I don’t even have the chance to ask what happened because I feel a hand land on my arm.
I glance down, seeing a girl in bunny ears wobbling a little. Her drink nearly tips, and I catch her arm before she spills it all over both of us.
Her eyes flick up to me and she smiles. “Thanks, Luigi.”
“No problem,” I offer with a tight smile.
Her eyes stay locked on mine and her grip tightens slightly on my arm. “You look so tense,” she says, leaning closer to me, the strong smell of vodka burning my nose hairs. “Maybe I can help with that.”
Jesus. Not only is she drunk out of her mind, and I’m not even the least bit interested, there’s a fat chance of that happening unless she can make me forget who I’ve been looking at all night.
My gaze catches on Logan across the room as I help Bunny Ears sit.
He’s stretched out on the couch in all black, fake blood trailing down his throat, fangs flashing when he grins.
It’s been a couple of days since we came back from the away game—which we lost by two points because I couldn’t stop a single damn puck—and I still haven’t spoken to him.
The guys all went out drinking to ease the loss, but I went to my hotel room, wishing I could just be fucking normal instead of being confused all of the fucking time.
My thigh was hurting, my pride was shot, and the last thing I needed was Logan coming in and making a stupid joke.
I didn’t want to joke about it or talk about it at fucking all, so I haven’t. He’s left me alone since then and I fucking thank God for it, because I know if he keeps pulling at the thread, it’s going to unravel completely.
And I can’t let that happen.
But even though I know damn well I shouldn’t, I haven’t stopped looking at him since some guy I’ve never seen before—dressed like a fucking pirate—sat down beside him and started touching him.
Heat crawls up my neck, and I look away, grab a cup, fill it with whatever’s in the bowl, and down it in one go.
Austin eyes my drink and his brows knit together. “Wait… are you on your second drink tonight?”
I place the empty cup back on the table. “…Yeah.”
“Holy shit,” he says with a laugh. “Hayes is finally enjoying himself. Who would have thought?”
I shoot him a glare. “I don’t need to drink to have fun.”
He clicks his tongue, arching a brow. “You sure don’t have fun sober,” he jokes. “No one’s judging you, man. It’s good. Loosen up.”
I take another sip and don’t respond. I’m not drinking to have fun, I’m drinking because I’m too fucking wound up, andit’s either this or go back to my room and overthink everything I’ve already spent the last forty-eight hours obsessing over.
My eyes drift to them again. The pirate guy’s still there—leaning in close, saying something in Logan’s ear—and Logan laughs, tipping his head back like it’s the funniest shit he’s ever heard.
What the hell could he possibly be saying? Nothing’s that fucking funny.
It’s stupid. Irrational. I shouldn’t care. Idon’tcare.
And yet, I can’t fucking look away.
“Hey,” one of the rookies says, snapping me out of it. “Anyone lose a wallet?”
Ryan glances at it and squints. “I think that’s Logan’s.”
Before anyone else can speak, I’m already reaching for it. “I’ll give it to him.”
I stand, ignore the way Austin shoots me a side-eye, and weave my way through the crowd toward the couch.
My fingers close around the wallet and I tell myself it’s just the practical thing to do.