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“That’s not what I meant,” I mutter as frustration pounds through me. “You crashed my date.”
His eyes narrow as the edges of his lips sink. “Correction—what I did was save you from that loser. You looked bored off your ass, and I took it as a cry for help.”
I shake my head. “A cry for help? Give me a break. I was having a good time. Ryder’s a nice guy and he’s actually really funny. He asked if I’d like to watch one of his games.”
One brow rises. “Is that so?”
I blink at the abrupt change in his behavior.
Before I can figure out what it means, Easton stalks closer. My eyes widen as I scramble backward until my shoulders hit the wall and there’s nowhere else to go. He’s so close that I have to tip my chin to hold his steely gaze. My hands shoot out, both palms slamming into his chest to keep him from advancing any further.
The dark look in his eyes has my heart jackhammering painfully beneath my breast.
“He’s not the right guy for you,” he growls.
The way his voice dips, sounding as if it’s been scraped from the bottom of the ocean, sends a fresh burst of nerves scampering down my spine.
“Why would you say that?” I can barely manage to force out the question.
“Because you don’t need a guy who will toy with your heart. You need a man who can appreciate all the amazing qualities you have to offer. Like how smart, kind, and athletic you are. Or that you have a great sense of humor. Especially after a few drinks.”
My lips quirk at the corners.
He picks up a thick lock of hair from my shoulder before rubbing it between his fingers. “And that you’re absolutely gorgeous. I’ve always loved the way the sun glints off your hair when you wear it down. It’s as dark and silky as a raven’s wing.”
A look of utter concentration enters his eyes as he continues to play with the strands. It’s one that turns my mouth cottony. The moment stretches and lengthens until it feels like it could snap in half.
“Easton.” The rasp of my voice is like a gunshot in the strained silence that surrounds us.
He blinks away the thick haze clouding his eyes. “Yeah?”
“What’s going on here?”
Confusion flickers across his expression. “I don’t know.”
With his gaze pinned to mine, his face looms closer. Air gets wedged in my throat, making it impossible to breathe. Just as my eyelids feather shut, someone clears their throat from behind us. My eyes spring open, only to find Ryder standing a few feet away.
I shake my head and blurt, “It’s not what it looks like.”
He raises a brow as a smirk simmers across his lips. “Really? Because it kind of looked like Clark was about to kiss you.”
Then it’s exactly what it looks like.
But there’s no way I can admit that.
“No, he was, ah...”
When my voice dies a slow, tortuous death, Ryder snorts out his derision. “I’m not looking to get in the middle of something. Brooke said you weren’t involved. Clearly, she doesn’t know what the hell she’s talking about.”
This just keeps getting worse.
“We’re just friends!” I whisper, unable to meet Easton’s gaze. What happened in the hallway was a mistake.
A weird moment that got out of hand.
Unconvinced by my stuttering and stammering, the blond hockey player hikes a thumb over his shoulder. “I’m gonna take off.”
His words have me leaping into action. “No, wait!”
As I attempt to rush past Easton, his fingers wrap around my upper arm, halting me in my tracks.
“We need to talk.” The low cadence of his voice does funny things to my insides.
That sounds like a terrible idea.
“Not right now.” Talking will only complicate matters, and that’s exactly what we don’t need. The best thing we can do for our friendship is walk away from each other and pretend this little incident never happened.
Uncertainty flickers across his face and, for a heartbeat, it seems like he might argue. Instead, he jerks his head into a nod and releases my arm. I feel the loss of his touch the moment it falls away. A mixture of relief and regret spiral through me as I shoot out of the hallway like the hounds of hell are nipping at my heels.
4
Easton
A couple hours later, I lift a bottle of beer to my lips and take a long swig. The icy brew does nothing to dull the confusion rampaging through me. And the dark-haired girl with the big blue eyes who parked herself on my lap isn’t helping matters either. The way her nimble fingers drift lazily over my chest should have something stirring south of the border.
It doesn’t.
In fact, the longer I stare, the more she reminds me of a certain someone else who shall remain nameless.
