, combat boots.
Sexy in a way that’s sharp, yet still has soft edges.
My pulse kicks up. I straighten without thinking and set the beer down harder than I mean to.
She scans the room, her lips curving in faint amusement at the chaos. Her friends scatter toward the makeshift dance floor in the living room, but she hangs back near the entryway, arms crossed, watching like she’s deciding whether this party’s worth her time.
I push off the counter before I can overthink it. As captain, I’m supposed to keep my head on straight and lead by example, but right now all I can think about is getting close enough to talk to her.
“Hey,” I say when I’m a few feet away, raising my voice just enough over the music. “You look like the fun kind of trouble.”
She turns, eyebrows lifting. Her eyes—ice blue and assessing—lock on mine. Her full lips tilt up, and my heart beats out of control. “You must be too if you recognize it that easily.”
Damn, her voice is sexy. Low and raspy, it curls over my skin and makes every nerve ending stand at attention, dick most certainly included.
“I guess you could say that.” I grin, then nod toward the crowd. “I’m Tully Whitman. You here to dance or just observe?”
“Lola Donavan. Observe first, then decide if I feel like dancing.” She smirks. “You guys always throw parties you’re not supposed to?”
“Only when we win big.” I grin, trying to play it cool even though my palms feel damp. “Want a drink? We’ve got beer, very special vodka, and water. Or I can just stand here and try to impress you with my sparkling conversation.”
She laughs, and it hits me like a body check. “I’m good. Not really a puck bunny, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
The words land like a challenge. I hold her gaze, not flinching. “I’m not thinking that. Puck bunnies aren’t my thing.”
She tilts her head, studying me. “Then what are you doing?”
“Trying to get you to dance with me.” I step closer, just enough that she has to tip her chin up a fraction. “One song.”
Her eyes narrow, but there’s a spark there—curiosity, maybe. “You’re nervous.”
“Little bit,” I admit, because lying feels pointless with her. “You’re intimidating. In the best way.”
She considers me for a long beat. “One dance.”
“I can work with that.”
I offer my hand. She looks at it, then at me, and finally she takes it. Her grip is firm, warm, and she lets me lead her toward the living room, where the music’s the loudest. We dance to “Levitating” by Dua Lipa, and her body is made to dance. I feel drunk on her.
The song shifts to the seductive rhythm of “BLOW” by Ed Sheeran, Chris Stapleton, and Bruno Mars.
Everyone presses closer. I turn to face her, hands hovering at her waist until she steps in first, her palms sliding up to my shoulders.
I’m so intrigued by her tattoos—I want to trace them with my eyes, maybe someday with my fingers, if she ever lets me.
We move together, slow but deliberate. She smells like a combination of vanilla and chocolate. I keep my hands in a safe spot, but I can’t help the way my thumbs brush the bare skin just above her jeans.
“You’re good at this,” she says, her voice close to my ear.
“You’re better.” I pull back enough to meet her eyes. “Thanks for saying yes.”
Her smile is softer now, less guarded.
The song ends too soon. She steps back, but she doesn’t drop my hand right away.
“See you around, Tully,” she says.
“Count on it,” I reply.
She disappears into the crowd with her friends, and I stand there a second longer, tasting victory sweeter than the one on the ice.
It’s mid-afternoon, and the coffee shop on the edge of campus is buzzing.
Everyone is pretending to study, but mostly the patrons scroll through their phones and people-watch through the big windows.
I’m here killing time before optional lifts—Coach is still riding us hard after the win, but my body’s sore in the good way, and my mind’s been replaying that dance with Lola on loop for three days straight.
I spot her before she sees me. She’s at a corner table, earbuds in, legs crossed under the chair, and she’s sketching something.
Same black boots, and those tantalizing tattoos peeking from under her sleeve—swirling dark lines I want to ask her about.
Her hair’s pulled back, and she’s biting her lip at whatever’s on the page. Effortlessly sexy as hell.
My heart kicks up immediately, that out-of-control-racing thing again, like I’m back on the ice in overtime. I grab my coffee from the counter, take a breath, and walk over before I can second-guess myself.
When my shadow falls across her table, she glances up and takes her earbuds out in one smooth motion. Her eyes brighten in recognition, then that slow smirk spreads.
“Captain,” she drawls, leaning back. “Stalking me now?”
“Only if you’re into that.” I slide into the chair across from her without asking—bold, but she doesn’t protest. “Nah, just good timing. And hey…you know that I’m captain? Did you do some stalking yourself?”
“Maybe.” She grins.
“I’m definitely into that.” I grin back. I glance down at her sketchbook and am caught by surprise. “Wow. You’re really good.”
“Thank you,” she says simply. “Just a hobby.” She closes the sketchbook, giving me her full attention. The air between us crackles already.
“Looks like too much talent to just be a hobby.”
She makes a face. “Tell that to my parents. Back to you and me—”
I grin, leaning in. “Is there a you and me?”
Her laugh is low and raspy like her voice. “I just meant, here at the same coffee shop, stalking but not stalking…”
I’m the one laughing now. “Now that I know you come here, I’ll make sure to come more often.” I tilt my head toward her. “I love your tattoos.”
She glances down, flexes her wrist so I can see the lines better—vines twisting into feathers. “Thank you. Hurts like hell to get them, but worth it.”
“I’ve wanted to get some but haven’t made the move yet.”
“Oh, you’re a tattoo virgin?” She grins.
“Yes. I’ve been saving my skin.”
She presses her lips together, trying not to laugh. “So innocent.”
I tilt my head. “I wouldn’t go that far.” My eyes linger a second too long on the way the ink moves with her skin, then back to her face. “They suit you. Dangerous and beautiful.”
She arches a brow, but her cheeks flush just enough to notice. “Are you flirting with me, Captain?”
“I am.” No point in playing coy. My pulse is racing, but I keep my voice steady. “Go out with me. A real date. Dinner, maybe a walk after if you’re not sick of me yet. Friday night?”
She studies me, lips pursed. “Friday, huh?” She tilts her head. “Bold.”
“You said yes to the dance.” I lean closer, voice dropping. “And I haven’t stopped thinking about how you felt against me since then. One date, Lola. No pressure. Just you, me, and good food.”
She bites her lip again, eyes sparkling. “You’re persistent.”
“You’re worth it.”
She exhales slowly.
“Fine.” The word comes out teasing, but softer. “Friday. But no hockey-bro dive bars.”
“Deal.” Relief floods me, but I play it cool. “Here’s my number. Text me so I have your number? We can decide the details. I can pick you up, or we can meet there…whatever you’re comfortable with.”
“Should I wear a dress?”
“Up to you. Wear something that makes me forget how to speak.” I lean in. “I’ll tell you a secret—that’ll be whatever you wear.”
She rolls her eyes, but her smile is bright and a little wicked. “Don’t worry. I’ve got that covered.”
“I know you do.” I laugh and swipe my hand down my face. “You’re trouble all right. Can’t wait.”
As I walk out, her gaze follows me—I feel it like heat on my back. Friday can’t come fast enough.
Later, I get a text from her.
Unknown number
Hey Captain, this is Trouble. Let’s meet at the restaurant.
I can’t stop grinning.
Sounds good, Trouble. 6:45 work for you?
Trouble
Yes
Can’t wait. I’ll text with the location Friday morning.
Trouble
Trying to keep me guessing?
Absolutely
I call my brother Camden to get a restaurant recommendation, and then I call my twin.
She answers after the first ring.
“Hey, Tulls.”
“Hey, Golds.”
“What’s going on? You don’t usually call on Friday mornings.”
“I have a date tonight. Her name is Lola, and I don’t want to mess this up. Should I bring flowers, or is that too much for a first date?”
“Ooh, Lola. I like her name. Well, now I’m curious,” she says. “I haven’t heard you ask if anything was too much before. You’re usually fine about being too much.” She laughs.
“Shut up. I can’t tell yet if my too much will be too much for her.”
“It’s a good thing we’re twins. I was actually able to follow that. Okay, maybe hold off on a bouquet and just take a single flower.”
“I like that. Thanks, Golds.”
“That’s it? You’re not gonna tell me anything else about her?”
“I don’t want to jinx it. She’s really hot and smart and funny…so sexy.”