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Jax doesn’t even look at me.
He’s staring forward.
“There are more of the guys lingering around,” the frat boy calls out. “Maybe drunk. Maybe naked…”
A lot of the girls cheer.
“Hey, I’m sure there are plenty of empty beds around here,” the frat boy says. “Anyone want to play with a hockey stick tonight?”
More cheers.
I roll my eyes.
Jax pushes from the wall he’s near and moves closer to me.
Without looking at me, he says, “You’re so worried about me looking… you’re staring at me…”
“Just wondering what makes you think you shouldn’t be up there with your friends,” I say.
“Because I hate this shit,” Jax says.
He finally looks at me.
It’s like his eyes burn right through me. In a good way. No. In a bad way. Everything about Jax is bad!
“You hate… hockey?” I ask.
“I love hockey, Mila. I hate this stuff. This does nothing to make us play better. This is all an excuse to pretend to be part of the team.”
“That’s a little harsh.”
“I’ve earned my spot here.”
“Actually, you haven’t,” I say with a smile.
“How so, honey?”
Honey. Ugh.
“You need a freaking tutor to be here, Jax,” I say.
“You’re mouthy tonight, aren’t you?”
“I think it’s PMS,” I blurt out.
Then I gasp and cover my mouth.
Jax nods. “What are you doing here then? Nothing worse than someone at a party that doesn’t want to be there.”
I lower my hand. “And you want to be here?”
“Don’t think that matters to you.”
“Maybe it does.”
Jax gives me a weird look.
“Forget I said anything. Doesn’t matter. I don’t want to be here. I’m kind of forced here. I feel dragged here.”
