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“That doesn’t count,” Trager mutters. “You stole our goddamn slots.”
“You know what?” Lindley sounds bored now. “Forget this shit. Enjoy the rest of your evening, ladies.”
“No, wait,” Case tells them. “Just come in. There’s plenty of booze to go around.”
I try to mask my surprise. I half expected Case to send them away, if only to avoid the potential disaster. Inviting these Eastwood guys to the party is…dangerous.
But it’s happening, and Whitney glances at me in delight as eight or so new hockey players trudge into the house.
“This should be fun,” she murmurs.
Ryder takes up the rear of the group. Clad in jeans and a gray hoodie. Completely expressionless, even as his blue eyes conduct a sweep of his surroundings. I can tell he’s entirely aware of everything going on around him. Not quite a live wire like his teammate, but always on the ready.
“Gisele,” he drawls, nodding.
Case narrows his eyes. “Don’t push it,” he warns Ryder.
Ryder merely smirks and saunters past him toward the kitchen.
I give Case a wary look. “Sure this is a good idea?”
“Guess we’re about to find out.”
It doesn’t stop with the eight new bodies. More Eastwood guys trickle in, along with a bunch of my teammates. Camila arrives in a bodycon red dress on the arm of some guy from the basketball team, only to pout when she realizes Beckett Dunne is here and she can’t flirt with him in front of her date.
I text Diana and Mya to see if they want to come. Mya has other plans. Diana passes because she’s watching Fling or Forever and apparently just applied a charcoal and smashed pea mask as part of a new beauty routine. I choose not to comment on the charcoal-and-peas part. I think one of my favorite things about Diana is how much she loves her own company. That’s rare these days.
I sip on a watery beer and chat with Miller and Whitney, all the while on guard. I don’t trust this. These boys have been battling it out for roster slots all week. The lingering antagonism hangs in the air like the radiation cloud after a nuclear bomb. Even as they drink, dance, and pass joints around, there’s still a distinct separation between the two factions.
For at least two hours, the waters remain calm. When it gets too stuffy inside, I go outside for some air. Although they have no permit for it, someone’s gotten the fire going at the very edge of the backyard. The firepit is much too close to the fence. If my mother saw this, she’d have a heart attack.
When the wind changes direction, I’m suddenly hit with a face full of smoke that makes my eyes water. I edge backward until my shoulders hit a hard wall.
I turn in surprise and realize it’s Ryder’s chest.
Jesus Christ. This guy is pure muscle.
“Sorry,” I say.
“All good.” He gestures to the guy beside him. “You know Shane, right?”
“Not officially.” I stick out my hand. “I’m Gigi.”
Shane’s handshake lingers, as does his seductive gaze. “Short for Gisele, right?”
I snatch my hand back and glower at Ryder. “Actually, no. Not at all. Prom king over here is just an ass.”
Shane starts to laugh. “Aw, look at that,” he says to his friend. “You two have your own inside jokes. How adorable.”
Ryder glares at him.
“Lindley!” someone shouts from the firepit. “Need your lighter.”
“And that’s my cue,” he says cheerfully. He winks at me. “Nice seeing you, Gisele.”
“Look what you’ve started,” I accuse Ryder.
“I refuse to believe your name isn’t short for something,” is his response.
“It’s really not. Blame my father. He’s the one who named me. Mom was in charge of my brother’s name, and she picked a normal one.”
For a moment, Ryder contemplates the orange-red embers dancing in the air. Then he glances over. “You looking forward to our secret session tomorrow?”
“Why do you have to make it sound so dirty?”
He tips his head. “I’m not doing that at all. I think this might be a you problem.”
God. Maybe he’s right. I went full carpet and now I have sex on the brain twenty-four/seven. I got myself off twice last night after watching one of the couples on Fling or Forever bang in the Sugar Suite. Stupid reality show with all those stupid oiled-up hotties.
I don’t know what compels me to remain beside him. I could walk away. Go join Case and Miller, whose heads I see in the kitchen window. Or find Whitney and Cami, who’ve been swallowed up into the bowels of the party.
But I stay outside. Staring at the fire with Ryder.
“That thing’s a fucking hazard,” he remarks, eyeing the pit. “One gust of wind and that fence goes up in flames.”
“You sound like my mom. She’s been watching this firefighter show on TV, and now all she talks about is fire safety. Dad thinks it’s ‘cute.’” I use air quotes. “My brother and I think she might be going insane. She bought a roll-down rope ladder for our top floor ‘just in case.’ And it comes with this pet basket you can use to lower your dogs down. And I was like, dude, no way Dumpy and Bergeron are willingly getting into that fucking thing. You’re better off trying to fling them out the window into the pool.”
