Forget everything I ever said about hockey players being unappealing. He’s the very definition of appealing.
Something about him is also strikingly familiar, but I can’t place what it is.
My focus lingers on his face before drifting lower, methodically searching for some sort of identifying characteristic. A black fitted T-shirt stretches across his broad shoulders and clings to his lean, V-shaped torso, the sleeves showcasing sinewy biceps and forearms. Gray joggers emphasize his thick hockey thighs; that one’s to be expected, since Chase said he’s a goalie.
Catching myself blatantly checking him out, I force my eyes back up to meet his. He draws closer, running a hand through his hair, drawing my attention to the dark, ornate designs that run all the way along the length of both muscular arms. My gaze snags on the compass etched onto the back of his hand, and my heart comes to a screeching halt.
That tattoo. I remember it.
He might’ve been wearing a mask the night we met, but I’d recognize those hands anywhere.
Hades.
CHAPTER 3
TINKER BELL
TYLER
Fuck me.
Heart pounding, I slow to a stop in the middle of the living room, trying to reconcile the identity of the girl standing in front of me. Distinctive rose-gold hair falls around her shoulders in soft waves, framing a heart-shaped face with lush, full lips and whiskey brown eyes I’d recognize from a mile away.
When I draw a little closer, I catch sight of the small gold hoop in her right nostril, further confirming what I already know. This is supposed to be Chase’s younger sister, Seraphina, but I remember her as the smoking hot chick I fucked in a nightclub bathroom on Halloween. Granted, I was slightly inebriated, the lighting had been dim, and she was wearing a sparkly green fairy costume at the time, but it’s definitely her.
“Hades?” Seraphina’s eyes widen, and the bright pink gym bag she’s clutching slips from her grip, landing on the floor with a dull thud.
“Hey, Tinker Bell.” I flash her an easy grin, doing my best to appear unfazed. Panicking won’t help anything, and judging by the look on her face, she’s doing more than enough of that for both of us.
“Oh my god,” she whispers. “You can’t… this can’t…” The words die on her lips as the front door creaks open.
Chase steps into the living room carrying an armload of stacked boxes, giving us an unimpressed look. “What is this, social hour?” He nods to the pile on the floor. “We’ve gotta leave soon, Ty. Let’s keep it moving.”
“Right.” I grab the nearest crate and turn toward our former office, now Seraphina’s makeshift bedroom. Her attention lingers on me, and my adrenaline surges. It’s a foregone conclusion we aren’t going to tell her brother what happened between us, right? If she does, being late for practice will be the least of my problems. Revealing that I “accidentally” fucked his sister would be the equivalent of starting World War III.
I hardly ever go out. What are the odds of this even happening?
Seraphina’s dark lashes flutter as she blinks rapid-fire. “Sorry. We were just, uh, doing introductions.” She picks up the bag she dropped but remains frozen to the spot like she can’t figure out what to do next. Fortunately, Chase either doesn’t seem to notice how strangely she’s acting or he’s attributing it to something other than my presence.
“You two can chit chat after we get back from practice.” Chase nudges her with his elbow as he passes, following me down the hall. “Though I should warn you, Ty isn’t the talkative type. He doesn’t like people.”
“I heard that,” I call over my shoulder.
Chase laughs. “Where’s the lie?”
For the next few minutes, I help transfer bags and boxes out of Seraphina’s white Lexus SUV while she and I politely ignore each other. Or try to, at least. I keep catching myself stealing glances at her, and several times, I catch her doing the same. The tension between us is so thick you could cut it with a skate.
By the time Seraphina’s vehicle is almost empty, her room is so full of bags and boxes there’s barely space to walk around the white daybed I helped Chase assemble this morning. There’s also more pink than I’ve ever seen in my entire life. A pink desk chair, pink computer, pink hangers, even pink shoes. Guess this explains the pink hair… and the pink panties she was wearing on Halloween.
That memory sets off a sudden flashback from that night. My lips on her lips, her hands on my body, my cock buried deep inside of her. Not to mention, those little sounds she made when she came—three times.
Inhaling sharply, I bite the inside of my cheek and force myself to think about hockey. It only partially works. That night has replayed in my brain a thousand times since. Getting out of this semester alive is going to require iron-clad boundaries and a fuck-ton of willpower.
Chase sets a tall stack of books in the entry. “Mind helping Sera with the last couple of things? My tank is empty, and I need to put on my spare tire before practice. I can swing back and grab you after.” He gives me an apologetic look, lowering his voice. “Sorry to put you out. She’s really overwhelmed with everything and I’m trying to stop her from having a meltdown.”
Maybe this is a blessing in disguise so we can clear the air. “No problem.”
Once the roar of his truck’s engine confirms he’s gone, I head for Seraphina’s room. She’s perched on the edge of her bed looking down at her phone, her mouth pulled into a pout of concentration with her bottom lip poking out slightly.
Pausing in the doorway, I grant myself the briefest moment to observe her, still taken aback by how fucking pretty she is. I’ve never used that word to describe a girl before. Hot, sure. Cute, sometimes. But she’s more than either of those. She’s pretty in the way that catches your attention and refuses to let it go.
A thorn pricks at my conscience as an unfamiliar emotion overtakes me. I’m not certain whether it’s guilt over my attraction to someone I can’t have—or the fact I already did.
Get it together, Donohue.
I knock on the open door, and she glances up, giving me an apprehensive look that mirrors the way I feel. Neither of us wants to have this discussion. Might as well rip off the bandage now, though. God knows we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.
Keeping a safe distance while we’re alone seems like the best course of action, so I lean against the doorframe, crossing my arms. “Chase asked me to help you finish while he ran out for a sec, but I thought we should talk first.”
“Yeah, we should.” She grimaces, setting her cell on the nightstand. “This is awkward.”
“I hadn’t noticed,” I deadpan.
Serious talks aren’t my strong suit. Blame my sarcastic default setting.
Irritation flickers across her face, and her gaze darts around the room as if surveying for onlookers, then lands back on me. “You didn’t think to lead with the fact that you play for the Falcons?”
Do I leverage my hockey career to get laid? Sometimes. It’s a great way to find like-minded chicks who aren’t looking for anything more than one night of meaningless fun. But for some reason, I hadn’t felt compelled to disclose that information to Seraphina the night we met. Maybe I was caught up in the thrill of an anonymous encounter. Or maybe—even though I’m loath to admit it—I wanted to be desired for who I was for a change, instead of what I do.