Page 6

savannah

“Cheers to…” Chloe holds her mango-flavored drink out, looking to me to fill in the blank like a game of Mad Libs.

“Panties!”

“Panties?”

“I don’t know. It’s not the best thing, but it’s far from the worst.” I shrug my shoulders.

“Well, cheers to that, then.” She clinks her can against mine, and we both chug half as if it’s a light beer and not a five-percent ABV seltzer.

Rowdy Rick’s might be a dimly lit, hole-in-the-wall, sorry excuse for a bar, but it’s the most popular bar in town, and not just because it’s the only bar in town.

Linden Creek is home to the number one football team and the number one hockey team in the state.

Both of those things, on their own, might not be a big deal, but together—and in such a small town—our little off-campus bar has never known a quiet night.

We order another round before abandoning our seats at the bar, link arms, and trudge through the crowd of people who all have their eyes glued up on the TVs.

I lean in with my shoulder, keeping a tight hold on Chloe, and almost lose my balance when the men on either side of me lift their arms as the place erupts in booming cheers.

I look up in time to see my dad with an ear-to-ear smile, and the captain of the LCU Lions skating around with his fist in the air.

Everyone around me continues to scream and clap as Noah’s teammates begin jumping on each other until they’re a blurred pile of hugs pressed against the glass.

The buzzer sounds and the camera pans out to a sea of Black and Green.

The Lions have won their first game back.

“Way to go, Coach Alvarez!” Chloe pumps her little fist in the air.

I might not go to many, or any, of my dad’s games, but I’m always proud of him.

When he took his position as head coach, it was a pretty big deal.

No one deserved it more. He had spent a few years as a support coach in the NHL before Leo and I were born, and had moved up to an assistant coach when we were young.

By the time we were in high school and Leo was playing more seriously, my dad got the offer and made the move to LCU.

It’s ironic, given I’m the one, out of the two of us, who actually ended up attending LCU.

It’s worked out, though. Leo is the best player on the second-best team in the league, and he never misses an opportunity to remind us of that.

Within the last hour, the little dive bar has gone from already too crowded to practically maximum capacity. Rowdy’s is living up to her name tonight. There has to be at least a hundred people on the small dance floor and another few hundred between the front door and along the bar.

Chloe holds my hands above my head as I sway my hips from side to side, not paying attention to anything but the music until the air in the room changes. Attention shifts to the door, but I don’t need to turn around. I feel them without needing to see them.

The Linden Creek Lions hockey team has arrived.

A mob of fifteen of the most built, cocky, and—alright, I’ll admit—gorgeous, men take up space at the bar.

My eyes go directly to the one in the middle.

Six-foot-two, with a tiny silver hoop earring in one ear, black hair that’s wavy—longer on top and faded down the sides, and a jawline cut by Zeus himself.

I might actively avoid hockey players but there is no avoiding my attraction to Noah.

“Good lord.” Chloe breathes next to me. “Silas Miller is painfully hot.”

There are hundreds of people in here, my best friend is going on about someone so hot it hurts, and yet I can’t seem to drag my attention away from Noah.

“Which one is Silas?” I ask.

“The one with the dark hair and body covered in tattoos.” She leans in closer, pointing toward the crowd. “Next to Maverick.”

“Who’s Maverick?”

“The one built like Goliath with the buzz cut.”

I finally peel my eyes off Noah and tilt my head until I spot the two she’s referring to.

“I mean, Maverick’s hot, too, but he’s like too hot, ya know?”

A confused laugh slips out of me. “Can you be too hot?”

“Yes, Sav. Look at him.” Her hand and eyebrows lift dramatically. “He’s so hot he’s unobtainable.”

I study the tall guy, who is fifty percent shiny blue eyes and fifty percent built like a Mack truck.

He runs a hand over his shaved head while smiling with his perfectly straight, white teeth.

He is good-looking, I’ll give her that. Two minutes of observing him, though, and I can already tell his obnoxious, loud mouth would either be a good time or piss me off. There would be no in-between.

“How do you know all of this?” I look over my shoulder at her.

“Because you would have to be actively avoiding them to not know.” She fixes me with a pointed stare and I roll my eyes.

“One more drink and then you want to bail?” I ask, ignoring her and she thankfully takes the bait.

“Ooh, grab those seats.” She points to a high top where two girls have just left with their eyes laser-focused on the hockey team crowding the bar. “I’ll go get the drinks.”

I hoist myself up on the uncomfortable metal stool, hooking my feet through the bar at the bottom of the other.

“Hey.”

I look up and find a guy who I’m assuming is in a fraternity based on the Greek letters on his shirt. If he’s not then he’s posing as one, and frankly, I’m not sure which is worse. “I saw you sitting over here and you were just too pretty to ignore. I had to come say hi.”

I fight the urge to roll my eyes and instead offer a tight-lipped smile and a clipped nod. Unfortunately, he doesn’t take the hint.

“What’s your name?” His eyes aren’t glazed over yet, but his stale beer breath tells me he’s only one or two drinks away from being plastered.

“Savannah,” I answer, dismissively.

“Cute.” He sways with a smile. “Can I call you Anna?”

“Absolutely the fuck not.” I look over his shoulder, hoping that the bartender who’s been checking Chloe out all night tended to her quickly, and that she’s on her way back. To my disappointment, not only can I not see Chloe, but I can’t see past two feet in front of me.

It’s common knowledge that fraternity houses come out on game nights because they know the place will be crawling with women hoping to get lucky with a player.

Puck bunnies, as they refer to themselves, but honestly, the term makes my insides squirm, so I lovingly refer to them as opportunists instead.

Omega Douche is droning on about something.

I absently nod at whatever he’s going on about until he puts his pasty white hand on my thigh.

I sit up straight and open my mouth, ready to verbally annihilate this guy so hard his grandchildren will think twice before touching someone without their permission.

“Savvy, sweetheart.” A voice like honey says loud enough to garner both of our attention, but it feels like a whisper in my ear. “Sorry, that took so long. The line was crazy.”

Noah smiles beside me, rubbing my neck with one warm hand before draping the whole of his arm across my shoulders and offering me a drink with the other.

I take it, looking up at him completely dumbfounded, and before I can respond he leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to the side of my head. My eyes involuntarily shut, and my heartbeat kicks up to what feels like an unsafe level before he pulls back.

“Noah Kingston! I’m Dylan Hastings.” The frat guy introduces himself. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice he extends the hand that was just resting on my thigh..

Noah keeps his right arm wrapped tightly around my shoulder, holding his drink in his left. He looks at Dylan’s hand and then back up to his face.

“Dylan, is there a reason you thought it was okay to put your hand on my girl, here?” His smile is so fucking charming but his voice drips with disdain.

“My bad, boss.” Dylan’s hands fly up in defense but he keeps that slimy smile on his face. “I didn’t know she was your girl.”

I open my mouth again to let him know I’m not, but Noah moves swiftly in front of me, blocking Dylan from view.

He towers over me and I have to tilt my head all the way back to meet his two-toned eyes.

His defined jaw twitches slightly, and his perfectly pouty lips twist up as he looks down at me.

He steps closer until his sizable frame is nestled between my legs, and I fight the urge to squeeze my thighs together and hold him there.

His long, warm fingers lift my chin and brand me as he drags them to the back of my head.

Something sparks at the lowest part of my stomach, and travels even further south, when he cups the back of my neck in a tender but sure embrace, and lowers his lips to the shell of my ear.

“That’s twice now that we’ve been pretending to date. ”

I inhale the intoxicating scent of him, feeling lightheaded.

I take in one last breath before he steps back, hitting me with his perfect, crooked smile.

He knows exactly what he’s doing. I run my tongue along my bottom lip and his eyes follow the slow sweep.

It takes the strange knocking in my chest to remind me where we are. And who he is.

“Now we’re even,” I say. “Let’s not do it again.”

“I didn’t see you at the game,” he says, sitting back on his stool.

“I wasn’t at the game.” I shake my head at him, but don’t bother hiding the way my lips turn up.

“You just like to celebrate with us?”

Sparring with him is so easy, and I hate to admit how much I enjoy his quick comebacks. “It’s the only bar in town. I know you guys think you own the place but you don—” His pointed look cuts me off.

“Use your pretty brown eyes and look around.” He gestures toward the crowd with the neck of his bottle, but I’m too distracted by his compliment.

“Everyone in this place is here because of us and our win tonight.” He smiles, putting the rim of his beer to his bottom lip and I hate how sexy I find the simple movement.