by Cindi Madsen
Megan bit her lip, which didn’t help my current turned-on situation. She reached up and ran her hand down the side of my face, and I closed my eyes, soaking in the soft touch. Telling myself not to get carried away.
It was a little late for that, though, and I made a snap decision, which were usually high on the stupidity scale where I was concerned. “I’m going to need your number.”
I opened up the new contact screen on my phone and extended it to her. When she handed it back, I noticed she’d typed out her full name: Megan Davenport.
The last name set off an alarm, the cooling effect like a bucket of ice water.
It has to be a coincidence. Surely it’s a fairly common name. Maybe not as common as Smith, but still.
She seemed to know a lot about that Bruin’s game, though…
And she mentioned an older brother.
A memory rose, unbidden, one that I really wanted to forget, of my teammate mentioning how his little sister was going to be attending college here. There’d even been a threatening glare that’d made me feel guilty, regardless of the fact that I didn’t know his sister. At the time I’d been experiencing a lot of guilt about that stupid bet, though.
I cleared my throat, not wanting to ask, but I knew I had to. “That brother you mentioned… He doesn’t happen to play on the hockey team here, does he?”
Her eyes widened. “Actually, yeah. Beckett Davenport is my brother. You know him?”
Every one of my internal organs shriveled up. “You could say that,” I said, slowly backing away.
You could also say that I was in deep shit.
Chapter Five
Megan
Even though I was on my way to somewhere else, when I drove past the little diner that Dane and I had spent one amazing night in, I fought the urge to slam on the brakes, park my car, and go inside.
I’d already eaten, so just walking in and out would only make me look crazy. I so didn’t want to be one of those girls, but I couldn’t help but feel deflated that Dane hadn’t called. Yes, it’d only been a couple of days, but when you met someone you shared such a strong connection with, did you follow lame conventional rules about how long to wait to call?
I definitely wouldn’t have if I had his number, but then again, no one ever accused me of being conventional. I wasn’t much for rules, either. Unless we were talking mathematical, and those were really more proofs, and not using them would result in the wrong answer, so why would you do that?
Not sleeping—unfortunately the change of venue hadn’t magically fixed me—made it feel much longer, too. Regardless of how long it seemed, it was a little early for stalker-type measures.
Not to mention it wasn’t exactly the logical stance I was trying to take when it came to boys. Plus, what if I walk into the diner and find him there with some other chick? Then I’d feel extra stupid.
When I’d told Vanessa that I was on my way to a hockey party, and asked if she had any interest, she’d said, “Mmm. Hockey players definitely interest me.”
“What would Justin think?” I’d asked, making sure to add a teasing tone, because that was how I’d meant it.
But then she’d said, “Oh, he and I aren’t exclusive. But I do have other plans tonight, so maybe next time.”
Since the guy had been plastered to my roommate almost every time I’d seen her, that’d thrown me for a moment. Sure, college was rumored to be this place where relationships were more open and undefined, but I sort of thought it was a big myth that people would be so blasé about it. After all, I didn’t want a guy I was interested in hooking up with other girls.
The same thought that went through my head when I left the dorm rose up to dig at me again. What if that’s why Dane hasn’t called? He probably already had girls lined up for Saturday and Sunday.
Thanks to my parents’ screwed up relationship, my faith in love had experienced a big hit. I’d gone from believing love conquered all to doubting its existence. After all, their epic story began with the heir to the Davenport company—my dad—creating a scandal by ignoring his parents’ wishes and marrying the girl from the wrong side of the tracks. But after they passed away, the truth came out: they’d both been having affairs.
At first, I swore off love and relationships in general, deciding they were total crap, and that all people were just big liars. It was a dark time, when I’d almost tossed my comic book collection, because 1) I had to hide them from my friends as it was, 2) they served as a reminder I wasn’t strong like the heroines found among the pages, always complying instead of fighting the good fight, and 3) a lot of heroes’ and heroines’ motivations revolved around love, and they conquered a lot of bad odds because of it.
Strangely enough, talking to Karen, my dad’s…other person, made me question everything all over again. Clearly she’d loved him. She got choked up whenever she mentioned his name, and her stories revealed another side of my dad, one I’d never experienced. The guy Mom was having an affair with faithfully visited her grave, too—for a long time I wanted him to stop, because it stirred the rumor mill into a frenzy—but one day, when I went to confront him and ask him to stay away, I’d seen the heartbreak on his features.
So I’d decided love was real, but complicated and risky. The few relationships I attempted in high school were with immature guys who ended up being kinda shitty, and after the last one, I pretended to be done with love again, although deep down, I craved it. Craved intimacy with anyone, really.
The change that came over Beckett when he fell for Lyla swung me back toward believing there was something to the whole falling-in-love thing. In the power of love, to take it to a nice and cheesy level. So now I was torn between longing for a relationship like that and reminding myself that the odds of finding it in college wasn’t great, and honestly, I still had a bit of trouble with complete trust.
Which was how my potential boyfriend list ended up so detailed.
Nothing wrong with being picky. Because that’s how you landed a guy you could talk to at all hours of the night. One who’d kiss you like he meant to imprint himself on your very soul—before Dane kissed me, I didn’t even know kisses like that existed outside of the movies. My lips tingled at the memory, and a thrill traveled down my core.
We’d shared much more than that kiss, too, our connection more than physical attraction, more than one amazing night.
He’ll call.
I pulled up to Lyla’s apartment complex, rushed up the stairs, and knocked on the door. Lyla opened up, gave a little squeal, and pulled me into a tight hug. Over the summer when she lived with Beckett and me so she could complete an internship at my dad’s pharmaceutical company, she’d become one of my best friends—one I could actually trust, which was super refreshing after a lot of backstabbing. She also felt like the big sister I always wished for, and I had no doubt that eventually she’d be my sister-in-law—she was good for Beckett, and I’d never seen him so happy. Even when my Aunt Tessa poked at him about his “shortsighted” decision to let the board run D&T Pharmaceuticals for now so he could follow his dream of playing for the NHL.
On the other hand, when I commented that maybe I would end up running the family business someday, my aunt made a jab that it wasn’t all fun and games and making money. Like I didn’t realize work would be, well, work.
In some ways, I suppose it was my fault she couldn’t get over how I acted out in the past. For some reason, rebellion seemed like a better way to deal than actually dealing. I even went through this period where I shoplifted for attention—stupid and misguided, and nothing woke you up like having to call your brother and beg him to bail you out so you’d see one friendly-ish face before going home to the person who didn’t want you there in the first place.
But I’d gotten help, and I was better, and I was never doing something so stupid again. It was even my number six.
6. No more doing stupid things for attention, especially self-destructive things
Part of graduating
early and coming here was to prove that I wasn’t the fragile girl everyone in my family thought I was.
Lyla gestured to the pretty blonde pacing the room. “This is my roommate, Whitney. Whitney, this is Megan, Beck’s sister who I’ve told you so much about.”
“Nice to meet you,” Whitney said, but then she lifted her phone and frowned at the screen. “I thought Beck said he’d be here by eight, and it’s already five after. Maybe I should just take my car.”
“You’ll have to excuse her,” Lyla said. “She hasn’t seen her boyfriend for all of a day, and she’s a bit distracted.”
“It’s been almost two.”
“Oh. Pardon me.” Lyla laughed and then turned back to me. “Ready for tomorrow?”
“I think so. I walked through campus a few times and mapped out all the places I’ll need to go.” Since today was Martin Luther King Day, we didn’t have class, so I’d start my first week of college tomorrow. “Slowly I’m starting to feel like I might belong here.”
“You do belong here. And I love your hair,” Lyla said, picking up a section and slowly letting it slip through her fingers.
“That’s because you’re not a natural redhead,” I teased, flicking one of her bright red locks. I’d been highlighting my hair super blond for years, but recently, I’d decided to go with a few less highlights, which let the strawberry hue show through more. The second someone called me a redhead, though, I’d probably sprint to the salon.
After a rapid knock, the door swung open and Beckett walked through. Even better, he had my white ankle boots.
“Yay, you brought them!” I hugged him and then took the shoes.
“I can’t believe you have so many pairs of boots—I had a hell of a time figuring out which ones you were after, despite your very detailed text.” He shook his head. “I should’ve known that letting you use the spare closet at my place would end up making me your personal fetching boy.”
“You’re the best,” I said as I exchanged my ballet flats for the boots. “And you know I’d bring you footwear if you needed it. Like, remember when you forgot your skates? Who brought them?”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Beckett turned to Lyla and kissed her. “Hey, babe. You look sexy as usual.”
“She does.” Whitney pulled on her coat. “Now, let’s go.”
“She hasn’t seen Hudson in a while,” Lyla said, and Beckett nodded, as if he completely understood.
Within a few minutes we were in the Land Rover, and about ten minutes after that, we pulled up to a townhouse apartment complex. Whitney bolted the second the vehicle stopped, and I followed after her—at a much slower pace—as Beckett and Lyla lagged behind, kissing and cuddling.
Even though I didn’t know Vanessa very well—and I still wasn’t sure where she was at on the Team Megan scale—I sort of wished she were here, because from the looks of things, I was going to feel like the third wheel a lot tonight.
Several guys turned as Whitney opened the door, and the jacked, tattooed guy in the middle shot her a big smile, leading me to believe he was the boyfriend. She took a few running steps and leaped into his arms. They kissed, apparently not caring who saw, and I knew I should look away, but I also thought that. That’s what I want.
Dane’s image popped into my head again, and while I didn’t know if he and I would have that, I definitely wanted to find out if we could get there. I pulled out my phone, just in case I missed hearing it ring, then scolded myself.
Hopefully this party would distract me from thinking about how many hours he’d had my number without calling. It probably wouldn’t hurt to see what kind of other guys were out there in the Boston College sea, either, and if they hit any of my requirements.
Not that Beckett would let me date any of his teammates—I’d be shocked if he hadn’t already warned them to stay away from me, which made me wonder why he’d invited me to come along to a hockey party in the first place.
Probably so he can point at me and announce, “this girl right here. She’s off-limits.”
I turned when I heard Beck and Lyla come in behind me.
“Kowalski, hey!” Beck said, nodding at someone over my shoulder.
I recognized the name from the few games I’d caught last year—back when I had to beg and fight and basically bargain away all my fun activities to get Aunt Tessa to let me go. I spun around, wanting to get a better look at one of the best wingers I’d ever seen.
Then my heart stopped, because I’d already met Kowalski without knowing it. His first name was Dane, and he was staring at me with a dropped-jaw expression that made it clear he’d expected to see me tonight about as much as I’d expected to see him.
Chapter Six
Dane
Don’t check her out, don’t check her out, don’t check her out…
“Dane,” Megan said. “Hey.”
Well, there goes our cover. Her wince made it clear she’d realized it, too.
Beck’s face quickly transformed to a distrustful scowl. “How do you two know each other?”
Megan fiddled with her necklace. It had big pink and yellow flowers and a butterfly that practically pointed at the cleavage I was doing my damnedest to not look at. “We don’t. Not really. He…helped me find a building on campus when I was lost.”
“Must’ve been really helpful if you exchanged names,” Beck ground out between clenched teeth.
Megan rolled her eyes, turning so she faced him more than me. “I like to properly thank people who help me. Remember the fuss I made about you bringing my boots. I’m such a nice person.”
It was a decent attempt at distracting her brother, but he was still glaring daggers at me, proof that my worry the other night—also known as the reason I hadn’t called Megan despite scrolling to her name in my contacts more times than I cared to admit—was valid.
Since we’d still ended up here, I wished I’d called. At least then I could’ve had one more fun conversation with her before knowing that I definitely had to cut it off for good.
My hand drifted up to rub my neck, but I realized that gesture was all but admitting guilt, so I crossed my arms instead—that’d also keep me from reaching out and squeezing her shoulder or hand like I wanted to. “Glad I could help…” I let my mouth drop open as I tapped my lip. I felt awful acting like I didn’t remember her name, but I thought it might be the only thing that’d redeem me, and since she’d lied about how we met, I hoped she’d realize I was only trying to back up her story.
“Megan.”
“Right.” I pointed a thumb over my shoulder toward the kitchen area. “I’ve got to go see if I need to grab more ice or cups. But I’ll catch you guys later.” There. Nice and vague. No sounding like I was hoping to catch Megan alone at some point.
Seriously, if Beck wanted to keep the guys on the team from checking out his sister, why’d he bring her? Any red-blooded male with eyes was going to have a hard time keeping himself from lusting after her. In a sea of a lot of the same type of girls, her bright pink pants, that funky jewelry, and the strawberry-blond waves I knew from experience were as soft as they looked, Megan definitely stood out.
Misty, a girl I’d been trying my best to avoid since one drunken kiss at the Quad—also known as when I’d implemented the drinking less goal—walked into the kitchen as I was getting water from the fridge.
“Hey, Kowalski.”
“Misty. Want a beer?”
“Definitely,” she breathed more than said. I filled a cup from the keg and handed it to her. She took it and leaned closer, so that her body was pressed against mine. “That’s not all I want, though.”
I knew she’d cycled through several of my teammates, and I think that not sleeping with her the night I slipped and kissed her gave her some weird goal to get me into bed, no matter what, because I’d never been so blatantly groped in my life.
I maneuvered away from the hand cupping me over my jeans. Let’s see. How to put this nicely…?
I certainly wasn’t goin
g to admit to not sleeping with anyone in months, as that’d probably only make her even more determined. Not to mention, it wasn’t something I spread around. In fact, not even my roommates knew, although Hudson probably suspected something was up—his constant distraction with Whitney worked in my favor. I didn’t want anyone to know how affected I’d been by past crap that I was still working through. Before I’d examined all my shitty choices, I’d thought I had dealt with it, and it sucked that lately it was coming up more than ever.
Luckily a large group moved into the kitchen, giving me the opportunity to dodge Misty without having to hurt her feelings. I headed over to Whitney and Hudson, figuring they’d had enough time to get reacquainted that I wouldn’t be interrupting too badly.
“Bro, almost all of the cups we bought are gone,” I said. “So much for everyone claiming they weren’t going to really drink tonight since school starts tomorrow, because I highly doubt most of them are drinking water.”
Hudson eyed our teammates, spread throughout the room. “I swear if we have to do extra drills because these guys can’t hold their liquor and are hungover at practice, we’re never hosting one of these parties again.”
Since we had the townhouse set up and our neighbors were other college kids who wouldn’t call the cops, we’d been volunteered as the hosts. Our other roommate, Ryder, had jumped onboard, which was odd for him—usually he needed extra convincing when it came to anything that didn’t include the gym or the rink.
I inwardly groaned at the thought of Coach’s favorite conditioning drill. The Michigan Mile involved speed skating with push-ups, and I had no doubt we’d be doing several rounds tomorrow.
“What’s the deal with you and Misty?” Whitney asked, and the wrinkled nose made it clear how she felt about it.
“There is no deal. She cornered me in the kitchen and I escaped as quickly as I could.”
Hudson wrapped his arm around Whitney’s shoulders and curled her close. “Baby, give Dane a break. He’s having a bit of a dry spell and might have to take what he can get.”