Page 113 of Stick It
Except, for some stupid reason, I do.
And Finn knows it.
“Dylan.”
Ethan’s voice snaps me out of my disturbingly violent thoughts. I barely registered him watching me, but now his eyes flick between Finn and me, his expression unreadable. “You good?”
I exhale sharply, schooling my features into something neutral. “Yeah. Just need another drink.” I push up from the booth, forcing Jax to move to let me out.
“I’ll go with you,” Ethan presses.
I shake my head. “I just need a second.” I point toward the bar. “I’ll be right over there. You can see me, no problem.”
Ethan doesn’t look happy, but after a beat, he gives a tight nod.
I turn on my heel and head straight for the bar, feeling Finn’s—the entire table’s—eyes on me the entire time.
“You look like you’re having fun.” Wren has to shout to be heard over the music, which is much louder closer to the bar and dance floor than at the back of the room.
I just shake my head. “Boys.”
She grins. “I have a cure for that.” Moving away, she grabs a beer from the chiller, popping the top off before handing it over. “Sorry, I can’t hang around and chat,” she says after I’ve paid, indicating the busy crowd.
“Don’t worry. You go do your thing.” I wave her away with the promise that we will catch up tomorrow. Taking a sip of my beer, I will my frustration to settle. It doesn’t.
“You’re Dylan Carter, right?”
I glance sideways at the guy beside me. I recognize him from one of my classes—innovative marketing, maybe? Tall, dark-haired, sharp jawline. He’s cute, in a frat-boy sort of way.
“That’s me,” I respond, voice light, neutral.
He smirks, watching me over the top of his bottle as he takes a sip of his beer. “The girl playing on the men’s team. Ballsy move.”
I stiffen, although he doesn’t say it with judgment. If anything, there’s an edge of intrigue. I recognize the way his gaze skims over me, lingering a second too long.
“Yeah, well, I guess I like a challenge.”
I don’t mean anything specific by the words, but the guy’s dark eyes flash, and he sits up straighter. His smirk turns more coy, and I mentally curse myself for giving him the wrong idea. I’m not playing hard to get. I’m notplayingat all.
Although as the guy flirts with me, I kinda wish I was playing. That I could. He’s cute. Charming. And most importantly,he’s not a Steelhawk hockey player.
And yet, I feel nothing for him. No spark. No chemistry.
I wish I could be drawn to someone like him. Someone untangled from my team, from my life, from the constant push-pull of everything happening with Ethan, Finn, Jax, and Griffin.
It only makes me more frustrated that I’m not.
I force a small smile, sipping my beer as he keeps talking, telling me about himself. I’m nodding along as he gripes about the number of assignments in our marketing class when a shadow falls over us. I look up as Finn sidles up to me, close—too close. His arm slides around my waist, possessive and territorial as he practically yanks me against his hard, firm body. His hand lands heavy on my hip, squeezing as if in warning. As though he’s silently telling me to behave.
My teeth grind.
He lowers his head, and I go rigid as his lips brush my temple. “You’ve been over here for too long, babe,” he says, loud enough that there’s no way the guy beside me doesn’t hear.
I tighten my fingers around my beer as I twist my head to glare up at him.Babe?
Despite his playful smirk, his eyes are dark, locked on the guy beside me, and a muscle jumps in his cheek. His irritation simmers just beneath the surface—but why? He was just flirting with his puck bunny, so what the hell is he doing over here, staking a claim on something that isn’t his?
The guy beside me stiffens. “Oh. I didn’t realize?—”
