Page 22 of Arresting the Hockey Player
I scrunch my nose. I've never been super girly. I wear makeup and love short skirts, but the thought of wedding planning makes my stomach roil.
"Only if I'm not imposing." I climb off my bed, shut my school books, and yank open my closet. I'm donning a pair of sweats and a t-shirt, something I'd never be caught dead wearing out in public. Some girls can pull it off. Not me.
"You're not. It's fine. You're my plus one," Amber says.
"Dress code?" I ask. I'm not expecting a black-tie event this evening, but I don't want to be overdressed.
"Casual? The last time I was over, they had a bonfire in the backyard after dinner. Bring a sweater or something warm for that. It was chilly."
"That sounds good," I say. I get the rest of the details from her before hanging up and staring at my closet, finding nothing to wear.
Three hours later, I'm stalking up to the mansion, which isn't the easiest task with a giant gate entrance. I press the buzzer and wait to be let inside. There's an ominous feeling. Maybe it's the dreary sky and the threat of rain overhead. I shiver, pull my leather jacket tighter and hurry up to the front steps.
Before I knock, the front door swings open, and Amber tosses her arms around me. "I'm sorry," she whispers into my ear, and I don't know what to make of her apology.
Am I not invited inside?
Are the evening plans canceled because something has come up?
"Who is at the door—" Jasper asks, raising an eyebrow when he sees me. He curses under his breath and hurries down the hallway.
"Come on inside," Amber says.
"Are you sure? That wasn't the warmest greeting from your boyfriend."
Amber rolls her eyes and shrugs it off. "He's just preoccupied. The guys are already standing around the fire pit in the backyard while Kyler is grilling up dinner. I'll let them know you're here."
I slip out of my heels, leaving them by the front door.
Amber's eyes widen. "So, maybe we should start in the kitchen. Grab a bottle of wine before we join the guys outside, where it's chilly."
"Wine sounds good," I agree quite easily. My hands are a bit cold from being outdoors. I took the train from my apartment to Kyler and Emerson's house, which really is more of a mansion. I try not to gawk at how lavish it is.
I follow Amber into the kitchen, my footsteps light and silent as we cross the hallway.
A little girl, all of maybe five or six, comes barreling through the entranceway past us. She's wearing a paint smock. Her fingers are covered in red, blue, and purple and she looks a bit like a hurricane.
"Have you seen Emmie?" Bristol, the little girl asks.
She's Kyler's daughter. I met her at one of the hockey games a few weeks ago. The kid really is a hurricane, and I'm surprised she hasn't stained the walls with her painted fingers and frilly smock.
"She's outside," Amber says, "but you probably shouldn't be running through the house."
"It's okay," Bristol says. "My hands are dry." She wipes them along the once-white smock, showing us that most of the paint doesn't come off her hands.
Before Amber can answer, Bristol sprints down the hallway and presumably outside. From the kitchen window, I can glimpse the backyard, the roaring fire, and the crowd of guys hanging out with drinks.
"Kids," I say with a laugh, shaking my head.
Amber grabs the bottle of white wine and pours us each a hefty glass. I just turned twenty-one. She, however, still has a couple of months to go. Not that it's ever stopped us from indulging in a little fun.
"I feel like I probably should have brought something over tonight, a bottle of wine, a dessert," I say, realizing how empty-handed I was when I showed up. Most parties I attend are on campus and don't fit the same vibe.
"It's fine. Don't worry about it."
I take a swig of wine, and she tips her neck back, finishing her glass in a matter of seconds. "Worried your sister will see you drinking?" It's been a thing between them. Emerson is not on board with Amber consuming alcohol before her twenty-first birthday. I'm not sure why. It's not something I asked about. I just noticed her hiding it and not wanting to be seen at the bar when she used her fake I.D.
Amber exhales a heavy breath. "Any word from your date?" she asks.
