Against All Odds (Holt Hockey Book 2)

I’m jealous.

Jealous.

Because of a girl.

I didn’t realize what this simmering annoyance was right away. Not until I was already over at the table talking to Rylan’s friend, trying to figure out why Thomas sitting across from my tutor pissed me off so much. To the point that I ditched my teammates and signed up to play trivia.

Until I experienced the rush of relief, discovering I’d misread the situation and Clayton was interested in Rylan’s friend.

Fucking idiot.

I’m fully on board the Fuck Thomas train now, right next to Hart. I don’t see any more buddy-buddy bathroom chats in our future.

And I’m still jealous. The aggravation has only gotten worse, watching her laugh at something a guy with slicked back hair holding a cue stick says. I have no clue who he is. If I did, I would have come up with a better reason to warn Rylan away from him than that he plays pool.

I stand and head for the bar again, ignoring the guys who call out to me with drink requests. When the bartender reaches me, I just order water.

As much as I’d love to get wasted, I drove here. And Conor said it’s pouring out, so I’d rather not have to walk home. Plus, who the hell knows what I would do drunk. I cornered Rylan by the restrooms after one beer, basically begging her to hook up again.

I don’t do that shit. If a girl I hooked up with moves on to another guy, I’m relieved. That is, if I even notice she has.

I don’t sulk or mope or fantasize about bodychecking a guy whose name I don’t even know into the boards.

Even more pathetically, my eyes keep ending up on her as if there’s some magnetic attraction to the spot where she’s standing. Each time I hope she’s ditched the guy, instead of being glad she’s moving on from her asshole of an ex. Rylan’s right—I’ve hooked up with plenty of girls. I’m in absolutely no position to dictate how she spends her Thursday night.

Still…I keep glancing over there, hoping something’s changed. That she’ll look upset or uncomfortable, and I’ll have an excuse to go over and start shit. Start more shit, I mean.

Nope. She’s waving her arms around, and the guy’s grinning at her like he just won the goddamn lottery.

“Did you already order?” Harlow appears, shoving into the small space between me and the girl next to me, who keeps glancing over here.

“Yes.” My response is short.

I’m irritated at Harlow, for no reason except she was the one who initiated the introduction with the guy currently checking out Rylan’s tits.

So what if she’s smiling at another guy?

So what if she’s pissed at me again?

I. Don’t. Care.

Except…I do.

“No problem. I’ll wait.” Harlow remains beside me. “Everything okay?”

I paste a smile on my face as she glances this way. “Of course. Just tired from the game earlier.”

“Conor said you’re headed home this weekend?”

“Yeah.” I clear my throat, sneaking another glance at Rylan. Still standing by the guy. Still smiling.

“Not looking forward to it?”

I exhale. Shake my head. But I don’t offer more details.

Both because I don’t feel like talking about it and because I know Harlow’s parents passed away, so complaining about my awful yet alive ones feels insensitive.

And I’m not used to having conversations about anything important with a chick. I don’t have friends who are girls. Another thing Parker ruined.

“Conor told me you spent break telling him to talk to me.”

The abrupt conversation shift captures more of my attention.

“He was listening, huh? It was like having a conversation with a brick wall,” I tell her. “But yeah. I’m happy you guys worked it out.”

“Me too.” Harlow leans closer. “And I’m only mentioning it because I don’t want you to think I’m sticking my nose in your love life for no reason.”

I snort. “What love life?”

Harlow glances in the direction I keep looking. “You like her. Rylan.”

“Sure, I like her,” I say. “She’s my tutor.”

Harlow rolls her eyes. “No, I mean you like her. You’re into her.”

“No, I’m not.”

“And you’re mad at me for introducing her and Ryker.”

Ryker. What a dumb name.

And Harlow’s annoyingly perceptive. Neither Hunter nor Conor would have worked that out so quickly.

“I’m not mad at you,” I lie.

I shouldn’t be, at least. No question it’s totally misplaced.

“Ask her on a date,” Harlow advises me.

I scoff. “I don’t do that shit.”

Harlow shakes her head. “Do you hockey players all attend the same commitment-phobe class?”

Probably. It’s called easy pussy. Tying yourself down to one girl when dozens want to fuck you is just dumb decision-making. But I can’t tell Hart’s girl that.

“I’m not interested in a relationship,” I say instead.

“Why not?”

“I’m just not. And…bad experience,” I admit.

Harlow’s expression softens. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. She’s marrying my brother.”

I haven’t told anyone at Holt about my fucked-up romantic past. And it’s worth the impulsive confession just to see Harlow blanche.

“Fuck.”

I laugh. “Yeah.”

Harlow recovers. “That doesn’t seem like something Rylan would do.”

“Could do,” I correct. “I only have the one brother.”

She shakes her head, looking vaguely disappointed.

“How are classes going?” It’s all I can think to ask her about, and I’m eager to stop discussing Rylan.

Harlow raises one eyebrow. “You’re asking me about school?”

“Yep.”

Most of what I’d normally talk to a girl in a bar about doesn’t work when the girl in question is my best friend’s girlfriend.

“They’re good. I’m stressed about my thesis, but…”

“What’s your thesis about?”

All I know is that Harlow is a marine biology major and loves whales. Hart was watching a documentary on humpbacks one night, and I ended up staying for most of it. It was way more interesting than I was expecting.

“I think I’ve settled on the influence diet quality has on divergent population trends in local harbor seals.”

“That’s cool,” I say, pretending I have any clue what that means.

All I really heard was seal diet. So, what they eat? Her thesis is about fish?

Harlow cracks a smile, then nods in the direction of the door. “She’s leaving.”

I spin around to look.

Sure enough, Rylan is moving toward the crowd headed in the direction of the door. There’s no sign of the guy she was with—thank fuck—or her friend from earlier. She isn’t looking this way, the tilt of her chin in the opposite direction of the bar so severe it looks purposeful.

I’m positive she’s still pissed at me. Still wants nothing to do with me.

“I’m going to head out,” I say, pretending not to notice Harlow’s knowing smile. “Tell Conor I’ll see him at home?”

“I’ll tell him,” Harlow says, before I follow Rylan.

I never got my water, but whatever. Maybe Harlow will want it.

Rylan is fast. I’m hustling to catch up, weaving around people trying to get my attention. I ignore them all, my focus on the brunette slipping out the door.

It’s raining out, steady sheets falling from the black sky.

After just a few steps, my hair is plastered to my forehead.

“Rylan!” I call.

She keeps walking, so I jog after her and grab her elbow.

Rylan spins, her hand cocked in a fist. It falls when she realizes it’s me. I’m half-surprised she doesn’t follow through on the swing.

“Easy, slugger,” I say.

“What did I tell you about sneaking up on me?” she snaps.

“You’re planning to walk home in this?” I ask.

Her silence answers for her.

“Let me drive you.” I shout the offer, basically, over the pounding deluge of rain.

“No.”

“Then I’m going to walk with you, possibly get hypothermia, and we’ll definitely lose the championship. You want that on your conscience, just because you’re stubborn?”

Rylan’s expression doesn’t change, not even the slightest glimmer of amusement.

Yeah, she’s definitely still pissed at me.

I exhale. “I’m sorry about earlier, okay? I was out of line.”

“You think?”

At least she’s talking to me, even if it’s drowning in sarcasm.

“I won’t say a word in the car, I swear. Even if you start ragging on my stats again. It’s just a ride home.”

“There’s less to rag on now,” she tells me.

Practically a gushing compliment, coming from her.

“Please?” I plead.

Rylan hesitates, the indecision visible on her face even through the falling rain.

Then there’s a loud clap of thunder in the distance, and she caves.

“Fine.”

I nod, then start walking toward where my truck is parked before she can change her mind.

“This is your car?” She literally stops, despite the rain, to stare.

If Hart were here, he’d be bent over laughing.

“Yep.”

Technically, we’re not in the car yet. And she asked me a question, so it seems better to answer than to keep my vow of silence going.

I unlock the truck, then climb into the driver’s seat.

A few seconds later, Rylan climbs into the passenger side and slumps back against the seat. Her wet clothes squeak against the leather.

I start the truck, then turn the heat up to the maximum so warm air blasts out of the vents. Carefully, I back out of the spot and then pull out of the lot onto the main street that runs through downtown Somerville.

Between the screech of the wipers as they work to clear the windshield and the blare of air, it’s not silent in the car, even though neither of us is saying anything. I also reach out and flip on the stereo, so the radio starts to play. My phone normally connects automatically, but it hasn’t, and I’m not going to play around with it while Rylan is in the car.

At the end of the block, she asks, “Did something happen during the game earlier?”

I guess we’re talking.

“Yeah. I kicked ass.”

She snorts. “You’ve spent tonight acting like you lost.”

I can’t tell her the real reason for my bad mood—it has way too much to do with her. So instead I say, “I’m going home tomorrow.”

A pause, like she’s deliberating whether to keep the conversation going. “Where’s home?”

“LA,” I answer.

“You grew up there?”

“Yeah. Palm Springs.”

“Sunny.”

I smile. “Yeah.”

“You’re not close with your family.”

She says it as more of a statement than a question, but I shake my head anyway.

“So…why are you going home?”

I didn’t plan for it to go this far. Didn’t expect her to ask. But she did, so I tell her.

“My older brother is getting married this summer. The engagement party is on Saturday. My parents care a lot about appearances, so they’re insisting I be there for the whole happy family act.”

“That sounds awkward.”

I flick on the blinker to turn onto her street. Wish Rylan didn’t know Somerville so well that she’d notice if I circled the block a few times to extend this trip. The whole cab smells like her shampoo or perfume, something floral and feminine. It’s nice, whatever the scent is.

“Not as awkward as my brother marrying my ex.” I keep my eyes on the road instead of watching her reaction. This feels very different than telling Harlow.

“Anti-hot tub sex girl?”

I snort a laugh as Rylan manages to surprise me once again.

I was expecting to spend this ride in uncomfortable silence, not laughing as we discuss Parker. “Yeah.”

“Her loss.”

I don’t ask if she means choosing my brother over me or missing out on hot tub sex.

I’d like to think it’s the former, but who knows? That night, Rylan made it clear she was only looking for a rebound from her ex. If Jameson had been the one in the hot tub when she wandered into the yard instead of me, maybe she still would have climbed in.

She doesn’t ask me any more questions, but the quiet doesn’t feel uneasy. More…comfortable.

A few seconds later, she starts humming along to the song on the radio. I glance at the screen to see the song name. It’s “Brown Eyed Girl” by Van Morrison.

Rylan catches the movement. “I love this song,” she confesses softly. “My dad used to sing it to me when I was little.”

“Coach K sings?”

“Not well, but yeah.” She’s angled toward me now, her head resting back but tilted in my direction.

I don’t think she’s realized we’re parked in front of her house. It looks like a brown blur from here, the rain still coming down heavily.

Any other girl, I’d think about leaning in. But she’s shot me down twice now. I’m not making another move unless she does first.

“Do you have any good memories with your dad?”

Any other person, I wouldn’t answer. “He took me to my first hockey game.”

“How old were you?”

“Eight.”

“And you loved it right away?”

I nod. “Yeah. Surest I’ve ever felt about anything. I’m not obsessed with it the way Hart is. His dream would be to only take skates off to sleep and to fu—” I cough, and she smirks. “I like skating. But my favorite thing about hockey is being part of the team. It’s not like anything else. Hunter and Conor are my best friends, but we’re way closer because we’re teammates too.”

“Did your brother play hockey too?”

I snort. “No. Too lowbrow for him. No one makes business deals between knocking teeth out. He played tennis in college. Golfs now.”

“Lame.”

“Agreed.”

She holds my gaze. The air around us seems to thicken, transparency gaining shape and substance.

Rain keeps coming down as a man’s voice croons about sunlight and rainbows.

Rylan breaks eye contact first, glancing out and startling when she realizes we’ve stopped. That we’ve been stopped.

She reaches toward her seat belt, fumbling with the buckle. I reach out to help her, my fingers brushing against her knuckles. As soon as we touch, she freezes.

The seat belt unsnaps with a loud click.

“Thanks,” she says.

“No problem.”

She tugs her sleeves down, covering her hands.

I take a deep breath. “I am sorry about earlier. Won’t happen again.”

“It’s fine.”

I can’t gauge anything from her tone. If it’s really fine or if she’s just saying that.

Another deep breath. “I won’t be around this weekend, but if you’re wanting to have fun… There will be a hockey party next weekend. I can introduce you to a few decent guys, if you want.”

The offer burns like acid on the way out.

But if she’s looking for a hookup, I’d rather it be with a guy who will treat her well. I hear most of the gossip on this campus, stuff Rylan wouldn’t necessarily know.

Instead of responding, she asks, “How long will you be in LA for?”

Rather than tell her the truth—that my dad arranged for my trip to last less than twenty-four hours, I say, “Sorry to disappoint, but I’ll be back for tutoring on Tuesday.”

“I’m not disappointed,” she says. Then opens the door and hops out. “Night, Aidan.”

She’s running through the rain toward her house before I can say “Night” back.

Or ask her what the fuck not disappointed means.