A crease formed between her eyebrows. “But I’m not supposed to be telling you that. I probably shouldn’t be dancing with you, either.”
“Is that right?” I slid my thumb underneath the hem of her shirt, stroking the spot where I’d seen ink that first night I’d tutored her in the math lab. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”
She dazedly shook her head. “I had a plan. But it’s a bit fuzzy—I used to be able to drink that much vodka, but now, not so much. I know I was supposed to be looking for…someone. Someone else whose smile I don’t like as much.”
“That sounds like a shitty plan, one that would make me have to hurt that someone else.” I splayed my hand on her back and pressed her closer, working to repress the overwhelming possessive streak that took hold for the second time tonight. “Better stick to dancing with me.”
“No, but look, I had really good reasons…” She blinked and seemed to lose track of what she’d been saying. “But whenever I’m with you, my thoughts crash into each other and how am I supposed to think straight when I can feel your hard muscles pressed up against me?”
That confession encouraged me to eradicate every last inch of space, and between the feel of her curves and the way her breath hitched, my muscles weren’t the only thing that was hard.
The music stopped, and it was the first time in my life I was sad for a dance to come to an end. As much as I hated those stuffy political events I’d had to endure, any moves I could use to sway Lindsay into staying in my arms were a win. If my mother wouldn’t gloat and use that info to guilt me into attending more events, I’d text her to say thanks.
Lindsay’s lower lip stuck out. “You look…not exactly sad. But serious. Which I used to think you were, but now I know better.”
“I’m glad you came,” I said, quickly sidestepping that line of conversation. I thought I had a better poker face.
“Well, I’m not sure what you promised Whitney, but she was adamant. I think she might even be better at blocking flee attempts than you are.” Lindsay poked me in the chest. Then she did it again, her eyes widening. “Rock solid. Damn.”
“It’s all that math,” I said, and she laughed. I guided her off the dance floor, over to where the rest of the guys and their girls stood.
“Who’s up for a game of darts?” Megan asked.
Dane wrapped his arms around her waist. “Don’t fall for it. It’s a trap. She totally throws darts at your head, impairing your ability to keep up.”
“Don’t make excuses just because you can’t beat me.”
Usually I thought they were over-the-top mushy, but with Lindsay by my side, everything looked shinier. All rainbow-colored and shit.
“I’ll play,” Lindsay said. “One of the guys my mom and I lived with had a dartboard, and I had no friends, so I got really good.” She frowned. “That makes me sound sad, I know, but…” Clearly she didn’t like she’d even hinted at any vulnerability, but before I could fully process the minor glimpse into her past and figure out something to say to make it better, she quickly added, “Let’s just go play.”
Whitney and Hudson shared a look and Lyla’s and Beck’s mirrored theirs. They were about to bolt and take advantage of empty apartments.
Whitney glanced at Lindsay, who was already trailing after Dane and Megan.
“I’ll keep an eye on the girls,” I said. “Dane, too.”
“Lindsay?” Whitney called, and she spun around. “If I leave, are you okay? With Ryder and Megan and Dane?”
Lindsay’s gaze skipped from Whitney to me, and then she shot me a smile. “I think you should be asking if Ryder’s safe with me. And the answer is, probably not.” She added a wink and I forgot how to swallow.
Holy shit, this must be my lucky night.
Chapter Ten
Lindsay
“Hey, math tutor, why don’t you tally all the points I personally added to our score,” I said, and a giggle burst out. So far, the wall had taken most of my abuse. There were quite a few pockmarks around the board, most from years of people playing, but a couple were mine.
Like I said, one of my mom’s boyfriends had a dartboard, and I did used to be good. But with low lighting and alcohol buzzing through my system, my aim was off. Not to mention being distracted by Ryder’s nearness.
He reached over me and dislodged one of his darts from the board. “After all my tutelage, I’m pretty sure you should be able to add zero.”
I elbowed him, catching him in the gut. He grunted and caught my arm. “Hey. We’re on the same team, remember?”
“Well, you suck at pep talks, and you should work on that.”
Dane gloated, whistling at their total when Megan—who was at least nice about how badly they beat us—gave it. The two of them were a powerhouse. Had Ryder been on a team by himself, he might’ve been able to hang in the competition.
Ryder ran his hand down my arm, making goose bumps rise in its wake. “We’ll get ’em next time,” he said, his breath stirring my hair. He moved his lips closer, so close that they brushed my ear. “How’s that for a pep talk? Better?”
My heart hammered against my rib cage, fast and hard enough it made me dizzy. I wanted to blame the alcohol, but it was already working its way out of my system, and my brain started screaming everything it must’ve tried yelling at me when I was too drunk to listen.
I shouldn’t be flirting with Ryder Maddox, D-man for the BC hockey team. I was supposed to be flirting with other guys who could help me deal with the longing I occasionally felt without things getting messy. Safer guys, who weren’t my personal kryptonite.
Stupid vodka, making me forget all my goals. It made me more forward, too—my hand was curled over one of Ryder’s forearms, and while the course hair tickling my palm and the hard muscles underneath sent a spike of desire through me, I knew I shouldn’t leave it there. I didn’t even remember deciding to grab on in the first place.
I might have to kill Whitney for dragging me here.
Well, kill was a little harsh, considering this had been the most carefree fun night I’d had in a long time. Maybe I’d just fire her. Easier than blaming myself, right?
I released my grip on Ryder’s arm and spun to face him, planning on telling him I needed some air. Instead his gaze caught mine and that signature intense look crossed his features. But it was softer tonight, edged with something else. The warmth of his body soaked into mine and my chest bumped his when I took a deep breath.
Heat flooded my veins and pooled low in my stomach.
Confession #7: I haven’t had sex in nearly a year.
I’m not going to confess how often I used to enjoy some fun between the sheets, because I wasn’t that same person who wanted to play the hookup game anymore. Plenty of my past interactions with hockey players included shamelessly flirting and making a valiant effort at breaking the Guinness Book of World Records for longest make out sesh, but I didn’t jump into bed with every one of them. Probably more than I wanted to admit to, though.
And here I was, wondering what it’d be like with the one standing so close I could see the pulse beating at the base of his neck.
“I’m going to go get a drink,” I blurted out, taking a giant step back and running into the dartboard. It bumped against the wall, but I didn’t bother steadying it. “Anyone else need anything?”
Dane and Megan had backed away, giving Ryder and me space, which was more proof I’d let the flirting go too far.
“I can get—” Ryder started, but I waved my hand.
“I’ve got it. I’ll be right back.” I wove my way through the crowd, occasionally being jostled, and doing a fair amount of jostling right back. I thought the place had been packed before, but now people crowded every inch of the dance floor. I squeezed through bodies and stood at the end of the line that led to the drink table. Problem was, I shouldn’t drink anything, not with alcohol anyway. It’d already impaired my decision-making abilities enough, and I needed a clear head right now.
Guess I’d have to settle for clear-ish—between the remaining alcohol in my system and deafening music, clear wasn’t an option.
Obviously I was attracted to Ryder. He was nicer than I’d expected, had that surprising sense of humor, and I had a feeling if I crossed lines with him, sexy good times would be had by all.
Mere hours ago, I’d thought about how I wanted someone to cuddle up with, to experience some fun with. But what was the point in going for anything even semi-serious? I only had a few months left here at Boston College. It was too late to find a guy, but some carefree fun wouldn’t kill me, right?
A fleeting thought broke through, about how crossing lines might screw things up and then I’d lose my math tutor, and my grades so couldn’t handle that right now. But the memory of being pressed against him followed on its heels, desire drowning out my pesky common sense.
So I’d need someone else to teach me math. Big deal.
Hands gripped my waist. I looked over my shoulder, glad that Ryder had followed me over, even though I should be mad he hadn’t given me space like I thought I’d needed.
Only it wasn’t Ryder.
I stiffened. “Brett.”
He leaned in and nuzzled my neck, his hands drifting toward my stomach. “Lindsay. Long time no see.”
I pulled away. “Not long enough.”
“Oh, come on. You used to be fun.”
Confession #8: I’ve been with some real assholes in my day, blind to the fact that they were assholes until after.
Brett Miller, winger, number twelve, was a mistake I made a few times during sophomore year. And again one night last year when I was too drunk to remember how much of an asshole he was. Another point for keeping the drinking to a minimum.
“I don’t sleep with hockey players anymore,” I said. “Or assholes. Guess that’s a strike on two fronts for you.”
Instead of getting mad, he placed his hand on my hip and slid his thumb under my shirt. “Okay, no sleeping.” He smirked. “That was never what we were good at anyway.”
I slapped his hand away. Before I could tell him to go try what he called “moves” on someone else, an arm shot over my shoulder.
Ryder placed his hand square on Brett’s chest and gave him a shove, causing him to stumble a step, into the person behind him. “Back off.”
“It’s okay,” I said, turning to Ryder. I didn’t want him getting into a fight with his teammate because of me. I used to think there was something flattering about two guys fighting over me, but again, I hadn’t been the best judge back then, and now I’d rather avoid drama at all costs.
Brett laughed. “Don’t you know who she is? If you think you’re the only guy Lindsay’s working right now, you’re fooling yourself. You’re just too young to remember when she hopped from guy to guy, like the little bunny she is.”
He winked at me, and Ryder advanced. I threw myself into his path, putting an arm out to stop him. Trying to control the situation while standing in line was impossible, especially with the antagonizing asshole and onlookers in the mess, so I grabbed Ryder’s hand and pulled, trying to get him away from the crowd.
He didn’t move, even when I tugged with every ounce of weight I had on my curvy five-foot-five frame.
A grunt escaped when I jerked on his hand again, and while he still didn’t move, he finally looked at me. “Please, Ryder. Let’s go.”
“I’ll just get him on the ice, then.” While I’d accused Ryder of being intense before, it was nothing compared to the steely glare he leveled on Brett. “See you at practice on Monday, Miller.”
“Sure thing, rookie. I’m looking forward to it.”
No doubt he was also looking forward to filling him in on my sordid history, too. I assumed Ryder had heard a few rumors about me, and at first I thought it might be why he’d pursued me in the first place. But he’d stuck around even after I made it clear I wasn’t into hooking up, and I thought maybe I’d been out of the game long enough for him to not know the extent—I’d dared to hope for it even.
How stupid was I, thinking I could just start over and the past wouldn’t matter? I knew better than to come to this party, but I’d slipped and here I was. It would’ve been better for Ryder to think I was just a coldhearted bitch than for him to learn my entire history with the team. One that meant he’d never want me, even if I did break my own rules. Not long term, anyway, which I told myself I didn’t want and wasn’t possible, yet the thought of him seeing me differently after he found out the truth still sent a pang through me.
“Sorry about that,” I said once we found a secluded pocket away from the crowd.
“You’re sorry? He was the one being a prick. I swear if he touches you again, I’ll break his fingers one by one—I don’t even care if he misses the rest of the season. He’s not as important to the team as he thinks he is.”
“I know it’s cliché to say, but he really isn’t worth it.” The guy wasn’t worth the time I’d already wasted on him. For months, I told myself regretting parts of my past didn’t do me any good—it was all about upward and onward—but the truth was, it didn’t stop me from wishing I could go back in time and take some things back.
Ryder studied me, the line of his jaw growing tighter. “If you cry, I’m going to go back there and beat the shit out of him. That’s just a fact.”
“I’m not going to cry,” I said, and to my dismay, my voice broke. Like everything else involving this place and this crowd, I was rusty. I couldn’t smother my emotions as well as I used to. Pushing everyone away helped ensure no one saw them, but it hadn’t helped me actually face them and deal with them.
Everything from the night crashed into me, hit after hit, and my knees threatened to buckle.
Ryder took my hand and started to slip his fingers between mine. As much as I craved the comfort, I couldn’t give in. This entire night was a mistake. I pulled away and hugged my arms around myself.
“I guess it’s stupid that I even tried to hide my past from you. That I thought maybe a year away would change things, and I’d earned a fresh start.”
Confusion crinkled his forehead. “What are you talking about?”
God, he was so blessedly clueless. For a brief, torturous moment, I let myself imagine that I’d met a guy like him first. Maybe I wouldn’t have spent nearly three years searching for something more, only to find I’d been looking in all the wrong places.
Then again, I’d deluded myself into thinking a guy was different before, and I got burned.
“Look, I used to be like those girls”—I gestured toward Misty and a few of the others who were pressed up against hockey players, a silent game of who’s going home with whom tonight. Some of the girls were two to a player.
At least I’ve never done that.
Immediately self-loathing bobbed its head, bringing an icky, thick sensation with it. And now I’m being a judgmental bitch. Like I couldn’t feel any lower.
I cleared my throat and forced myself to go on. “I used to be the party girl. A puck bunny. I used to go home with guys like Brett. Hockey players have always been my weakness, so you’re definitely my type. There’s a part of me that can’t stop thinking about you in your gear and how hard you must slam into those guys on the ice…”
Somehow I’d gotten closer to him, which was the opposite of what I was going for. I could smell his cologne, watch the flickering lights of the Quad dance across his skin, highlighting each one of his rugged features in intervals. “Even now, with the painful reminder of what happened last time still stinging my heart, I have to fight the urge to close the gap between us, drape myself over you, and kiss you. To show all the girls currently eye-humping you that they might as well back the hell off, because you’ve picked me for a night of sexy fun.”
I swallowed, hard, and forced myself to smother the zip of adrenaline. The thoughts of my lips on his, his callused hands on my skin. “But it’s bad for me to indulge in those thoughts, much less that kind of reckless behavior. No
matter how long I’ve been out of the game, people in this world—in your world—will always see me that way.”
I could see it sinking in. Exactly who I was. I didn’t know if the “used to be” came across as loud and clear as I meant it, and it only deepened what I knew I had to do. Ryder was quicksand and I refused to be sucked under, to where I lost myself and ended up having to dig and claw my way back to a person I liked. I’d barely made it out the last time, and sometimes I wondered if I’d left some vital part of myself behind.
“I can’t live in your world,” I said. “I’d only be setting myself up for failure, and I won’t do that to myself. Not after I worked so hard to get past all that shit to where I am now.”
Ryder didn’t speak, didn’t blink, didn’t even seem to be breathing. I leaned in, playing with fire, and kissed his cheek. Then I turned and pushed my way through the crowd, telling this world good-bye for the second time in my life.
But this time, I really, truly meant it.
Chapter Eleven
Ryder
What the fuck just happened?
I’d stood there like an idiot, trying to keep up, but there’d been serious short-circuiting when Lindsay said something about draping herself over me, kissing, and a sexy night of fun…
I’d be lying if I said that it wasn’t a lot of information to take in. She sounded pretty damn sure about not wanting to be part of my world, too. I ran a hand through my hair, tugging on the ends to sharpen my focus. I didn’t drink that much during our game of darts, but the haze was still there, making my thoughts slower than usual.
At the feel of a hand on my arm, I turned, hoping Lindsay had come back.
Instead, one of the girls Lindsay accused of eye-humping me gave me a consoling smile as she rubbed my arm. “Don’t worry, I’ve heard that girl’s a bitch to everyone. If you ask me, you need someone a little friendlier.”
“I didn’t ask you.” Normally, I wasn’t so rude, and I could hear my mom’s gasp in my head, telling me to apologize immediately.
Confessions of a Former Puck Bunny (Taking Shots) Page 7
