by Elle Kennedy
All six feet and two inches of him comes striding through the diner toward our table. He’s in his black-and-silver Briar Hockey jacket and a pair of dark-blue jeans that hug his long legs. Steely gray eyes sparkle with mischief as he combs one hand through his long blond hair. When his gaze lands on me, the excitement in his full, broad smile does a number on my head. And my pulse.
Oh Lord. Men shouldn’t get to be so pretty.
“Babe, I missed you.” Conor snatches me up from my chair and wraps me in his arms.
He smells so good. I don’t know what kind of products he uses, but he always smells vaguely of the ocean. And coconut. I love coconut.
“What are you doing here?” I whisper.
“Having dinner with my girlfriend,” he says with a sly smirk that suggests he’s up to no good. “She tries to keep me locked up in her bedroom all day,” Conor tells the table, “but I thought it’d be fun to meet her friends.”
For one terrifying moment I think he’s leaning in to kiss me and I lick my lips and inhale slowly, my entire body braced and rigid.
Instead, he presses the lightest touch of his lips to the tip of my nose. In the aftermath, I don’t know whether I’m disappointed or relieved.
“So this happened fast.” Olivia makes room for Conor to pull up a chair and sit between me and her. I don’t miss the way her hungry gaze follows his every movement.
“Did you two know each other before the party?” Lisa asks. Her eyes aren’t as ravenous—probably as to not humiliate her boyfriend any further—but she’s as focused on Conor as Olivia is.
“No, we didn’t,” I answer for him. “We met for the first time that night.”
“She blew my mind.” Conor puts his arm around my shoulders, drawing tiny patterns with his fingertips. “Time is relative.”
Just to fuck with him, I place my hand on his thigh and tell the group, “He’s already trying to convince me to let him move in with me.”
But my fuckery attempt backfires. First off, his thigh is rock hard beneath my palm. Second…well, I can’t think of a second thing right now because my hand is on Conor Edwards’ thigh.
Before I can snatch my hand away, Conor covers my knuckles with one big palm, effectively trapping me there. The warmth of his touch has me fighting a hot shiver.
“Obviously my girl thinks it’s too soon,” he says solemnly. “But I disagree. It’s never too soon to show how committed you are, right?” He directs this to the boyfriends, who each blurt out clichés in a mad scramble to avoid winding up in the doghouse.
“Yeah, if it’s meant to be, it’s meant to be,” says Cory.
“When you know, you know,” agrees Shep.
Sasha snorts loudly, then takes a sip of her soda.
“Conor loves commitment,” I explain. “He’s been planning his wedding since he was a little boy. Right, babe?”
“Right.” He sharply pinches my thumb, but his expression is all innocence.
“He even has one of those, what do you call it, Con? A love board?”
“It’s just a Pinterest account, babe.” He glances around the table. “How am I gonna know what kind of wedding reception centerpieces I like if I don’t have some options to choose from, amiright?”
Olivia, Lisa and Robin all but rip off their panties and throw them at Conor’s beautiful head. Sasha meanwhile looks like she’s struggling not to laugh.
“You getting married, Con?” a new voice drawls. “What, did my invite get lost in the mail?”
I look over to see a stunning woman in all black sauntering up to the table. She lightly bumps Conor’s shoulder with her hip, a wry smile playing on her full red lips.
This chick is drop-dead gorgeous. Dark hair, dark eyes, those vixen lips. And she’s rocking the kind of perfect body I can only dream of—slender waist, long limbs, and perfectly proportioned breasts.
Immediately I feel self-conscious in my leggings and loose white sweater. I tend to wear oversized shirts that fall off one shoulder, because they hide the curves beneath them but still show off a bit of skin. Bare shoulders are the safe kind of skin. The rest stays hidden.
“Sorry, Bren, you’re not invited,” Conor drawls back. “You’re too much trouble.”
“Mmm-hmmm, sure. I’m the one who’s trouble.” Her gaze flicks down to mine and Conor’s joined hands before locking onto my face. “And you are?”
“Taylor,” Conor answers easily, and I’m glad he does because my vocal cords have frozen.
And who are YOU? I want to demand. I mean, I assume she’s an ex of his—or at the very least a former lover—and the envy that coats my throat makes it difficult to maintain a neutral expression. Of course this is the kind of woman Conor would be attracted to. She’s perfection.
“Babe, this is Brenna,” Conor introduces. “She’s my coach’s daughter.”
Even worse. Now I’ve got porn scenarios about forbidden love flashing through my head. The coach’s daughter and the hunky star player. She blows him in the locker room and then they have sex on Daddy’s desk.
“Wait, I know you. Brenna Jensen. You’re going out with Jake Connelly!” Lisa suddenly blurts out.
The dark-haired goddess narrows her eyes. “Yeah, so?”
“So, that’s…you’re so lucky,” breathes Lisa. “Jake Connelly is…”
“Is what?” her boyfriend Cory demands, his tone revealing he’s officially fed up with the way his girl has been acting all night. “Finish that sentence, Lisa—he’s what?”
I think Lisa knows she’s pushed him too far, because she backpedals as if it’s an Olympic event. “He’s one of the best players in the NHL,” she finishes.
“One of?” Brenna mocks. “No, honey, he’s the best.”
Conor chuckles softly. “Whatcha doing here, B?”
“Picking up dinner for Dad and me. He can’t cook for shit and I’m tired of eating burnt food every time I visit him. Speaking of food…” Her gaze shifts to the counter, where one of the waitresses at the cash is signaling Brenna. “Enjoy the rest of your night, Con. Try not to elope without telling your coach beforehand.”
Everyone watches her go, and this time it’s Cory and Shep whose eyes are glazing over. Brenna is sex personified. She walks with such hip-swaying confidence that I’m once again swimming with envy, even knowing she has a boyfriend and therefore no threat to my fake relationship.
“Hey,” Lisa chides, smacking Cory’s arm.
“Payback’s a bitch, ain’t it,” he murmurs, his attention still fixed on Brenna Jensen’s ass.
Sasha grins at our sorority sister. “He’s got you there, Lisa.”
“So, back to Conor’s wedding board on Pinterest,” Olivia announces.
“Nah,” Conor says, “those pics are just for Taylor. Although…we might need to add some dress samples for inspiration, eh, baby?”
I swallow a laugh. “Definitely, baby.”
“Is this…” Olivia’s gaze darts between us, “getting serious?”
Conor looks at me. I expect his usual giddy mischief and mirth, and it’s certainly there—but this time, there’s something else too. A passing intensity in the crease of his forehead and straight line of his lips.
“It’s getting there,” he tells Olivia. But his gaze doesn’t leave mine.
11
Taylor
Dinner at the diner turns into drinks at Malone’s, the sports bar in town. Conor invites some of the guys from the team to join us. Likewise, some of my other Kappa sisters show up. In the back room near the pool tables and dartboards, we push a few tables together to accommodate our expanding party. While Conor’s teammates have playoffs to worry about and are keeping their alcohol consumption to a minimum, the girls have no such restrictions.
My fellow Kappas have become emboldened by their hormones and are well on their way to getting loaded. Except for Rebecca, who ordered a Diet Coke. She’s a few seats away and hasn’t looked my way once. I was surprised she even came out tonight, but I suspe
ct she hadn’t known I was here when Lisa invited her. Since pledge week she’s basically run the other way any time she saw me coming.
“You’re not mad, are you?” Conor sits down beside me with our drinks that he just got from the bar. There’s some trepidation in his eyes. Like maybe he’s just realized that crashing dinner and inviting himself to drinks is more invasive than charming.
“Not mad, no.” I eye him over the rim of my drink. “Curious, though.”
“Oh?” A hint of his trademark playful smile resurfaces. “About?”
“What prompted you to hunt me down and subject yourself to the rabid hungry gaze of my sorority sisters. Surely you have better things to do.”
“We’ve got to keep up appearances, right?” He’s trying to play it cute, flashing his cheeky grin and flirtatious charms, but I’m not buying it this time. Something’s up with him. There’s a tension in his demeanor that doesn’t suit him.
“I’m serious,” I insist. “I want a real answer.”
We’re interrupted by a loud bang on the table. Courtesy of my sorority sister Beth Bradley, who showed up only thirty minutes ago and is already tipsier than everyone else.
“We should play Dare or Dare,” she announces, smacking the table until she’s gotten everyone’s attention. She raises an eyebrow at me, biting her lip impishly.
While Lisa and Olivia don’t seem to be Abigail fangirls, I know Beth is somewhat chummy with her, which means I’m instantly on guard.
“We should get a new game,” I answer dryly.
“What’s Dare or Dare?” Across the table, Foster has just committed the cardinal sin of volunteering himself. Poor dumb bastard.
“Well,” Beth says, “I challenge you to a dare and you must complete it upon penalty of death.”
The other guys snicker.
“Sounds intense,” remarks Matt.
“You don’t know the half of it,” I tell him.
I can’t help but glance in Rebecca’s direction, a tiny lump rising in my throat. Whatever potential friendship we might’ve had was just another casualty of this stupid game.
“Here.” Sasha shoves a shot in front of me. She’s just returned from her own trip to the bar, sandwiching herself between me and Matt. The two of them have looked pretty darn cozy all night.
I eye the shot glass warily. Drinking this would be a terrible idea. One, I don’t shoot liquor well, and two, where Conor’s concerned, I’ve got to keep my wits about me. There are traps and pitfalls everywhere, holes full of sharpened bamboo spears waiting to impale me.
“Go on,” Sasha urges. “It’ll take the edge off.”
So I knock it back. It tastes like cinnamon gum and licorice, and not in a good way.
“I just wanted to see you.” Conor murmurs in my ear, continuing our conversation as if it had never stopped.
The combination of liquor heating my blood and his warm breath on my neck makes my head go a bit fuzzy. I lean closer, my arm draped over his thigh to keep myself steady. “Why?” I murmur back.
This time the conversation does stop. His attention has been diverted to his teammate, who is foolishly calling Beth’s bluff.
“Go on then,” Foster says. “Give me your best shot.”
“Careful,” Conor warns. “I’ve seen their handiwork.”
“Oh no, don’t dare me to sleep with a cute blonde.” Foster deadpans. “That’d be the worst thing ever.”
“Alright.” Beth sits up straight, narrowing her eyes at him. “I dare you to get any woman in this bar to take a shot out of your waistband.”
Conor and the guys burst out laughing.
“Oh shit, dude. Let me FaceTime Gavin for this one.” Matt yanks out his phone, his muscular arm sliding off Sasha’s shoulder.
“Yeah, cool.” Foster jumps to his feet while Lisa goes to order the necessary shot. “How ’bout it, Beth. You thirsty?”
“Nuh-uh. Can’t make it that easy. Better start hunting, big boy. You’ve got five minutes or face the consequences.”
As soon as Lisa’s back with the shot, Foster’s on the prowl. He starts by scanning the room for groups of girls who don’t look like they have any hostile meathead boyfriends to worry about. Matt and Bucky hop out of their chairs and follow him for moral support and to record his conquest.
“Tick tock!” Olivia taunts him as we all watch his progress. “Better hurry.”
In short order, Foster’s got a redhead on her knees. I watch with wide, impressed eyes as the girl takes the shot and pops up with a cherry between her lips. Chick’s got moves.
A few seconds later, Foster saunters back to our table with a dumb grin and his chest puffed out.
“Too easy,” he says, then chugs his beer. “My turn now. Beth.”
She smirks up at him. “Give me your best shot.”
Foster and his teammates have a conference before daring Beth to make out with a girl of her choice while the two girls trade bras. Without the slightest hesitation Beth enlists Olivia, who, as I’m discovering tonight, possesses a wild streak as well as a pretty decent sense of humor. I don’t know why we never hung out before.
Not wasting any time, the two Kappas stand up and lock lips while each tucks their arms into their shirts to undo their bras and pull them out of their sleeves then put on the new one. It happens so fast the men are left speechless and gawking.
“What just happened?” Cory asks stupidly.
“That’s some kind of witchcraft right there,” Conor remarks beside me.
I make the mistake of looking at Rebecca again, and this time she actually looks back. What ensues is the most awkward eye-locking in the history of mankind. I break visual contact when I hear someone say, “Taylor.”
“Huh?” I turn at the sound of my name.
Olivia is fluttering her fingers together like a cartoon villain. “It’s your turn. I dare you to…”
Oh, right. That’s why we don’t hang out. Because anyone who knows me well and whom I consider a friend wouldn’t put me on the spot like this.
Sasha must read the panic on my face. “Oh come on. Hasn’t Taylor done enough? I think she’s earned her retirement.”
“…To give Conor a lap dance,” Olivia finishes gleefully.
Fuck my life.
Conor stiffens. His eyes meet mine, and although his expression reveals nothing, I can feel his concern. We haven’t known each other long, but he’s perceptive enough to know I’d rather accept the penalty of death than accept this embarrassing dare.
“Hell no,” he declares, jumping to his feet. “I don’t want a bunch of drunk perverts eyeing my girlfriend.”
To my shock, he peels out of his hoodie. Now he’s left in a tight white tank top that shows off his sculpted arms and washboard abs. Olivia audibly gasps.
He cocks his head suddenly, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Nice. Even got the music on my side,” he drawls. Then he pulls my chair back a bit and stands between me and the table.
“What are you doing?” I yelp.
“Blowing your mind.” He winks at me.
Dread fills my stomach when I recognize the song blasting from the bar’s sound system. “Pour Some Sugar on Me” by Def Leppard. Oh fuck me.
“Don’t,” I beg Conor, fear trembling in my voice. “Please don’t.”
Rather than heed my pleas, he licks his lips, sways his hips, and launches into a raunchy performance.
Oh my fucking God.
My fake boyfriend is giving me a real lap dance.
“Work it, baby!” Beth catcalls, while Olivia and the other girls transform into the living personification of the heart-eyes emoji.
When I try to cover my eyes, he pulls my hands away and runs them down his abs. Then he presses them against his ass as he gyrates and undulates in front of me to cheers and whistles as the entire bar stops to watch.
As mortifying as the attention is, Conor is weirdly good at this. And after the initial terror subsides, it becomes pretty hilarious the way
he’s playing more goofy than sexy. I find myself laughing along with everyone else, as Foster and Bucky start shouting out the chorus of the song.
It’s all fun and games until it isn’t. Because then I blink and the humor on Conor’s handsome turns into something headier. Heavy-lidded gray eyes fixed on me, he bends slightly and thrusts one hand through my hair. Long fingers tangle in the thick strands.
Time stops.
He’s not dancing anymore. Not moving. Except, he is moving. He’s closing in on me and I know what he’s about to do. He’s going to kiss me. He’s going to kiss me here, in front of everyone at Malone’s? No fucking way. He said he likes games, but this one has gotten out of hand.
Before he can press his lips to mine, I launch out of my chair so fast he nearly falls to the floor. I catch only a second of his bewildered look before I run off toward the back corridor. The door there leads out to the alley next to the parking lot, and I stumble into it, relieved to find it empty.
Heart pounding like crazy, I lean against the brick wall behind Malone’s and peel out of my sweater to let the frigid air rush over my skin. My breath comes out as plumes of white, but sweat continues to bead across my chest. It’s barely above freezing, yet in only a camisole I’m still burning up.
“Taylor!” The door flies open. “Taylor, you out here?”
I don’t say a word, hiding in the building’s shadow. I just want him to go away.
“Fuck, there you are.” Conor appears in front of me with worry etched on his perfect face. “What’s wrong? What happened?”
“Why would you do that?” I mutter, staring at the ground.
“What? I don’t understand.” He reaches for me and I step out of his grasp. “What did I do wrong? Just tell me so I can fix it.”
“I can’t do this. I don’t want to be a game to you anymore.”
“You’re not a game,” he protests.
“Bullshit. You told me you were bored and that you love games. That’s the reason you changed your stupid MyBri status and showed up at the diner tonight. This is some weird form of entertainment for you.” I shake my head. “Well, I’m not entertained anymore.”