Chapter 10
TEN
DAISY
Connor keeps his promise—maybe a little too well, because I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve seen him since our bet at Tipsy’s a week ago.
Between his training schedule and classes, he’s up early and comes back late, and I’m starting to think this living together business might not be so bad.
But by the time Friday rolls around, I’m growing restless in my own company. So, when Lauren suggests we blow off studying to crash the hockey party Vanessa is at, I’m a little too easy to persuade.
“I’ve got just the thing,” she says, jumping off her bed and striding for her closet. She pokes her head in, rifling through clothes before emerging holding a navy-blue dress and a pair of thigh high boots. She tosses them onto the bed next to me. “Here.”
“What’s this for?”
“Team spirit.” She shrugs, grinning mischievously. “It’s the only spare blue thing I have, unless you want to wear Connor’s jersey tonight?”
Absolutely not.
“Why do you have his jersey?” I ask, diverting the conversation before she notices that I’m blushing.
“I borrowed it for a game once. Never gave it back. Do you want it?” she asks, her reflection staring back at me in the mirror.
I shake my head, tugging the dress closer. “I’ll pass.”
“Thought so.” She reaches across her desk in the small dorm room to turn her curling iron on, while I change out of my sweater and jeans.
In the end, the dress is perfect. The satin is soft to the touch, the long sleeves billowing out around my hands, and it’s just the right length to leave an inch of my bare thigh on display when I tug on Lauren’s boots.
Definitely better than a hockey jersey. And paired with a borrowed eyeliner from Lauren and some lip gloss I find in the bottom of my bag, it almost looks like I didn’t just roll off her bed.
The party is in full swing when the taxi pulls up in front of the off-campus hockey house. The music is loud enough to be heard on the street.
I tug my coat further around me, following Lauren up the paved path to the wraparound porch. It hasn’t been snowing in days, but white fluff and brown slush still lingers, winter refusing to give away to spring.
The sheer size of the hockey house looks more like a small mansion than the home to five rowdy hockey players.
But inside, it’s all dark wood and clutters of trinkets everywhere.
There’s a collection of hockey sticks perched in the corner of the entryway, nestled in between piles of coats and a fishbowl full of keys on the entryway table.
Don’t be an idiot. Drop the keys or drop the drink.
I snort at the handwritten sign taped to the wall, as I slip out of my coat and add it to the top of the teetering pile in the corner.
Then Lauren is tugging me down the hallway and past what looks like it might be a living room.
It’s hard to tell because all of the furniture has been pushed to the edges of the room to make space for a dance floor.
There are people everywhere, spilling out of rooms and lingering in the hallway and up the staircase to the second floor. I wouldn’t be surprised if most of the student population were here tonight.
We emerge in a spacious kitchen at the back of the house where it’s quieter. Lauren steers me straight toward the makeshift bar that has been set up in the middle of the kitchen island. The guy beside it glances up when we get closer.
He smiles when he spots Lauren. “I didn’t know you were coming tonight.”
“I thought I would shake it up a bit.” She shrugs, letting go of my hand and stepping into his embrace. He hooks one arm across her shoulders and hugs her to his side. The guy is massive, towering over her even in her heels. When she pulls back, she gestures back at me. “Have you met Daisy?”
He looks my way, and suddenly I’m grateful I’m leaning against the kitchen island, because my knees go a little weak with the full force of his attention on me.
This guy is seriously hot—tousled dark hair, brown eyes so light they look almost golden, and a dimple in each of his cheeks when he smiles.
“I don’t think I have. I’m Jake.” He holds out his hand for me and I try not to blush as I take it, liking the way his hand completely envelops mine.
“I didn’t see you at the game the other day.”
He tucks his chin and laughs, his fingers tightening briefly around mine before he lets go. “Trust me, you don’t want to see me on ice.”
“Jake prefers getting muddy instead,” Lauren jokes, tapping the back of her hand against his bicep before adding, “He’s a footballer.”
“Less risk of getting frostbite,” he muses.
“That does sound a lot better than hockey,” I joke.
Before Jake has a chance to respond, I feel the presence of a solid wall of muscle behind me. “Should I be offended that you prefer mud over me?”
I still at the question, knowing exactly who that voice belongs to. When I glance over my shoulder Connor is right there, so close that I have to tilt my head up to look at him. He winks at me. “Didn’t expect to see you here, Tulip.”
Jake straightens the moment he spots the hockey player behind me. “McKibben. Long time, no see.”
“Hey, how have you been?”
“Can’t complain.” Jake shrugs. “I saw your game the other night. Great stats.”
“Yeah, we’re not doing too bad.” Connor nods, stuffing his hands into the front pockets of his jeans, the movement making his arms brush against my lower back. I inch forward, trying to put some distance between us. “I see you’ve met my roommate.”
I tense as Jake looks at me, one eyebrow raised. “Roommate?”
Connor throw his arm around my shoulder, tugging me into his side. “Didn’t she tell you? Tulip and I are bunking together this year.”
“There’s no bunking involved,” I stress, digging my elbow into Connor’s side. He doesn’t even flinch. Stupid athlete.
“Say the word and we can change that.” He grins.
“Are they always like this?” Jake asks Lauren.
“Oh yeah,” she says, trying not to laugh.
“Good to know.” He looks back to us. “I should probably head back to my friends. It was good seeing you again.”
Connor nods, his arm still around me. “You too.”
“I’ll see you around, Daisy?” He smiles then swipes his drink off the counter and disappears out of the kitchen, and I’m left to face the most infuriating man on the planet.
Connor’s hand squeezes my shoulder as we watch him disappear, and I realize I’m still flush against his side. I take a step back, needing some distance between us.
“What was that about?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“I’m going to let you guys hash this out,” Lauren says as she backtracks away from us. Then she slips through the doorway to the hallway and we’re alone.
I’m about to demand he answer my question when he beats me to the punch with his own. “What were you guys talking about?”
I cross my arms over my chest, the satin tucking in closer around my waist with the movement. “Why are you asking?”
He shrugs but doesn’t quite sell his disinterest. “Maybe I’m curious.”
I raise a brow. “Curiosity killed the cat. Isn’t that what they say?”
“I didn’t think he would be your type,” he says, tipping his chin toward the door where Jake just disappeared.
“What makes you think you know what my type is?”
“He’s a massive player.”
I snort. “You’re one to talk.”
“Takes one to know one,” he bites back, “He’s definitely not your type.”
I flinch at the insinuation. “What makes you think that?”
“It’s obvious, isn’t it?”
“Not to me.” I cross my arms over my chest. I don’t know why I’m fighting this so hard—it’s not like I’m actually entertaining the idea of doing anything with Jake—but his blatant dismissal of the possibility makes my blood boil.
“He likes to sleep around.”
“You sleep around,” I remind him, because really why is it a big deal for others but not for him?
“Yeah, but you don’t.” I flinch at his unspoken meaning: that I’m not interesting enough for someone like Jake because I don’t jump into bed with everyone who offers.
“That came out wrong,” he starts, one hand reaching for me, but I’m already backing away. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“I think you did.” I’m too sober to deal with this conversation right now. Without thinking, I swipe the first bottle within reach off the kitchen counter, then I make a dash for the door that Lauren just disappeared out of.
He calls after me but I ignore him, keeping my head high as I slip out of the kitchen and make a beeline for the makeshift dance floor in the living room.
If there’s one thing I won’t do, it’s let Connor McKibben under my skin.