Against All Odds (Holt Hockey Book 2)

There’s something about being unhappy amidst a group of really happy people that’s incredibly isolating. Misery loves company, I guess. My misery is all alone at a rager that’s maybe the wildest party I’ve attended in college.

I should be having a good time tonight.

No, an amazing time.

We beat Mulbridge five to three. One more win, and we’ll be headed to Cleveland. Playing for a championship. Which has been the goal all season but has always seemed unlikely. I’m in a state of disbelief, I think, about how likely it’s suddenly looking.

A hot blonde pulled me into a dance shortly after I arrived with Hunter and Conor and grinded her ass all over my dick. I made up an excuse as soon as the song was over and ended up in the kitchen, watching Hunter pass out his Jell-O shots and Conor standing with his arms wrapped around Harlow. Guys keep slapping my back or punching my shoulder, shouting congratulations. Girls keep trying to catch my eye or “accidentally” brushing up against me.

Something about it all just feels…empty.

It’s like I forgot what I liked about this.

Like drinking and flirting was a form of denial, but I’ve accepted reality, so it now seems ineffective. Unnecessary.

I walk out of the kitchen, stopping to talk to a couple of my teammates before heading into the bathroom. Not the half bath off the kitchen, but the one attached to the downstairs master. Pierce’s room, I think. Or maybe Brennan’s. Who the fuck cares? All I’m concerned about is that it’s empty, with no line.

I take a piss, wash my hands, then lean against the tile wall and pull my phone out of my pocket.

She never responded to my last text asking for a review.

I don’t need one. Rylan kissed me first, and I know she was into it. If Hunter hadn’t showed up, we probably would have had sex.

Her lack of reply isn’t a subtle hint. But I saw the annoyance on her face when she spotted the girls swarming me in the coffee shop. A hell of a lot more emotion than was in her expression looking at Coffee Shop Guy.

So I haven’t given up, as stupid and as pointless as it might be. If she were here, I’d be enjoying this party a hell of a lot more. I run a hand through my hair, debating.

I pocket my phone without messaging her.

Maybe after a few more shots I’ll ask her to send me a photo back, but I’m not drunk yet.

There’s a brunette lying on the bed when I walk out of the bathroom. There’s a leap of excitement in my chest that dies when I register her face. The odds of Rylan showing up at another hockey party seemed slim anyway.

“Hey, Aidan.” She sits up, a coy smile curving up her lips as she crosses her legs, drawing the bottom of her skirt up so high she’s practically flashing her panties at me. “Saw you head in here…thought you might want some company.”

A line I’ve heard before.

Most of my hookups have involved girls following me into bathrooms or bedrooms, actually.

Tonight, it does nothing for me. It’s been weeks since I had sex, and playing through how this would go is like watching a movie. Undressing her…talking to her…touching her… I can picture each step.

There’s no motivation to make the effort, even when it’s being tossed right into my lap.

I know it’ll feel good in the moment, and I know I’ll feel just as empty when it’s over.

“Not looking for any company tonight,” I tell her.

Her expression is a mixture of shocked and embarrassed, which I feel bad about.

I’m not known for turning girls down, but I’m not going to fuck her just to spare her feelings.

I settle on “Have a good night” before heading out of the bedroom.

Sampson is standing in the hallway, smirking in my direction. His grin widens, and I’m guessing the girl left the bedroom right after me. Know exactly what it looks like. My hair is even messed up from my own irritation.

“Party just started, Phillips,” he tells me. “Pace yourself.”

“Did you guys get shots?” Hunter appears before I can respond to Robby, holding a tray of wiggling cups. They look disgusting but don’t taste terrible.

I down one, since I’m currently sober and probably the person enjoying this party the least. Maybe the girl I just turned down is feeling worse.

“Hell yeah!” Robby slaps my shoulder as I swallow, nearly causing me to choke. “Phillips just scored again,” he tells Hunter.

“Oh, yeah?”

I avoid eye contact with Morgan as I crush the cup in my hand, then toss it back on his tray. He hasn’t brought up Rylan since he saw her in my bedroom, and I’m relieved.

I don’t know what there is to say.

Yeah, I like her. Yeah, I’m attracted to her.

I have no clue if she likes me. And any attraction to me seems to vary on a day-by-day basis.

“Some brunette,” Robby is saying. “What was her name, Phillips?”

“No idea,” I say, tempted to reach for another shot.

Sampson whistles, then shakes his head.

“See you guys later.” I continue down the hallway, heading toward the living room instead of back into the kitchen. Chances are there’s a drinking game going on in there by now.

I push through the crowd of bodies, my elbow accidentally knocking into someone’s shoulder. I turn, an apology already on my lips. “Shit. I’m sorry…” I blink, but she’s still standing in front of me.

This time, it’s really her. And she looks hot as fuck, wearing jeans and one of those drapey tops that shifts and shows flashes of cleavage if you look hard enough. And I’m definitely looking hard enough.

“Goal and an assist,” Rylan tells me, smiling. “Not terrible.” She looked up my stats from the game earlier, not just the final score.

It makes me wish I’d managed a second goal so they were more impressive.

“High praise.” I step closer, rewarded when her chest lifts with a rapid breath. Her shirt inches to the left, revealing the curve of her left breast.

We’re just inside the doorway, close to a corner of the room, so it’s easy enough to isolate ourselves, to block her off with my body.

It’s dim, and everyone around us is drunk and distracted.

“What are you doing here, Rye?”

I’m close enough to catch the bob of her throat as she swallows. At least I know she’s affected too.

“I, um, I came with Isla. She thought Clayton might be here.”

“I didn’t ask why your friend came. I asked why you’re here.”

“To have fun.”

God, what I would’ve given for her answer to be You.

“Oh, yeah? Too bad there’s no pool table for you to hang around.”

Her brown eyes flash with annoyance. “You can be a real dick, you know that?”

Yeah. I know that. What I don’t know is why I’m physically incapable of leaving her alone. I should have said Hi and kept walking.

“I’m here to have a drink and hang out and maybe kiss a guy, if there was a moment,” she continues.

Fuck me.

I don’t know if I should laugh or punch the wall behind her. The one girl I can’t get out of my head, and she showed up at my team’s party to maybe kiss a guy, if there was a moment.

“Great. Have fun.”

I turn around and walk away, heading toward the front door instead of remaining in the living room like I was planning before I ran into her. I’m in a worse mood than before, and don’t feel like being around anyone.

The guys will all assume I snuck off to have a threesome or something.

I’m halfway across the front yard when I hear her calling my name. I debate whether to keep walking, because there’s a chance I’ll say something worse than Have fun if we have another conversation. And I don’t want to hurt Rylan. Seeing her upset affects me differently, triggers some protective urge that’s been there ever since she told me her ex had cheated that first night.

“Aidan!” She shouts my name again, loud enough for the whole block to hear, and then I have no choice but to turn around.

I spin to face her. If I was in a better mood, I’d be tempted to smile at Rylan’s light jog to catch up. Puffs of air trail behind her.

It’s colder than usual out, a frigid night that reminds me of Colorado.

“Where are you going?” she asks, crossing her arms and rubbing her biceps.

I hook a thumb over one shoulder. “Home.”

She gnaws on her bottom lip. “Why?”

“I’m tired. Long day.”

“The rest of the team seems to be rallying just fine.”

“Yep. Go celebrate with them.”

She grabs my sleeve before I can turn away, anticipating the movement. “You’re mad at me.”

“Nope. Go have your moment.”

A little of the confusion clears from her expression. “That’s going to be tricky, since you’re leaving.”

“Oh,” I realize.

“Yeah. Oh.” A smirk appears on her face. “You were jealous.”

“Obviously. I thought you’d moved on before giving me your review.”

“You really need to drop the review thing—”

Since she’s already holding on to me, it’s easy to tug her closer and kiss her. When I pull back, she has wet lips and a dazed expression.

Fuck, she’s so beautiful. Breath stalls in my chest.

“All I need is a star rating.”

“Out of five? Or out of ten? Are half stars allowed? Or if not, do I round up or do I round down?”

“All you really needed to say was ‘perfect score,’” I tell her.

Rylan smirks. “How about thumbs up or thumbs down?”

I sigh. Roll my eyes. “Sure. Which one did I get?”

“Let’s go for a drive, and I’ll tell you.”

I lift an eyebrow. “Go for a drive. In your imaginary car?”

“No, in your obnoxiously red truck.” She points across the street.

“Did Hart bribe you to say that?”

Rylan shakes her head. “It’s the same color as a fire engine, Aidan.”

“Men like red cars, okay?”

“Only if they’re trying to compensate for something.”

“Well, there goes your theory, because…” I gesture toward my crotch.

Rylan scoffs before holding her hand out. “Keys.”

“What?”

“You’ve been drinking. I’m sober.”

“I had one shot,” I protest. “And it was one of Hunter’s gross Jell-O ones, which are ninety percent sugar and ten percent alcohol.”

I’ve never let anyone drive my truck. Not many people have asked, but still. Picking it out was a rare perfect day with my parents, and red has always been my favorite color. The list of items I’m attached to besides that truck is pretty short.

“Please.”

I cave like a house of cards. “Fine.”

Then follow her across the street, intrigued as fuck about where she’s taking me.

Tonight is finally looking up.