Against All Odds (Holt Hockey Book 2)

I pull in a deep breath, already knowing I’ll regret this. Knock loudly.

“What?” Conor calls.

I tighten my grip on the silky fabric, then open his bedroom door. Hart is sitting at his desk, typing on his laptop. He spins around, a smirk spreading across his face as he registers what I’m holding.

I exhale, then hold the ties up. “Which color?”

Conor stares at me for a few seconds, then bends over, laughing.

“Cool, thanks for nothing.” I turn to go.

“Wait! I’m sorry, I just—” The asshole I call my best friend is still wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. “I just was not expecting you to show up in my room asking for fashion advice. Let me see the options again.”

I deliberate, decide I’ve come this far, then lift them up again.

Conor starts laughing again.

“Hart! For fuck’s sake, just pick one.”

“Okay. Blue, I guess.”

I glance at the navy tie. “I’m wearing black pants. Aren’t you not supposed to wear black and blue together?”

“Why? Because you’ll look like a bruise?”

I glare at his grin.

“Phillips, I’m the wrong person to ask.”

Probably true. Hart mostly wears a collection of Holt Hockey gear. But Hunter isn’t home, so he’s my only option.

Conor reaches for his phone. “I’ll call Harlow.”

“No, don’t—” I groan when it starts ringing. Chances I’ll ever hear the end of this just plummeted to zero. And she’ll probably tell Rylan, since they’re besties now.

“Hey, Hayes,” he says when Harlow answers. “Fashion question for you.”

Whatever Harlow replies with, it makes him smile.

“Not for me. Aidan needs help picking out the outfit he’s going to get buried in.”

I roll my eyes.

A pause.

“No, he’s feeling fine. But he’s going over to Coach’s house for dinner, and we’re not sure he’ll make it back alive.”

Asshole. As if I’m not nervous enough about tonight already.

Harlow says something.

“What are the choices? Um, blue or—” Conor squints. “Darker blue?”

“It’s green,” I tell him.

“Blue or green,” he relays to Harlow. Then asks me, “What else are you wearing?”

“What do you mean, what else am I wearing? It’s what I’m wearing.”

He looks me up and down, then tells Harlow. “Navy pants. White shirt.”

“They’re black, Hart. I just told you they were black.”

“Jesus, Phillips, calm the fuck down. You asked me for help, remember?”

Yup. And I knew I’d regret it.

“Harlow wants to know if you have navy pants,” he relays.

“What’s wrong with black pants?”

“Aidan wants to know what’s wrong with black pants,” Conor tells Harlow.

This is the most ridiculous game of Telephone ever.

I step forward. “Just give me the phone.”

Conor hands his cell over.

“Hi, Harlow,” I say.

“Hi, Aidan.” She sounds supremely amused. “I hear you’re getting dressed for your own funeral.”

“Yeah. And your boyfriend has been absolutely no help.”

Conor flips me off.

“He considers dressing up jeans instead of sweatpants, so you should have known that,” Harlow tells me.

True.

“Okay, so I have a green tie or a blue one.”

“Conor told me that much.”

“So, which one do I wear?”

“With black pants and a white shirt? Either way, you’ll look like a waiter.”

I groan, glancing down. This was the one part of my outfit I had decided on.

“And why are you wearing a tie? Rylan said you guys were going to her parents’ house.”

I rub my temple, feeling a headache coming on. “I’m trying to make a good impression.”

“Then you should go back in time and not sneak into their daughter’s hotel room.”

“That’s helpful, Harlow. Thanks.”

She laughs. “Wear jeans and a nice sweater. Something you’re more comfortable in.”

I exhale. “Okay, thanks.”

I hand Conor back his phone and then head toward the door.

“Phillips,” he calls after me.

“What?” I glance back.

Conor grins. “Good luck.”

I roll my eyes, then continue to my room to finish getting ready.

Rylan’s roommate Chloe is the one who answers the door.

“Hey, Aidan,” she says, greeting me with a smile.

“Hey.” I step inside the front hallway. “How’s it going, Chloe?”

“Not bad.” She glances toward the couch, where one of Rylan’s other roommates is sitting on the couch with her boyfriend. I can never remember the guy’s name, but I can’t stand him. Both times I’ve been around him, he’s checked Rylan out. “You?”

“Pretty good,” I reply.

Rylan appears a few seconds later, wearing one of those short skirts that drive me insane. She kisses me, says bye to her roommates, then pulls me down the front path toward where I parked my truck on the street.

I tug her to a stop before she reaches toward the door handle, caging her between my body and the bed of the truck.

Rylan quirks an eyebrow at me before running a hand down the center of my chest. I changed into jeans and a sweater, per Harlow’s advice.

“Something wrong?” she asks.

I shake my head, fishing my phone out of my pocket and pulling up the screenshot I took earlier before handing it over to her.

She scans the lines of text, her lips moving silently. “You passed?”

“I passed.”

More like decimated. I scored a ninety-three on my retake of the final.

Rylan perches up on her tiptoes, wrapping her arms around my neck. “I’m so proud of you,” she murmurs.

I’m proud of me too. Relieved, even though me graduating will actually complicate our relationship.

I take a deep breath, inhaling her scent. “Thank you,” I whisper.

“This was all you, Aidan. You knew the material already. You just needed to, you know, show that.”

“I wouldn’t have showed anything, if not for you.”

She rolls her eyes.

“I mean it. You encouraged me. Believed in me. That meant everything.”

Her expression softens before she kisses me again. “C’mon. We’re going to be late, and you already didn’t make a great first impression.” She smirks, then climbs into my truck.

I roll my eyes and head for the driver’s side.