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“Because jocks are the worst, okay? So full of themselves, they can’t think of anyone else.”

I started playing hockey when I was five. Community leagues and such. So yeah, I’ve met my fair share of guys who fit that bill. Nodding, I reach out and pat her hand, resting on top of her knee.

“It can suck, for sure. Do you still run?”

A dreamy smile graces her lips for a second. “I love running.”

“Me, too.” Our gazes lock, and she turns her palm up, lacing her fingers through mine. What I meant as a comforting gesture turned intimate. And I don’t mind at all.

I’m not a player. I mean, I play hockey, obviously. But I’m not into random hookups, like some of my teammates. No shade on them, but it’s not my thing. I blame my parents.

They are ridiculously in love. It’s gross.

My sisters and I used to catch them making out all the time.

My dad would insist he was just helping my mom find an earring she lost in her bra.

Blech. Instead of turning me off on monogamy and commitment, though, I want what they have. I want that kind of deep, forever love.

So I don’t usually find myself chatting up girls I don’t know, holding their hands and staring deep into their eyes. She scoots closer, warm beside me.

“When you’re not running or camping, what do you like to do with your spare time?”

Hockey. Although, she asked what I like to do.

And lately, it’s been a chore instead of a passion.

It’s hard feeling like I have something to prove.

I’m on scholarship, though, so it’s an okay mindset.

Two more years of that job, and then I graduate from Harrison.

After that… well, I’m not ready to cross that line.

For now, playing hockey is not all that different from the work-study jobs in the library.

Shelving books might require a little less of me, but this pays better.

That’s what I’ve been telling myself, at least. Getting paid to be in the library sounds like a dream.

“Reading,” I tell her. “I love to read. There’s this corner of the library, surrounded on both sides by floor-to-ceiling windows.

The light streams in, and I can sit in a wing-backed chair and people-watch or stare at the trees.

I study there or read a book. If I’m not jogging or hiking outside, that’s where I want to be. ”

Her eyebrows shoot up, and her eyes dance. Oh crap, I said too much. Is she going to make fun of me for that?

But she gives a delighted smile, and it takes my breath away. This girl is gorgeous. “Really? I love to read, too! What are your favorite types of books?”

“Mysteries and thrillers, probably. You?”

“Mysteries, too.” She stares at her lap. “And romance.”

“You don’t have to be embarrassed about that. Romances are great.”

Her mouth drops open as she meets my gaze again. “You read romance?”

“Sure, why not? I have four sisters. Their paperbacks were always lying around.” Plus, I’ve picked up a lot of tips about what girls like. I haven’t gotten a chance to use them all yet, but it’ll come in handy someday.

“I’ve never met a guy who’s read a romance book before.”

I shrug. “A good book is a good book, no matter the genre. I like all kinds.”

If possible, her stare intensifies. “What do you like about a good romance novel?”

Her voice drops, turning husky, and the air between us changes. I glance at her mouth and back to her eyes. Her tongue darts out, wetting her lips, like an invitation. I incline my head towards hers.

“Love always wins,” I tell her, and confession has never been this freeing. “Who doesn’t want a happy ending?”

“Right?” She breaks contact, gazing into the fire. “Too bad real life can’t be that way.”

“Why not?”

“All the guys I date are pigs.” She scoffs and crosses her arms over her chest, brushing against my bicep. The contact sends a spark through me. “My boyfriend cheated on me yesterday.”

“What an idiot. You deserve so much better. Maybe you need to try something new.”

Me , I mean. Maybe you need to try me. I don’t even know her name, but this girl has gotten under my skin. I want to keep talking to her until the sun comes up, go get breakfast and never stop. She sees the real me, not only Jonas the hockey player, and it’s addicting.

She turns, and her gaze bounces from my eyes to my mouth. I wet my lips, a subconscious invitation. Turning closer, her chest grazes mine. We are inches apart. It’s too far.

“Something new, huh?” she echoes, sounding dreamy, as mesmerized as I am. “Like a new hobby?”

“Uh-huh.” My voice comes out breathy. “Like crochet or embroidery.”

“Sounds nice, but I’m not very crafty.” I can see the firelight reflected in her eyes. “Any other ideas?”

“Astronomy?” I say.

She shakes her head, blonde hair gleaming. “No, too many lights in the city.”

“Taxidermy?”

“Ew, definitely not.” She wrinkles her nose. This is the most fun I’ve had in weeks.

“You could try this.” I close the gap between us, pressing my mouth to hers.

Sparks sizzle across my skin, like I bathed in champagne instead of beer. Like every kiss I’ve ever had before was a handshake and this is what it’s supposed to be like. My stomach flips, my groin tightens, and I weave my fingers through her hair, holding her in place.

I don’t do this. I don’t have random hookups or kiss girls I’ve just met.

But this feels right, like nothing else has for a long time.

I can be who I want with her. Instead of itchy and restless, wrong in my own skin, everything quiets within me.

My focus narrows to a pinpoint, and I’m consumed with this girl.

She kisses me back like I’m the air she needs to breathe. Shifting, she straddles me, never breaking contact. She threads her tongue with mine, deepening the kiss, and I can’t hold back the moan in my throat. It’s ungentlemanly, and I don’t care.

Time stops as I lose myself in her. Her sweet scent surrounds me, and her body is the best weight on top of mine. I slide my hands from her face, down her back, and cup her ass. It vibrates.

Vibrates? Is her butt supposed to buzz like that?

Dazed, she pulls away, her lips swollen and her eyes glazed. Her hand goes to her back pocket, and she fishes her phone out. Staring at the screen, she winces.

“I should take this.” Hopping off my lap, she leaves me cold and turns to the firepit.

“Yeah,” she says to whomever is calling. “I lost track of time.”

Spinning, she gives me a once-over and smiles at this line, and a streak of pride fills my chest. Yeah, she did.

Listening, she stares at the ground. “Okay, I understand. I’ll see you soon.”

After she hangs up, she makes a sad mue of disappointment. “Sorry, Romeo, I’ve gotta run.”

“Wait!” I leap off the loveseat, panicking. “At least give me your name. Your number.”

But she shakes her head, a wicked grin on her pretty face. She backs up, heading towards the exit but not taking her eyes off me.

“Maybe I’ll see you around campus.”

“Cinderella at least left a shoe!” I shout as she waves and pushes the door open.

But either she doesn’t hear me or doesn’t care. Because she’s gone.