I’ve been touched before. Teammates, fans, random girls at parties. But this feels different.
I don’t like that I notice the difference.
I shake it off as the game continues, Logan trash-talking the whole time, chirping at Ryan, mouthing off to Austin, all with a grin.
When I sink the last shot, the table erupts. Logan’s arm is around me before I even realize what’s happening. He pulls me in, knocking his forehead against mine, his grin so close I can feel the heat of it.
“Fucking knew you had it in you,” he says, his smile so close to mine I feel my heart race.
I shove him off, laughing under my breath, trying to breathe past the strange pulse under my skin. I don’t usually like this kind of spotlight, but right now it feels good.
“Rematch?” Austin’s already restacking the cups.
“Give it a minute,” Ryan says, dragging a hand through his hair. “We’ve been humiliated enough for one night.”
Before Logan can get another word out, a new voice cuts through the noise.
“Well, well. If it isn’t Colton U’s finest.”
I don’t have to turn around to know who it is. I do, anyway, watching as Chase Johnson, Westbrook’s golden boy, walks in with his girlfriend beside him.
He strolls into the kitchen like he was personally invited—which, for the record, he wasn’t.
Logan straightens next to me, Ryan’s shoulders tense and Austin downs the rest of his drink.
“Evening, boys,” Chase says, that lazy tone of his making the word sound like an insult. “No hard feelings, right?”
Ryan’s jaw goes tight. “Takes balls to show up at a Colton party after the shit you pulled last game.”
Chase laughs, quiet and smug. “Didn’t realize you were still crying about that. It wasn’t personal.”
Austin lets out a humorless laugh. “You elbowed our winger in the ribs. Off the puck.”
“Playoffs are messy,” Chase says with a shrug. “You know how it is.”
Logan leans his hip against the counter. “What we know is you’re a dirty player with shit aim.”
Chase’s eyes flick toward him. The guy thrives on being hated, clearly, because he smiles wider. “Relax. I’m not here to fight.” His hand slides lower on Aurora’s waist, like he’s staking a claim on her in front of us. I almost scoff. “Just wanted to party with my girl.”
I know it’s none of my business, but she can do so much fucking better. Aurora quickly became my sister’s friend after enrolling in Colton U, and I honest-to-God like her. But for the life of me, I have no fucking clue what she’s doing with a prick like him.
Aurora exhales. “I told him not to come,” she says, glancing between us. “But he insisted.”
Logan scoffs. “Didn’t realize Westbrook was so desperate they were sending spies to our parties.”
Chase grins. “Or maybe your parties just aren’t that exclusive.”
“Funny,” Logan says, still smiling, even though his shoulders have gone tight. “I could’ve sworn the invite said no assholes allowed.”
Chase laughs under his breath and tugs Aurora a little closer, steering her toward the other side of the kitchen like he’s bored with the whole exchange.
My gaze follows them across the room—and snags on someone else entirely.
Cole.
He’s standing half in shadow, back against the doorframe, his jaw so tight it looks downright painful. He doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t move. Just watches them walk past, his eyes narrowing with every step. For a second, I think he’s actually going to hit Chase. Wouldn’t be the first time.
But he doesn’t. He just stands there, taking it in, and then turns and walks away.