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.”
Ryder stares at me.
“What?”
“Your dogs are named Dumpy and Bergeron?”
“Yes. Got a problem with that?”
“Sort of.”
I roll my eyes. “Take it up with my father. We’ve already established he’s a bad namer.”
“About that… How’s my endorsement going?”
“Haven’t spoken to him today. But don’t worry, I’ll be showering you with praise next time we talk.”
A burst of laughter sounds from the firepit. I glance over, astounded to discover someone was brave enough to cross the Eastwood-Briar divide. It’s none other than Will, who’s now chilling with Shane, Beckett, and two others whose names I don’t know. He chortles at something Shane said, but the good humor dies fast. Will is midchuckle when one of his friends forcibly drags him away from the Eastwood players.
Ryder notices the same thing, rumbling under his breath.
“So how is this ever going to work, cocaptain?” I can’t help but taunt. “Because it seems like you’ve got a serious stalemate happening. No one’s budging.”
“You’re budging,” he points out.
“I’m not part of this.”
“Sure, you are. You’re Briar hockey.”
“Sweetie. You’re Briar hockey.”
He cringes.
I laugh in sheer delight. “Aw, you just hate to hear that, don’t you? I kind of like knowing how much it pains you to be here. Why didn’t you transfer?” I ask curiously.
Before he can answer, loud shouts spill out from the open back doors of the house.
Yeah.
That was bound to happen. Surprised it took this long.
I hurry inside to find a full-blown fistfight has broken out in the living room between—who else?—Trager and that guy Rand. They’re going at it hard, and once again nobody does a goddamn thing to stop them.
“You still think it’s funny?” Trager spits out as he slams his knuckles into Rand’s cheek.
Rand’s head rears back, but he barely misses a step. He lunges at Trager, and the two men go tumbling onto the hardwood floor. I hear a sickening crunch of bone on bone when Rand lands a blow that triggers an eruption of blood from Trager’s nostrils. Cheers break out all around us, drowning out the music that’s still blaring in the room.
“What are they fighting about?” I hiss at Camila, who appears beside me, her face creased with concern.
“The Eastwood guy made some joke about Miller transferring because he’s too much of a pussy to stick around to see if he’d make the roster, and Jordan just lost it.”
On the floor, Trager now straddles Rand, peering down at him with a bloody smile. His eyes are bright and feral.
“You wanna talk about the roster? Eastwood is shit. Jensen only put you on the roster because he fucking feels bad that your school went under.”
“We’re better than all of you combined,” Rand sneers half a second before Jordan’s fist smashes into his mouth.
I push my way forward and seek out Case. “Come on, Case. Stop this,” I urge.
“I don’t know,” he says grimly. “Maybe they need to get it out of their systems.”
But I can tell it’s more than that. These guys are going to beat each other to death if they’re not stopped. And I’m not nearly as entertained by this fight as some of the other partygoers, many of whom are shouting and egging it on, several actually filming it.
“Fucking prick,” Rand roars, managing to roll himself out from Jordan’s grip and get up. “Y’all are a bunch of entitled Ivy League assholes.”
“Not my fault you’re goddamn poor,” Jordan grunts out, lurching to his feet.
“Fuck you.” Rand launches himself at Trager again.
Abandoning Case, I grab Ryder’s arm instead. He’s so tall I have to tip my head back to meet his eyes. Dark blue and deadly.
“Stop this?” I say softly.
Case realizes who I’m talking to and his expression flashes with disapproval. But he had his chance to put an end to this. He said no.
Ryder looks at me for a moment. Then he lets out a breath and takes a step forward. Completely unfazed when a fist flies past his cheekbone.
“Enough.”
One word. Deep. Commanding.
It succeeds in stopping Rand cold. Ryder shoves his teammate’s chest. “Get your shit together, Hawley.”