Against All Odds (Holt Hockey Book 2)

“Hey, Rylan.”

I turn to see a guy I’ve never seen before standing with two other guys, one of whom looks vaguely familiar.

I got here ten minutes ago and have spent all of that time unsuccessfully looking for Aidan. So far, he’s nowhere to be found.

“Hey…” I have no clue who he is or why he’s talking to me. How he even knows my name.

Guess that comes through clearly in my voice, because there’s a spasm of annoyance in his expression.

“Jake Brennan, remember? We have Intro to Philosophy together. I sit two rows behind you.”

“Right,” I say, although I still have no recollection of ever meeting Jake before.

Intro to Philosophy is my least favorite class this semester, one I’m only taking because it fulfills one of the Holt requirements I need to graduate. Maybe that’s why I blocked Jake out.

That, or I can’t seem to focus on any guy who isn’t Aidan Phillips.

“Can I get you a drink?” Jake offers.

One of his buddies doesn’t manage to fully hide his smirk behind his plastic cup.

“I’m good, thanks.” I go to shove my hands into my pockets, then remember I’m wearing a skirt and can’t. So I end up just rubbing my palms against the maroon-colored fake leather.

Finally, I place why the smirking buddy looks familiar. “You’re on the hockey team,” I say. He’s the guy in the background of the photo Aidan sent me.

He nods, his grin widening. “Cole Smith. Nice to officially meet you.”

“Officially?”

“Yeah, Brennan said your dad is Coach K, right?”

“Right,” I say, a little annoyed that’s my introduction.

I’m proud of my dad and his accomplishments. Doesn’t mean I want to be reminded of them at a party. Be reduced to that association.

“Yeah, well, any friend of the guy taking us to a national championship is a friend of ours, or however that saying goes.”

“She’s his daughter, dickhead,” the third guy chimes in with. “That’s not the saying—at all.”

“Ignore them,” Jake says, stepping forward. “Sure you don’t want that drink? Kitchen is right this way.”

“Um, sure. Whatever,” I reply distractedly, taking another look around the living room. I already checked the kitchen once, but maybe Aidan has showed up since.

“Um, sure. Whatever.” Cole laughs. “I take back everything I said about you being off your game, Brennan.”

Jake flips Cole off before guiding me down the hallway toward the kitchen.

“Have you seen Phillips?” a tall guy with shaggy blond hair stops to ask.

I pause too, very interested in the answer. I couldn’t come up with any casual way to ask Jake the same thing.

Jake smirks. “Of course not, Sampson.”

Sampson groans. “Damnit. I was hoping he’d be done upstairs by now. I really need to talk to him.”

A cold drip of uncertainty trickles through me like a leaky faucet. Aidan is busy upstairs, and I can easily extrapolate exactly what that means.

And it hurts, so much worse than I was expecting it to.

Way more than walking in on Walker did.

This time, I have no right to be mad. I am mad, but I have no right to be.

We’re not in a relationship. Aidan never said he wasn’t seeing other girls. Never asked me if I was seeing other guys.

Except, I thought there was something more between us than simply sex.

My fingers find the bracelet hidden beneath my sleeve. I haven’t taken it off since Aidan slipped it on my wrist. It felt like some physical indication that I meant something to him. A signal that he wasn’t hooking up with girls upstairs at parties.

I saw the signs with Walker. How he was often busy. How he’d take hours to reply to my texts. How we stopped having sex.

My boyfriend cheating on me wasn’t a surprise.

But the campus playboy who constantly has girls hitting on him hooking up with someone else is as shocking as a slap.

He said he didn’t want anyone else, and I feel foolish for believing him. I guess that changed after we fucked a few more times. He’s already bored.

All of a sudden, the warm, smoky air is suffocating.

“I gotta go,” I blurt, then spin around and head in the direction of the front door.

I didn’t tell Aidan I was coming to this party, and now I’m extra glad. He won’t question why I wasn’t here tonight, and he’ll hopefully be too busy preparing for the championship to talk anytime soon.

Meaning I’m in fantastic shape to not see him until our final tutoring session on Tuesday, after which I’ll never have to see him again.

Someone calls my name, but I don’t turn around to see who it is or find out what they want. I’m too focused on getting the hell out of here as quickly as possible.

I reach the front door, yank it open, and freeze.

Conor and Harlow are walking up the stairs that lead from the walkway to the porch. Hunter is right behind them, followed by…Aidan.

The relief is staggering.

Another reminder I’m in way deeper with Aidan than I was supposed to wade.

I’ve made the predictable mistake of developing way too many feelings for the guy I’m sleeping with. Some of them felt inevitable. Unlike Aidan, I’m not used to separating emotion from sex. But I thought any feelings of mine were tempered by reality—that I could sleep with him and still know that our fling could end at any time.

I’m braced for him to lose interest, especially after what just happened. But there’s no clear limit to my feelings, no line I know I’m not about to cross.

He’s here, right in front of me. Not upstairs, talking to someone else. Laughing with someone else. Touching someone else. Fucking someone else. Doing all the things I want him only to do with me.

“Hey, Rylan.” Harlow gives me a friendly smile, fracturing the awkward pause of me just staring at Aidan. “You leaving?”

“Hi, Harlow. I—um…” I’m still frozen. “No. I just needed some air.”

She nods. “Good. It’s nice to see you. I love your skirt.”

“Thanks,” I manage to say. Realize I’m blocking the doorway and finally unfreeze, stepping out of the way.

Predictably, there’s a roar of noise as everyone in the living room realizes who just arrived. Conor flashes me a grin as he passes by. Hunter’s smile is more reserved, but it’s there. And then Aidan appears, looming in the doorway.

My mouth goes dry at the sight of him.

He’s wearing my favorite flannel—when I memorized his wardrobe, I’m not really sure—a dark green and black checkered print that emphasizes the color of his eyes. And that green gaze is aimed directly at me. He’s ignoring his friends. Ignoring the people shouting his name as they register his arrival.

I swallow twice, my tongue thick and useless in my mouth. He crowds me to shut the door, his smell intoxicating.

“You okay?” There’s a concerned wrinkle between his eyes as he studies me, like I’m a puzzle he’s trying to decode.

“Yeah. I’m okay.”

“Didn’t think you’d be here. Seemed like you were hanging out with your folks tonight.”

“My dad goes to bed by ten, so…”

“You should have texted. I could have picked you up.”

“It’s not a far walk.”

His gaze sharpens. “You walked? By yourself?”

I like his annoyance way, way too much. Love that he cares.

“Yeah. How did the rest of the PeeWee practice go?”

Aidan deliberates, obviously deciding whether to let the topic of me walking go. Finally, he answers, a smile creeping across his face that tells me the answer before he does. “Not bad, actually.”

“I’m glad.”

Someone bumps into him from behind. Aidan doesn’t even glance to see who. He acts like this is exactly what he wanted, invading my personal space until all I can see is him.

“You want a drink?” he murmurs.

I shake my head, then head for the stairs.

I’m already drunk on him.