Page 47 of What Are the Chances
Just as I unlocked my phone to mindlessly scroll TikTok, a message came in. My breath suddenly went scarce as I studied the digits on the screen. While I didn’t have Will’s number saved, I could recite it like I could the alphabet.
WILL:Hi Dover.
RILEY:How did you get my number, Caufield?
I regretted replying the moment I hit send. I should’ve waited and given it some time. Now I looked overly eager, like I was waiting by my phone on a Saturday night.
WILL:Stole it from Hughesy. Can we talk?
RILEY:Can’t. I’m at a club.
That should shut him up.
WILL:What a coincidence.
I glanced around nervously, expecting to see him behind me, but of course he was bluffing. I hoped.
RILEY:You don’t do clubs.
WILL:And you don’t do hockey games. I guess we’ve both changed.
Damn.Clearly I hadn’t been as incognito at the game as I’d hoped.
WILL:Your tits look killer in that black dress BTW.
Hell, he mustn’t be bluffing. Ducking into the stall that became free, I kicked it closed and secured the lock in place. If it didn’t smell so foul in here, I’d be tempted to hide out all night. As it was, I could barely stomach it while I peed.
What were the chances? Of all the clubs in Philadelphia, Marnie and Brooklyn had to drag us to this one. And of all the Saturday nights I’d spent on the couch, I had to agree to come this time.
What was the universe playing at? It’s like it was purposely dangling Will in front of me to see if I could resist.
News flash – today was proof I couldn’t.
After hurriedly doing my business then washing my hands, I stepped back into the dim hallway. My new plan was to find my brother and friends and convince them to call it a night.
That plan was instantly shot to the ground though, because there was a looming hockey player waiting for me. In the warm club, Will was dressed in a plain white tee and jeans that fit his muscled legs perfectly. His tattoos appeared beneath the sleeve of his tee, dancing all the way down to the expensive watch strapped to his wrist.
“Tanner Holbeck, huh?” he mused.
I heaved a deep sigh. “We’re not dating, Caufield.”
“I’d sure fucking hope not. Not after the things we did today.”
The darkness of the nightclub hid the blush that crawled up my neck.
“Things that will never happen again,” I said.
“Uh-huh.”
“I mean it.”
Lowering his lips to my ear, Will whispered, “Ineedit to happen again.”
A shiver trailed down my spine, forcing me to place my palms on his hard chest to remain grounded.
“I’ve played two of my best games this week, and I think it has a lot to do with getting you off.”
His admission gave me the confidence I needed to shove him backwards. Not that he even budged.Of coursethis came back to hockey. It wasalwaysabout hockey.
