Chapter 11
ELEVEN
CONNOR
I fucked up. I knew it the second the words left my mouth. I really need to get my head straight, fast.
But instead of doing just that, I’ve been watching her dancing with the girls from the corner of the living room like a creep for the past thirty minutes.
She takes another swig of the bottle of tequila she stole from the kitchen then hands it to Lauren, never once stopping her movements. Vanessa leans in, saying something that makes Daisy throw her head back and laugh.
“What are you hiding over here for?” I look over to find Luke leaning against the wall next to me. I have no clue when he showed up.
“Needed a breather.” I shrug, absentmindedly scratching at the spot in the center of my chest that’s started to feel a little tight.
He raises a brow and glances toward the dance floor. It takes everything in me not to follow his gaze. “Anything I should know about?”
What he’s really asking is if it’s something that’ll impact my gameplay. He doesn’t need to worry. At this rate I’ll count myself lucky if she ever looks at me again.
“Nope.”
“You sure about that?” he asks, using his beer to gesture toward where my attention has been anchored for the better part of an hour. I look over just in time to see Daisy climbing onto the coffee table, that silky dress pulling tight around her curves.
She’s barefoot, her thigh-high fuck-me boots nowhere to be found. Her hair is looking messier than before when she tips her head back and sways her hips in time with the music.
I’m an absolute asshole for the way my eyes fixate on her hands as they trail over her every curve. I tip my head back against the wall and groan. Fuck.
I’m supposed to be getting my shit together, not digging myself further into the gutter.
This is why she and I in close quarters is a bad idea, and why I definitely need to keep my distance. Because Daisy isn’t the type of girl you only spend one night with, and I’m not in a position to offer her more.
Luke chuckles beside me and I scowl at him. “You’re an asshole, you know that?”
“And you, my friend, are in trouble.”
“I’m fine,” I lie, probably trying to convince myself more than him.
I take another sip of the water I’ve been nursing for the last hour and force myself to look away. I last all of twenty seconds before my attention wanders back to her.
Eyes closed, head tilted back, she’s lost in her own world, holding me captive with the soft curve of her mouth, moving ever so slightly with the lyrics.
Then a mop of golden hair blocks my view as Dylan Brooks slides his grubby hands over her hips, pulling her down off the table and into his personal space.
My mood darkens at the sight of the defenseman’s hands on her, my fist tightening at my side. Dylan and I don’t see eye to eye on the best of days. There’s a reason he never made it off the reserve list and his hockey skills have nothing to do with it.
That’s one thing I respect about Coach Reid—he keeps a clean team. You can be god’s gift to hockey, but if your personality is trash then you stay on the bench.
Dylan never really got that memo. Women seem to get the full impact of his antics, judging by the stories I’ve heard.
I normally steer clear of him, but when he wraps his arms around Daisy’s waist and pulls her tight against him, I ditch my water on a nearby table and push off the wall.
Luke’s laughter gets drowned out by the music as I cut the distance between us in half. I reach her just as her hand slides over his shoulder.
I grip the small of her back. My touch startles her, when I tug her against me.
She comes easily, breaking away from Dylan and spinning into my arms. Her mouth falls open and she stares up at me with glassy eyes. Fuck, she’s even more drunk than I thought.
“I’ve got it from here,” I tell him, my eyes meeting his over the top of Daisy’s head. She’s so much shorter without her heels, the perfect height to tuck her head under my chin and wrap her up tightly in my arms.
Dylan looks conflicted, his eyes flickering between us, like he’s actually considering fighting me on this. Thankfully, he backs down, probably seeing the way Daisy takes the smallest of steps closer to me.
“What are you doing?” Daisy asks when I pull her off the dance floor.
“I’m taking you home,” I tell her as we reach the front hall. I have no clue where her boots went or if she even brought a coat, so I sling mine over her shoulders instead. It practically swallows her whole, but at least it’ll keep her warm.
“What? You can’t.” Her tiny hands find my shoulders and she tries to push me away.
I sigh, taking a step back to allow her some space, but keeping one finger hooked into the pocket on my coat to stop her from running. “Daisy, you’re drunk and about thirty seconds away from doing something really stupid. We’re going home.”
“You don’t get to decide that.” She huffs, crossing her arms over her chest and turning her head away from me.
For a second I think she might stomp her foot too, but she keeps it firmly placed on the floor.
I’m starting to realize that no matter what I do, it pisses her off and this is definitely not the way to get her on my good side, but right now I’ll take her anger if it means keeping her out of harm’s way.
“Are you going to walk barefoot in the snow, or do you want me to carry you?” I ask, ignoring the way she’s glaring at me.
“Like you could lift me.”
I raise my brows in challenge. Seriously? I could probably bench two of her on any given day. I don’t bother telling her that, because she’s already looking at me like she wants to gauge my eyes out with a rusty spoon.
Before she can get any such thoughts, I wrap my arms around her waist and toss her over my shoulder with ease. I settle one of my hands on the small of her back, to keep her dress from sliding any further up her thighs than it already has.
She shrieks, both hands fisting the fabric of my shirt. “Connor, put me down!”
“Can’t do, Tulip.” I’m careful not to jostle her as I step off the front porch of the hockey house and head for my car. “Trust me, you don’t want to lose a toe to frostbite.”
She glares at me when I slide her off my shoulder and carefully place her in the passenger seat of my car. It’s a bit awkward trying to get her in without setting her on the ground first, but she thankfully helps me out, sliding into the seat and out of my hold.
“See? All toes still in place.”
“You are the worst.”
“Mm, buckle up,” I tell her, before I push the door shut and round the car to the driver’s side. It’s freezing out, so I blast the heat and turn all of the heaters in her direction.
“You shouldn’t drink and drive,” she says when I pull away from the curb.
“Is that what you’re concerned about? I had one beer. Three hours ago.”
“That’s it?”
I nod. “I don’t drink and drive.” Too many bad things happen when you mix alcohol and machinery.
“Why?”
It stings a little that she thinks so lowly of me. “I’m not that reckless.”
She shakes her head and gestures toward me. The sleeve of my coat hangs off her wrist and flaps in my direction with the movement. “The drink thing,” she clarifies, sounding genuinely intrigued this time—definitely less angry, which is a point in my favor.
“Morning skates really suck when you’re hungover.” And then there’s the fact that I haven’t been able to take my eyes off of you for the last hour.
“No one else seems to mind.”
I bark a laugh. “That’s because they’re not the ones needing to herd thirty kids around on the ice tomorrow morning.”
I expect her to keep asking questions, but she falls silent. When I glance over at her again, she’s watching me with a look I can’t quite decipher on her face. I swallow, trying to keep the unease from creeping up the back of my throat. I wonder what she sees when she looks at me.
She’s so quiet by the time I pull into the parking spot outside of our apartment that I almost think she’s fallen asleep.
But the moment I slide the truck into park, she’s got her door open, one foot propped out on the step-up board, ready to jump down on the snow-covered pavement. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Going inside.”
Is she insane? “You’re not wearing any shoes.
” She blinks at me, then glances down at her feet like she’s forgotten.
Her toes wiggle. “Stay there,” I tell her, hoping that she might actually listen to me for once, then I unbuckle my seat belt and slide out of my seat.
“You are a menace to society; do you know that?” I tell her as I round the truck.
She lets me scoop her up this time without a fight, and I hook one arm under her knees and the other against the small of her back until she’s pressed against my chest. I pretend I don’t notice how her arms come up to rest around my neck, cold fingers brushing lightly against the skin there as I carry her to the door.
I debate on carrying her all the way upstairs so she doesn’t have to walk barefoot up two sets of stairs, but logic wins out and I end up setting her down inside the front door. She trails me up the stairs, neither of us saying anything.
I unlock the door and hit the light switch, bathing the hallway in bright lights. She blinks against it, stepping in so I can lock up after us.
When I turn around, she’s struggling to get out of my coat, her arms flapping in front of her, trying to get her hands free to undo the zipper.
I swallow my laugh and reach for her. “Here, let me help you.”
“I’ve got it,” she tells me stubbornly, swatting my hand away. I watch her struggle with the coat for another two minutes before she finally manages to get the zipper down halfway. Then she shakes herself out of the sleeves and the coat drops around her like a dress, pooling at her feet.
She steps out of it, one foot catching on the material, and kicks it in my direction. I catch it midair before it hits me in the face, which only seems to piss her off more.
She scoffs and turns on her feet, getting ready to storm away from me again, but her foot catches on the strap of my hockey bag by the door. She stumbles forward, trying to find her footing.
I drop the coat and reach for her. My hand wraps around her wrist and I give it a sharp tug, pulling her to me to keep her from tumbling to the floor. She crashes into me with a thud.
“Are you okay?”
She stares up at me with wide eyes and for a second I wonder if she can hear how loud my heart is thundering in my chest at the near miss.
She nods slowly, both hands pressed against my chest, making goosebumps form on my arms.
My hold on her wrist eases, allowing her space to step back, but she doesn’t. Her tongue swipes across her bottom lip, and my eyes snag on the movement.
She pushes herself up on the tips of her toes, bridging the height difference between us, and her lips brush against mine so softly I think I might have made it up. Then she does it again.
My fists tighten at my sides, and it takes everything in me to remind myself why this is a bad idea. Starting with we live together and ending with she’s been drinking.
I’m debating pushing her away, but then she steps in closer and angles her head, deepening the kiss. She licks my lips, asking for entry. And when I give it, she lets out a tiny little sound of contentment from the back of her throat that makes the final thread of my sanity snap.
My hands find her hips and I pull her closer, until she’s flush against me. I take control of the kiss, giving myself five seconds to enjoy it before we go back to her hating me.
Five.
Four.
My teeth graze her bottom lip, tugging at it gently. She slides her hands over my shoulders, fingers twining in the hair at the nape of my neck, and I feel all of my blood rush to other parts of me. Parts that definitely have no business showing their faces tonight.
Three.
Two.
I swipe my tongue against hers, my hands tightening on her hips. She moans and the sound echoes in my head.
One.
My mental countdown goes off and reality sweeps back in.
I force myself to ease my grip on her hips, using the last bit of my self-control to put some distance between us. Her eyes flutter open, fingers still locked behind my neck and lips puffy and red, giving me all sorts of ideas of kissing her again. But I’ve already taken more than I should have.
So, instead of pushing her against the wall like I want to, I take a big step back and stuff my hands into my pockets so I don’t reach for her again.
Then I say the one thing I know will put the world back on its axis and get us back to neutral territory again: “This was a mistake.”
I see it the moment her mental walls slide back in place, and her whole demeanor changes.
Her arms fall away from me, and she shuffles backward. “A mistake. Of course.”
She’s on the move before I can say anything else, bare feet fast against the floorboards as she storms away from me. She doesn’t slam her bedroom door like I thought she might. For some reason that’s worse.
I run both hands through my hair and tug until I feel the tension in my scalp loosen.
It’s all I can do to keep myself from following her, because there’s no way that will end well.
My head is so scrambled that I can barely keep it together, and knowing what she feels like pressed up against me really doesn’t help.
I’m supposed to be focusing on school and hockey this year. I’m supposed to be getting all of my shit in order so I can graduate early and go home to take care of mom. I’m not supposed to be getting wrapped up in the girl sleeping next door to me.