Noelle tilted her head, a scheming look on her face. “You know what? I’m going to check on her.” She followed Zara, leaving me standing at the bar with Chase, Mr. Wannabe Air Traffic Controller.
Traitors.
Then again, I could have left. It wasn’t like he had a gun to my head. So I guess that made me a traitor too.
Chase turned to me, midnight eyes tracing my face. “You really do look familiar. You go to Callingwood? What’s your name again?”
“I give out that information on a need-to-know basis, and you definitely don’t need to know.”
Taking a sip of my drink, I averted my gaze and focused on the multicolored lights illuminating the dance floor, flashing in a pattern from red to green to blue. He was trying to hit on me, and my poor ego was so bruised that I almost liked the attention. Almost.
Plus, it would really piss off Luke if he knew, which was what he deserved right now. But flirting with Chase would be akin to committing treachery against my brother and our friends. And hooking up with him was definitely out of the question…right?
Despite that, though, I was newly single, not dead, and he was hot. It didn’t hurt that his black T-shirt hung perfectly off his broad shoulders, its short sleeves showcasing his buff arms. Arms that could probably pick me up and slam me against a wall with ease.
Not that I was thinking about that.
“Hardly seems fair that you know who I am but you won’t even tell me your name.”
“Yeah, you’d know a lot about fair,” I said. “I’ve seen you play.”
Though unfair wasn’t the word I would use to describe his style of play. Chase didn’t technically break the rules, at least most of the time. He bent them just enough to make the other team snap and take the penalty instead. Case in point: what happened with Paul earlier tonight.
He was an instigator.
And a heartbreaker.
“Didn’t know you were such a fan, Callingwood.”
“I’m not.” Scanning the room, I searched for someone else—anyone else. But the dance floor was packed with writhing bodies whose identities were obscured by the strobe lights and artificial fog. Besides, I wouldn’t know anyone here. We were firmly on Chase’s home turf.
Chase took a long pull of his beer, an amused look on his face. I clutched my drink tighter, clamping down on the urge to pour it over his head.
“Is it a highly controlled airspace, or what?”
I glowered at him. “You’re such an asshole.”
“Tell me, what’s the landing strip like?” His broad shoulders shook with laughter.
“Pretty sure your aircraft is too small to find out.” I gave myself a mental high-five for thinking on my toes.
He gave me a crooked smile, like he could tell how proud I was of my comeback. “Not bad.” He took a step closer, lowering his voice as it took on a husky quality. “But it’s definitely an Airbus.”
Airbus? I mean, I kind of suspected based on the rumors I’d heard. But he was exaggerating, right? Between the gossip and the way he carried himself, though, maybe he wasn’t. Without his hockey gear, he had the most perfect V-shaped torso, but as for what that lead to…
God help me, now I was actually thinking about what he was packing. Had I lost my mind? This was Chase Carter. Impressive body aside, I hated him. It was basically a requirement. The rivalry between our schools ran thicker than blood.
The realization snapped me back to the present where he was still standing next to me, dark eyes watchful. His gaze weighed down on me, waiting for a response.
I released my lower lip from between my teeth. “Oh.”
He shifted his weight, stepping closer. I got a hit of his cologne—which smelled way too good considering who was wearing it—and my stomach twirled.
Something tugged between my legs in response, a stirring I hadn’t felt in ages. Not even with Luke.
“You seem a little flustered,” Chase said.
“More like repulsed.”
But if I was being honest, it was a bit of both. It was unsettling how my mind and body were at such odds when it came to him. Clearly, I was rebounding. And a little drunk.
He took a sip of his beer, sizing me up. “I hope you’re not a gambler. You have a terrible poker face.”
Irritation rippled through me, mingled with sudden self-consciousness. Heat surged to my cheeks. I hoped the lighting was dim enough to hide it.
“I think you’re the one who’s getting flustered.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Maybe a little.”
“Well, either way.” I cleared my throat, squaring my shoulders. “The terminal is closed. Indefinitely. Lack of qualified pilots.”
“Oh, I think you’d find me highly qualified.” His voice dropped even lower, the sound an impossible combination of gravel and silk.
My heart rate skyrocketed as heat from my cheeks flooded the rest of my body. For a moment, I gaped at him, lost for words. Then Noelle and Zara strolled back up to where we were standing. Zara had a puzzled expression on her face, oblivious to the innuendo train wreck she was walking straight into.
“I think my mother just sleep-FaceTimed me.” She gestured with her hands, palms up. “Is that a thing? Do you think Ambien can make you do that?”
Noelle shrugged. “I dunno. One time I ate an entire cake after taking an Ambien, and I didn’t even remember it the next day.”
Chase cleared his throat. “I’d better get back to the team.” He nodded in my direction, adding, “Think it over.”
Then he sauntered away, like he had innuendo-laden conversations with strange girls at bars all the time. No big deal.
Actually, he probably did.
“Think what over?” Zara’s eyes widened.
“Oh, nothing. Just the usual obnoxious Falcon trash talk.” I waved her off.
“Is that who he was?” Noelle asked, craning her neck as she watched him disappear into the crowd. She was on the periphery of the hockey world, only mildly aware of its most basic inner workings, and what she did know was solely due to her friendship with me.
“Yup.” I drained the last of my drink. “The enemy.”
“Hot enemy.”
Zara nodded. “I would climb him like a tree, B.”
“No,” I said. “He’s a jerk.”
A social media alert popped up on my phone. It was an update for The Sideline, a gossip site centered around our local college’s varsity athletes. If there was a rumor floating around, The Sideline would cover it. Everything from who was doping—allegedly—to who’d just signed a cushy pro contract.
I followed the stupid site solely due to my paranoia that someday, one of the stories would feature me. With the recent breakup, my fears might have finally come true. Hands shaking, I tapped the notification and bit my bottom lip while the page loaded:
The Sideline
Moving on so soon? Which newly single member of the Bulldogs was spotted getting cozy with a new flame at the afterparty tonight? Wonder what his ex thinks about getting 86’d and replaced in the span of a weekend.
My heart roared in my ears as I clutched my phone. Eighty-six was Luke’s number. Not that I needed the hint; he was the only Bulldog who was newly single.
He was with someone else already.