Page 35 of Hidden Goal

savannah

Noah—2Savannah—0.

If I didn’t want to kiss his friend so badly, I would be making out with Maverick as a thank you for interrupting whateverthatwas.

“Excuse me, sorry.” I push and squeeze past groups of people in search of Chloe. Desperation claws at my insides, begging me to get the fuck of here.

Alexa, play Deja Vu.

For the second time, I’ve found myself absolutely out of my mind when it comes to Noah—and for the second time—I’ve run away from him like my ass is on fire.

With no sign of Chloe, I scan for the next best thing. A bathroom. Or a closet. Honestly, I’d take a mouse hole in the wall if I could fit in one at this point.

I take my chances halfway up the carpeted stairs, hoping the vantage point will help me find what I’m looking for. To my horror, a full head of dark hair comes barreling into the room, his eyes scanning the crowd. I decide that this house doesn’t seem like it belongs to the type of guys who would get mad over someone going up their stairs. I book my ass to the top, knock on the first door I see, and when no oneanswers—I peek inside and find a surprisingly clean bathroom. Exposed brick walls, a raised, white sink, and a large, wooden vanity. It definitely doesn’t match the rest of the house, but it’s a quiet room—and right now, that’s my only requirement.

I dig both palms into my eyes, inhaling deeply in hopes of dousing the flames that have sparked in my stomach. The ghost of his tongue rolling over my sensitive skin sends a shiver up my spine and I stutter on my next breath.

Breathe, Savannah. He’s hot. So what?

I’m not stupid enough to deny the invisible web of attraction between us, but I’m smart enough to ignore it. After a few deep breaths, I peel myself from the door, dragging myself to stand in front of the mirror. I expect my reflection to be somewhat dizzy or disoriented, but with the much-needed space between us, I no longer feel drunk on the scent of him or his overwhelming presence.

I know who he is, and I have to actively choose to remember why it’s never going to happen.

A sturdy knock on the door makes me jump. I steal one last breath and reach for the handle, ready to leave my quiet safe space.

“It’s me,” a gravelly voice sounds from the other side of the door, and I rip my hand away in response. “Open the door, Savvy.”

My lids fall heavy over my eyes, and my hand reaches for the brass knob, pulling it open. My pulse now beats wildly in my throat, and when I open my eyes, I’m met with a devilish look in Noah’s.

Ay dios mío.

“Why’d you run away down there?”

Because another second with you and I would have lost my battle of wills.

“You were being requested for an important game of flip cup.”

He hits me with that irresistibly devastating grin of his and steps into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. “I wasn’t done with you.”

I take a step back and he follows my movement. My hands search wildly behind me until I find the vanity and grip it like a life raft.

“No?” I ask, not recognizing my breathy voice.

“Not even close.” He closes the last bit of distance between us, backing me up until I hit the counter. I try to hold my breath, but my nipples brush against his chest on a shaky inhale. Only his eyes move when his gaze trails down between us, and the corners of his mouth pull up in a satisfied smirk. “This might be better though.”

“F-for what?” I stammer.

“Collecting on my bet.”

Ten bucks and a kiss says, by the end of the night you’ll be eating out of the palm of my hand.

A thread stretches and pulls between my body and my mind. My body is begging me to give in to him, but my mind is desperately trying to remind me why it’s a terrible idea. I try to make a mental checklist of all the reasons that this was never supposed to happen. At the top in bold, red letters:Hockey players will do whatever it takes to get to the top. No matter who they have to hurt in the process.Underline. Underline. Underline.

I’m about to mentally write down number two when Noah’s fingers trail through my hair, sending a shiver through my body.

Is it cliche to think that one time will definitely get him out of my system?

He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, and the rough pads of his fingers graze my sensitive neck, throwing me slightly off balance.

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