Page 58 of Make You Beg

He stares me up and down, and my self-consciousness strikes me.

Do I look okay? Is this red spaghetti-strap dress that Jordan lent me too short?

I brush some of my freshly curled brown hair behind my ear with one hand, holding the red cup with the other. “Yes.”

“What do you study?”

“Umm, education.” I gnaw at my lip. “And you?”

“Medicine,” he says. “I succumbed to the family pressure.”

“Oh.”

I don’t really care what he does. I’m more interested in a different set of his skills.

“I know, right?” He laughs. “But don’t get me wrong. I’m not all looks, I got in because I’ve got brains.”

“Of course.”

My gaze darts to the background again, intrigued by the mysterious figure, while Cal goes on to tell me about the hockey team and how that’s his favorite part of being at NJ State.

My chest relaxes when I clock in a few other guys wearing ski masks and dark clothing.

They must be part of a fraternity or something, playing around.

Okay, Maddy. Relax. No one’s following you. You do not have a stalker.

Wait…Did I want to have a stalker? Is that a fantasy of mine? Should I write in my diary?

I shake my head.

What the hell am I saying?

“Getting into the hockey team wasn’t easy. They were super strict with me.” Cal’s still going on about hockey. “You’d think having money would help pull some strings, or having the experience would. Which I clearly do, but no. Those try outs almost broke me. They tested me hard.”

“I’m sure,” I say, already regretting wanting to try this.

Cal may be nice and good-looking, but this isn’t going to work. The more he talks, the more I’m sure of it.

“There’s this new guy, Kayden.” With the mention of Kayden’s name, my attention is on Cal again.

“He isn’t a bad player. But man, did he piss me off.”

“W-why?” I ask, suddenly prying for information.

“He showed up this semester, and the coach let him into the team right away. The tryouts were a joke compared to when I had to pass them. Everyone’s hypnotized by him or something.”

I gnaw at my lip and envisage an image of Kayden in my mind—his broad shoulders, sculpted abs, and sharp features. Those deep blue eyes. I guess I can see the appeal.

“That doesn’t seem fair,” I say instead.

“Thanks.” Cal points at me with his own red cup. “That’s what I’m saying.”

I look past him as he continues to protest—and freeze. Kayden is standing a few feet away from us, in the ocean of people in a corner of the room, and smirking at me. That same wild hair he always has, wearing a black leather jacket, a T-shirt and jeans.

What is he doing here?

Realization washes over me that if Callum and Viktor are here, and they’re both in the hockey team—it isn’t surprising that Kayden was invited, too.