I breathe a laugh but shake my head. I’m pleasantly surprised that a bunch of hockey players are this creative. This is fun.
“I’m fucking hungry, let me in?”
All three of us whirl toward Callum. My brows hit my hairline, Wyatt shoots him a stunned look of disbelief, and Declan winces like he should have just duct-taped Callum’s mouth shut before they started playing.
“Cal,” Wyatt hisses.
I swear, if Wyatt Caulfield played for my team, I might flirt with him as much as I flirt with Boston. Nobody has told me he isn’t for the girls, but I got an ‘A’ plus in chemistry, and I can confirm that he and Callum have a boatload of it.
Dark skin, dark hair, dark eyes. Think of a modern, luxury apartment in human form. His bone structure should be illegal, some of the best angular lines on a face that I’ve ever seen. Don’t even get me started on that sleeve of black and gray tattoos—one of a kind art.
He’s hot. Super hot. But I’m down bad for the grumpy one, anyway.
Callum glances at his friends, seemingly confused by their scolding. He shrugs.
I bark out a laugh. “You’re funny, Cap. Very funny. That one wins.”
I step back, holding open the door with my palm. Callum smiles—at least, I think that was a smile? He shoots both boys a look of triumph, striding into the condo without a care in the world.
Wyatt grimaces as we come face-to-face. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine,” I say with a soft laugh, taking the pizza from Declan so he can remove his shoes. “Carter told you guys not to bring anything.”
Declan shoots me a look, brow furrowing. “Never show up empty-handed, Ari. Who the fuck do you think I am?”
Canadians.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
boston
My worst nightmarehas come true.
There’s a rare moment in the night where it’s just Ariana and me in the living room. I don’t know how it happened. Saltzy got up to use the bathroom. Declan and Fork went to grab some more food from the kitchen and refill on drinks. Wyatt might be in there, too. I didn’t track where he went, and from my spot on the couch—I can’t see them. I was too focused on hoping I wouldn’t be left alone with her.
She’s on the same couch as me. Don’t know if it was intentional, but I want to smack myself for it now. I’m multiple drinks in and she’s at least three martinis deep. Wouldn’t matter if she wasn’t. She’d still push my buttons because it’s her favourite pastime, and I’ve somehow become the most important person on her radar.
I stare at the TV as she stares at me, angling her head. Yeah, I have noticed every single move she’s made in the last few hours. I feel her eyes even when I don’t look.
“Psst.”
Here we go.
I don’t take my eyes off the TV. “Hm?”
“I said,pssssssst.”
“Yes?” I still don’t look at her. Too chicken shit.
“Would you fuck me if I asked nicely?”
I cough on my glass of whiskey, glancing over at her, lounging on her brother’s couch in a vintage sweatshirt that reps my team. It covers her whole body, showing me no skin or insinuating anything scandalous. Yet, the question enters my head and the answer shoots all the way down to the place where it should run from. That question has me imagining lies beneath all those clothes. That question has me considering what would happen if I said yes.
“What?”
She’s always been forward, but never thisforward.
She wraps the end of her ponytail between her fingers. A small smile forms on her mouth. “Would you?”
