Rachel may be the bigger zodiac girl, but I know enough to believe that certain signs are drawn to each other. They share an energy. I googled Ryan after beach day, and he’s a Virgo, which means both our signs are ruled by Mercury, the planet of communication. Is that why I find him so easy to talk to?
I wanted to dismiss our connection, this feeling of opposites attracting, but then Ryan went and called me magnetic. I think he feels it too. He’s drawn to me, and I’m drawn to him. Part of me questions if we’re not meant to collide.
Taking a deep breath, I swing the door open and step inside. I’m immediately met with the thumping sound of loud rock music. I’m greeted by a scene like something out of a low budget frat boy porno. There are five buff shirtless guys lounging on all the furniture. A few have game controllers in their hands, their eyes locked on the TV, including Ryan. Two more are on their phones, manspreading in those sexy workout shorts that give a generous glimpse of cut thighs.
I’m just gonna say it—whoever is in charge of approving the designs for NHL team apparel deserves a raise.
The guys are so engrossed in their video game and their phones that they haven’t even noticed me yet. I turn, glancing over to the kitchen. “Oh my god.”
Heaven only knows what look of horror has just crossed my face. It looks like a bomb went off in here. There are dirty dishes everywhere. Someone made a mess using the blender. Scrunching up my nose, I count not one, not two, but four empty boxes of Kraft Mac and Cheese. A big silver pot shows the telltale signs of being used to make a vat of powdered cheese noodles.
Lady boner gone.
“Tess—” Ryan’s eyes go wide as he takes me in. “Flash, cut the music,” he calls over to Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome stretched out in the reading chair.
The music cuts, leaving the video game as the only sound. I glance to the TV and see a split screen with all the Mario characters in little race cars. I was never hip enough to own or play video games growing up, but I’m pretty sure this one is called Mario Kart.
“Hey, you’re home early,” he calls, reaching for his knee brace that rests forgotten on the coffee table.
“Am I?” I say, suddenly noticing the mess on the kitchen table too. Someone ate cereal out of a mixing bowl and left out the milk…and the cereal…and spilled some of it.
“Don’t worry, we’ll clean up the mess later,” calls the freckled redhead sitting next to Ryan.
“The guys just came over to make sure I was sticking to my PT routine,” Ryan offers.
“It’s fine,” I say, giving them all a little wave. “Hi, everyone.”
A round of deep hellos chorus back at me.
Ryan is distracted, strapping on his knee brace before he gets up. “Uh, guys, this is Tess,” he says gesturing at me. “Tess, these are just some of the rookies. That’s Flash in the chair there,” he says, pointing out the black-haired guy.
“Flash?” I repeat with a raised brow.
“Yeah, my last name is Gordon,” he replies with a grin.
I smile. “Cute.”
“And this is Jonesy and Westie,” Ryan adds point to the two guys on the couch. They’re both cute, with soft baby faces that contrast with their cut man bodies. Goodness, they look like they might still be teenagers, which makes me feel a little pervy for calling this a porno set.
“And I’m Patrick,” says the giant sitting in the chair closest to me. He gets up, unfolding what has to be his 6’4” frame, and turns.
Holy fuckballs.
My eyes go wide. He can’t be more than twenty years old, but he’s got the body of Apollo. And I swear to all the gods, he’s actually glistening right now. Like, baby oil glisten. It’s catching in the fucking sunlight. This must be his post-workout glow.
“Nice to meet you, Tess,” he says in that deep voice, dripping with the confidence of youth.
He gives me a once over, and it feels like he’s undressing me with his eyes. I clear my throat, dropping my gaze away from him. The cocky asshole smirks. Oh yeah, he wants me to look. He practically screams ‘fuckboy.’ I bet he has exactly two things in his pocket: his car keys and a condom.
“Go bench-press something, Patty,” Ryan says, stepping past him in a deliberate way that puts himself between us. “Hey, you have a good day?” he says at me.
His question is all it takes to catapult my mind back through time, reliving the utter chaos of this day. I feel suddenly breathless. But I’ll be damned if I’m gonna cry in front of Patrick Abs-for-Days McHockey Boy.