Page 207 of Stick It
The door swings open, and the bar hushes to low murmurs as Valehurst College hockey players walk in—our opponents from tonight’s game. They’re not a bad group. Their captain and Ethan had a friendly interaction on the ice, and Jax explains to me that the Steelhawks had a low-key rivalry with them, a kind of mutual respect laced with a healthy dose of trash talk.
While most of the team heads for the bar to order drinks, the captain and two others I recognize from the ice make their way toward our table.
The team’s captain shakes hands with Ethan, the two of them exchanging tired grins and post-game banter. “Nice finish,” he says, nodding in my direction. “Your girl here has got fire.”
The second he speaks, Wren goes tense as stone beside me.
“You barely saw anything out there,” Ethan replies with a proud grin directed at me.
The two of them shoot the shit, reminiscing about some Athletes Row party they all attended a couple of years ago, but the entire time, I’m aware that Wren has gone so still, I have to squint to see if she’s even breathing.What the hell?
Her gaze bounces between the three players, face pale and brows tipped low over her eyes. While two of them are engaged in conversation with my guys, the one on the far left glances our way. His eyes lock on Wren…and go wide.
He’s tall, with dark hair, and looks like a boulder couldn’t take him out. He stares at Wren like he’s seen a ghost.
As though she can’t stand the intensity of his gaze anothermoment, she bolts to her feet. “I need to get back to work,” she speaks so fast that the words jumble together, her voice brittle.
Then, careful not to make contact with the players standing in front of our table, she slips past them and disappears into the crowd.
With her gone, I eye the guy she’d been staring at. Who the fuck is he and what the hell did he do to invoke such a reaction from her? My gaze narrows on him, but he’s not paying me any attention, too busy flicking glances toward where Wren disappeared in between talking to the guys.
“Do you know her?” I ask, scooching over so I can keep my voice low, not wanting the entire table to hear our conversation.
He seems taken aback by my question before quickly recovering with a shake of his head. “No. Not really. We met at a party once…”
His words trail off, as if he doesn’t know how to finish that sentence, but what he’s said sticks with me.
Wren doesn’t do parties.
I’ve tried all year to get her to keep me company at one of the team’smandatoryparties, and she has made it clear that she would rather watch paint dry.
The conversation moves on while I’m lost in my thoughts, puzzling pieces that don’t fit together. When I zone back in, Jax is cracking a joke with the newcomers. I shake off the strange interaction, joining in on the conversation.
I don’t see Wren again for the rest of the night.
61
DYLAN
My hand slidesdown the soft silk fabric of my dress. Smoothing out the nonexistent creases. The mid-season annual benefit dinner is everything I expect it to be—overly formal, painfully slow, and so full of ego I feel like I’m drowning in it.
I’m plenty used to grinning and bearing my way through such events, but thankfully, being surrounded by the guys, all dressed up in their sharp suits, makes it bearable.
It’s been several weeks since we won against Valehurst, and we have been undefeated since. In fact, we are heading into the break and have only lost one game so far this season. The Steelhawks have never looked stronger. Word is spreading—scouts are talking, articles are being written, and my inbox has been filling with interview requests and sports features. I’ve gained a small but loyal group of fans online. Most days, I still can’t believe this is real.
I sit nestled at the round table between Jax and Ethan, with Griffin and Finn across from me. I’ve sat at plenty of fancy dinner tables on behalf of my dad and his career, his success, but this is the first I’ve attended that revolved around me—myteam.
Wren worked some kind of magic with my hair and makeup, and the dress she picked for me…it’s daring. Red, backless, clinging to every curve. Paired with strappy heels and a dash of perfume, I feel like another version of myself—sleek and devastating.
The version I caught reflected in their eyes the moment I descended the stairs tonight.
Griffin didn’t even try to hide his reaction. His jaw clenched, his hands curled into fists at his sides like it physically pained him not to touch me. Jax cursed under his breath and muttered something about how I was going to be the death of him. Ethan blinked once, then twice, and murmured, “Christ, Thorn.” Finn whistled low and told me he was seconds from saying to hell with it and dragging me back up the stairs to see if the dress was equally as devastating on my bedroom floor.
All night, they haven’t been able to keep their hands off me. Light brushes of fingers down my arm. Warm palms pressed to my thigh. Jax’s hand is currently resting on the small of my back, while Griffin’s foot nudges mine beneath the table.
Onstage, the head of the college—President something-or-other; I forget—drags on about funding and alumni donations. The usual fluff. I tap my finger against the table, nerves building. I haven’t told the guys about what’s coming. I wanted it to be a surprise.
Of course, Ethan notices my fidgeting. He threads his fingers through mine and pulls my hand into his lap, grounding me with just a look.
