Chapter 9 Collin #2
“Okay, but hear me out—we need the pickles, obviously, and those bacon-wrapped whatever-they-ares, and those spicy cheese things—” Iris slides into the booth first, I follow trying to wedge myself into what little space is left.
My knees bump the table, and there’s barely room to breathe.
Without thinking, I stretch my arm across the back of the booth behind her to make more space.
She shifts slightly, her shoulder brushing against the side of my chest. Blood pumps hot through my veins at that accidental touch and I’m reminded that I have absolutely no game plan for this level of proximity.
The waiter appears with a tower of deep-fried pickles, steam still rising from the plate.
Hayes leans forward, grinning over his beer. “So, how’s our boy doing on the ice? As graceful as he claims?”
Amanda perks up beside Nick. “Oh my god, I’ve been watching you guys! Nick wouldn’t believe me when I told him how amazing you were together.” She turns to Nick, nudging him. “Remember? I made you watch that first performance like three times.”
“I’ve seen it about...” Nick wraps an arm around Amanda’s shoulders, pursing his lips, “Twelve times now? Might be able to do it myself at this point.” He presses a kiss to her temple. “She talks more about the show than our games at this point.”
“Because it’s incredible,” Amanda defends, leaning into him. “The way you guys move together? Come on.”
“Be honest though.” Beck tilts his head forward. “How many times does he eat it on the ice?” Iris laughs, reaching for a pickle.
“Not as many as you’d think, actually. Though there was this one time...” She glances at me, eyes dancing. “Someone was convinced he didn’t need a demonstration for a new lift.”
“That sounds like Collin.” Hayes grins. “Let me guess, didn’t end well?”
“Oh, you know.” She smirks. “Just a small collision with his face and the ice. Nothing major.”
“I maintain that my laces were loose,” I say, which gets a laugh from everyone.
I can’t help but notice how perfectly she fits in here.
The way she throws her head back when she laughs at their terrible jokes, how she keeps stealing glances at me when she thinks I’m not looking.
My friends can be a lot, I know this better than anyone, but she’s handling it like a champ.
Like she belongs here, in this too-small booth, pressed warm against my side.
“Honestly though.” She nods, the table quieting around her.
Delicate fingers trace patterns in the condensation on her glass.
“He might be the best partner I’ve ever had.
He’s really great.” She shrugs, like she hasn’t just knocked all the air out of my lungs, and glances up at me through her lashes.
When she finds me already watching her, pink rises into her cheeks, and she quickly looks down, pushing the ice around her empty glass with her straw.
A collective “Awww” echoes around the table, and I feel the tips of my ears burning.
“Did you hear that, Col? You’re great,” Hayes coos, clasping his hands under his chin and batting his eyelashes dramatically.
“Look at his face.” Beckett grins, elbowing Nick.
“Alright, alright,” I groan, shoving Hayes who’s now trying to plant a wet kiss on my cheek.
I lean down closer to Iris, partly to escape my idiot friends and partly because any excuse to be closer to her is a good one.
“You want another?” I ask, tapping the rim of her empty glass.
She nods, ducking her head and all I want to do is lift her chin and make her look at me.
“Be right back.” I extract myself from the booth, and the guys pile out after me, Hayes draping an arm around my shoulders.
Nick ruffles my hair, knocking my hat askew, all of us needing refills.
As we push toward the bar, I glance back at the booth where Iris and Amanda are leaning across the table, already deep in conversation.
“So,” Hayes says, flagging down the bartender with a grin, “who are you and what have you done with Collin?”
“What do you mean?” I ask, setting my beer on the bar.
“Getting cozy in the booth, making sure her drink isn’t empty for too long.” Beckett shakes his head, laughing. “It’s like watching Invasion of the Body Snatchers.”
“Oh, come on.” I roll my eyes. They all exchange looks. Hayes points in my direction, organizing the drinks as the bartender makes them.
“Look, we’re not complaining,” he says. “It’s just... different seeing you like this.”
“Yeah, really different.” Beckett grins. “You’ve always been the guy with the exit strategy.” Nick swipes a beer from Hayes, then turns to me with a smirk.
“It’s a good different, man. Just...” He pauses, taking a sip. “Don’t fuck it up.” I stare at him for a moment, then look at the other two who are nodding in agreement.
“That’s very encouraging, guys. Thanks,” I say, voice flat with sarcasm.
“Hey, we’re rooting for you.” Hayes laughs, clapping me on the back.
“Just saying, she seems pretty great. Don’t overthink it.
” Through the crowd, I catch Iris throwing her head back laughing at something Amanda’s said, this big, bright smile stretching across her face.
Damn, I want to be the reason she smiles like that.
I’m not sure I’ve ever seen it before. Not a genuine one.
She’s always hiding it away, careful to keep every emotion tamped down until sometimes I think she might burst.
As we navigate back through the crowd with our drinks, I barely catch fragments of their conversation over the pulsing music.
“... he’s not all bad” and “... little rough around the edges” and “... good guy.” She spots me first and makes an exaggerated zipping motion across her lips, which sets Iris off giggling again.
Amanda with the assist! I knew I liked her.
I slide into the booth, passing Iris her drink.
My arm settles around her shoulders again, my fingers flex against my glass when she leans into me.
Electricity buzzing at every point of contact between us, her shoulder against my side, her hip, her thigh.
The warmth of her seeps through my shirt, and I swear the temperature in the bar shoots up ten degrees.
“So, what were you ladies talking about?”
“Nothing,” Amanda says with complete innocence that I don’t buy for a second, while Iris just shakes her head, still fighting back little bursts of laughter, her body trembling slightly against mine with each suppressed giggle.
I could stay in this moment forever—the warmth of her against me, the sound of her laugh, the way she’s finally, finally letting her guard down, even just a little bit.
Time blurs at the edges, minutes into hours, shared laughter and empty glasses.
The bar gets louder, or maybe that’s just the alcohol making everything feel more alive.
I catch myself watching her more than I probably should—the way she gestures when she talks, how her nose scrunches up when she laughs, the soft curve of her neck when she tilts her head back.
Each time she shifts beside me, she settles in a little closer, until there’s hardly any space left between us at all.
Her hand lands on my thigh when she leans forward to hear something Amanda’s saying, and stays there.
My skin burns through my jeans where her fingers rest, casual as anything, like she doesn’t realize what she’s doing to me.
I’m only half-listening to Hayes’s story about our last away game, too distracted by the way Iris’s curls brush against my arm every time she moves.
She’s looser now, walls coming down drink by drink, laughing more freely at Beck’s terrible jokes.
The ice rattles in her empty glass when she sets it down, fingertip trailing along the rim.
“Tequila,” she announces, like she’s just answered a question no one asked.
“What about it?”
“We need some.” A gasp. “We should do shots!”
“Should we?” She’s already tipsy. We all are, cheeks flushed and eyes glittering in the neon lights.
“Mhmm.” She nods decisively, curls bouncing. “Multiple shots. Many shots.” Her finger taps against my chest to emphasize each word, and I catch her hand without thinking, my thumb brushing across her knuckles.
“You sure about that, Pretty Girl?”
“Very sure,” she says, and Christ, the way she’s looking at me right now.
“Unless you’re scared?”
The table erupts in a chorus of “ooohs” and I know I’m done for.
Challenge accepted. I push up from the booth, the vinyl seat squeaking beneath me.
Iris follows, and we make our way toward the bar.
She’s right in front of me, and I have to curl my fingers into fists to keep from reaching for her.
Then someone bumps into her from behind, and she stumbles back against me with a small “oof.” My hands find her waist.
“You good?” I murmur, and she just nods, staying where she is for a moment, before moving forward to lean against the bar.
The tequila burns a familiar path down my throat as Iris clinks her shot glass against mine, nose wrinkling when she bites into the lime.
The second one goes down smoother, the sting dulled by the first. I lean down, lips brushing against the shell of her ear.
“Another round?” She turns in the small space between me and the bar, and my breath catches in my throat. Her fingers circle my wrist, sending electricity sparking under my skin. Green eyes sweeping up to meet mine. She shakes her head.
“Dance with me.” It’s not quite a question, more like a dare.
For half a second I just stare down at her, throat dry, pulse jumping under her fingers.
Then she tugs gently at my wrist, and I follow her onto the dance floor without another thought.
When she stops, I draw her back against me, hands settling on her hips.
The heat of her seeping through the thin fabric of her clothes.