Chapter 12

twelve

A DANGEROUS GAME

T he first thing I notice when I start to wake up is how warm and comfortable I am.

The second is the low throb in my head that promises to intensify as soon as I open my eyes.

We’re going to put that off for as long as humanly possible.

I arch my back trying to stretch my body out and arms I hadn’t noticed tighten around me. One around my waist, a large hand resting against my stomach, the other between my tits. My whole body freezes and I feel something very hard pressing against my ass and I definitely just rubbed myself all over it.

What in the world have I done?

Whoever is behind me holds me tighter, their hand between my tits brushing against one of my nipples and there’s nothing sneaky or stealthy about the way I jump out of the bed and away from the stranger who just touched me.

What could have been a quick getaway is ruined by the dumb sheet getting wrapped up between my legs and rather than fleeing the scene of the crime, I go tumbling and crashing off the bed and hit the floor with a loud thud .

“Emery,” a husky masculine voice lined with sleep calls in a panic as I groan.

I crack my eyes open to find Xander’s grinning face looming above me from the bed. Oh man, that hurts. My head, my butt, my pride. Everything.

I close my eyes. Maybe if I can’t see it, it isn’t happening.

“Still here, brat,” Xander laughs like he can read my mind.

“Everything hurts,” I cry, my throat feeling like I swallowed gravel and my mouth tastes like day old roadkill.

“I bet,” he agrees, he leans over, offering me his hand to help me get up. “How much of last night do you remember?”

Bits and pieces come back to me. Becca took us to Torryn’s bar and I was scared shitless when we walked in, but all she did was wink at me when she saw me. Chelsea and Becca kept giving me shots and Megan kept handing me water. And then…

Xander and Megan talking and then being carried out of the bar.

“Oh my god.” Color drains from my face as I search around me for my phone. “I never texted my dad or brothers. They’re going to kill me.” Each word drives spears of pain into my skull but my panic is greater than my pain.

“Breathe,” Xander commands, pulling my phone off a charger next to his bed and handing it to me. “I texted them and your friend, Becca, that you were all good.”

I breathe, collapsing into his bed with a sigh of relief. “You did?”

“I’ve got your back, Em.”

I flop back onto his pillows, closing my eyes and wishing a hole would open in the ground and just swallow me up.

“Tequila is the devil,” I curse, trying to remember what happened after he carried me out of the bar, but nothing is coming to me. “I remember being carried out of the bar,” I admit in a whisper. I steal one of his pillows to smother myself with, making him cackle. Jerk.

He pulls it off my face. “It wasn’t that bad. I brought you back here to keep an eye on you. You threw up a couple of times and then went to sleep.”

I groan, trying to steal the pillow back. Death would be more merciful than this recap. He keeps it for himself, tucking it behind his head and lays back. “How are you feeling?”

“Like crap,” I answer.

He nods in solidarity, but he looks way too fine to be feeling half as miserable as I do. “Sleep for a couple more hours and then I’ll get some greasy food into your stomach.”

The thought of food makes my stomach turn and I curl my lips in disgust, but he just stares at me with amusement written all over his stupid smug face. “Just trust me.”

Sleep at least does sound good. I yawn, but lord. “I need to brush my teeth.” I did not need to be told I puked last night.

“There’s an extra toothbrush on the counter,” he says. “Just be quiet. No one else is awake yet.”

Or is aware that I’m here and we’d both like to keep it that way.

I rush into the hallway, noticing for the first time I’m no longer in my jean skirt, but instead an oversized t-shirt I have to assume is Xander’s. I make quick work of brushing my teeth, washing my face, though I’m surprised to find my face already mostly clear of makeup.

I already feel slightly better, but my head pounds with every step I take. Another few hours of sleep sounds too good to pass up even if crawling back into bed with Alexander Channing is the very top on the list of bad ideas. We can still blame the tequila, right?

With all my focus on the idea of escaping back into sleep, I don’t notice anyone in the hallway until I nearly mow down Torryn and a squeak of surprise escapes me.

She smirks, arching her brow as her gaze lingers on Xander’s shirt.

“This isn’t what it looks like,” I stammer in a poor attempt at a defense.

Her smirk turns into a grin. “It isn’t you sleeping in Xander’s shirt after I had to call him to come pick you up because you got absolutely trashed in my bar?”

Okay fair. I shrug. “I guess it is exactly what it looks like then.”

She hums her acknowledgement and I notice she’s naked for the first time.

“Why are you naked?” I ask, stupefied.

She crosses her arms in front of her chest, her eyes flicking to Xander’s door. “You know what they say about glass houses.”

I gasp. “I stayed not naked.”

“Not naked?” Her lips twitch and maybe the tequila really is still having more of an effect than I initially thought.

I wave her off. “I’m going back to bed,” I grumble, pausing just before I get to his door. “Thanks for calling him, Tor.” I don’t want to think about what may have happened if I had stayed in that bar for any longer.

“Just be careful, Em,” she responds, but she does not have to worry. I will not be drinking for the foreseeable future. This feeling is awful and last night wasn’t even fun. “The guys are already speculating who the mystery girl Xander is all wrapped in.”

I stop dead in my tracks, spinning on my heel. “Mystery girl?”

She gives me a look that makes it seem like she’s asking if I’m serious. “The girl he seems to be texting all day every day recently, making him smile at his phone like an idiot, and talking on the phone with when no one is home, and now picking up drunk from bars.”

It takes longer than it should for me to realize she means me. “Me?” I ask stupidly, and the look she gives me makes sure I know she agrees with me. “Oh no. No mystery. Just friends. All friendly here,” I stammer, my words tripping over themselves the way they do when I’m nervous and I cringe.

“Baylor and I used to say that too.”

My face heats and I’m already shaking my head in denial. “Yeah, but we aren’t sleeping together,” I hiss.

She looks me up and down.

“Not like that!” I argue. I can’t believe I’m arguing with a naked person in the middle of the hallway. I really need to go back to sleep.

“Whatever you say, girly. Just giving you a heads up.”

I have no more words for her, so I do the only thing I can, tuck tail and run. Xander is sitting up in his bed, checking something on his phone while waiting for me to get back.

Not even hesitating, I crawl back under the covers and try not to think too hard about what Torryn just said. “I understand why Baylor is so obsessed with Tor’s tits,” I say.

Xander snorts, tossing his phone in the side table and settling back into his pillows at my side. “She doing one of her exhibition walks to the bathroom?”

The nonchalant question makes me scoff, but somehow I’m not surprised. “She does that a lot?”

He shrugs. “Often enough.”

I blow out a breath, a little jealous of how comfortable she is in her own body. She didn’t even flinch when I checked her out. “I wish I had that type of confidence.”

“You have more than enough reason to be confident, Em,” Xander says softly, turning on his side to face me. “But I’d prefer not to have to live through knowing so many people have seen you naked.”

The possessive undertone to that statement makes me feel like I’m glowing, but I don’t say anything about it. Letting my eyes drift shut to fall back asleep. Just as I’m almost out, I swear I feel a soft kiss pressed against my forehead, but maybe I dreamed it.

This time when I wake up, Xander isn’t wrapped around me. He isn’t even in bed with me anymore and I have to push away the disappointment I feel at that realization. Somehow, I feel better and yet almost worse as I open my eyes.

Hungover is something I never want to experience again.

The bedroom door opens and Xander walks in carrying two mugs of hot coffee. “Morning, sleepyhead,” he teases, the taunt somehow softer. The nickname tugs at some memory I have to assume is from last night, but stays out of my grasp.

He hands me one of the cups and I take a deep drink, the heat scalding down my throat burning away some of the discomfort already. “Thanks,” I say, after I take a few more sips.

He nods and passes a couple painkillers and a glass of water. “You’ll need these.”

“Does your head always feel like this every time you drink?”

“Only when you attempt to drink your weight in tequila.”

I chug the water down before switching back to my coffee. “Never again,” I vow.

He shakes his head, leaning against the wall and sipping on his own coffee. His muscles on full display as he has still yet to find a shirt to put on. “That’s what they all say,” he drawls, but I don’t remember what we’re even talking about.

“My eyes are up here, brat.”

My face heats and I can feel the flush all the way to the tip of my ears as my eyes snap to his face only to find him looking rather smug that he caught me checking him out.

“You ever need a model, you let me know,” he offers, smirking, his blue eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

I use his shirt to cover my face in my mortification, but it only makes him chuckle more. “Don’t you worry, I got my own mental snapshots last night.”

I pull the shirt off my face, glaring at him. “What does that mean?”

“Don’t you worry about it.”

Ugh. He probably means he’ll never forget me puking. What a way to make an impression on your crush.

Something about that thought feels familiar and oh no. My mouth parts open in shock and horror as more of the fog lifts and I remember Xander trying to make me feel better as I pressed my cheek against the toilet seat and mumbled that I bet he had never puked on his crush before.

Did he hear me?

Did I puke on him?

I don’t know which outcome I’m more scared to find out.

“Did I vomit all over you last night?”

His head is thrown back with the force of his laugh and that is answer enough, unfortunately. I’ll never recover from this. Tequila, thy are my enemy. My nemesis. I will never forgive you.

Xander wipes under his eyes as if he was crying from laughing so hard. “That’s not what I was talking about.”

I push my bottom lip out, giving him a dirty look.

“Ah,” he sighs, leaning down to brush his thumb over my lip, “that’s what I was talking about. All the cute expressions you make. How sweet you were when you were drunk.”

“I’m always sweet,” I argue, meeting his eyes as I open my mouth and catch his thumb with my teeth .

He snorts, but if I’m not mistaken, heat fills his eyes. “Sweet and spicy maybe.” This thing between us–whatever it is–feels like it’s shifting once more. Torryn’s words echo in my mind.

“I’ll take it,” I say, releasing his thumb.

“Good,” his hand smacks down on my thigh. “Now get up so we can go eat. I’m starving.” I don’t feel any better about throwing up all over the guy I still want to be in denial about falling for, but at least I’m starting to feel partially more human. My stomach growls as if in agreement.

“Tor left you some clothes too.”

Hmm, I don’t think her clothes are going to fit me. As if he can read my mind, he clarifies. “They’re Isla’s. Torryn didn’t tell her what they were for though.”

As innocent as last night was, it feels like we’re sneaking around. Like there’s something between us that we should be hiding.

“Thanks, Xan,” I say before he gives me the room to change, adding, “for everything.” Just before he closes the door.

The rest of the day passes by too quickly.

We both had our own things we should have been doing, but after breakfast, I helped him pack for our trip after he promised to return the favor. We didn’t have to spend the whole day together, but neither one of us wanted to be the first one to say goodbye.

We had plans to meet up tonight anyways, so does it really make that much of a difference?

“You should pack this?” he says, pulling a baby blue bikini Becca bought me for my birthday over summer out of my drawer.

Okay, it definitely makes a difference. He’s already convinced me to pack several things I had no intention of bringing to the island. But this? Don’t be ridiculous. “For what? Kindling for the bonfire once my brothers see it?”

He shrugs. “They’ll adapt. They did for your outfit from last night. Ballsy to post by the way.”

Do I admit I only did it because I wanted him to see how good I looked? He already told me a little bit about their reactions when they saw the photos I put up. And about Colby standing up for me.

“Can you imagine how long Tate would talk for if I was standing in front of him though? That text was brutal enough.”

He can’t argue, and he doesn't try to. “It’d be worth it.”

“For you,” I retort.

He tosses it onto the pile of stuff to be packed on my bed. “That’s who I’m arguing for.”

I ignore him, but I don’t take it out of the pile, which is exactly why he keeps doing it. My dad is going to wonder why I need a whole extra bag than what I normally bring.

“Is your dad going to make it to the game tonight?” Xander asks and I check the time, realizing he should be home any minute now.

I finish shoving the last few things into a packing cube and throw it on top of my suitcase as I start to look around for my Westbrook hockey jersey. “He probably should skip it, but he won’t. Not with how many games he’s missed this season.”

Coaching professionally means he has to travel a lot, but some seasons line up better than others. This season has been a rough one for him and he won’t miss one of the rare games he has the chance to attend .

“Don’t take it personally when I don’t talk to you tonight,” he teases. “I’ll have my favorite hockey partner with me.”

I roll my eyes. “First, I’m telling Tate you said that. Second, you know very well my dad won’t be sitting with us for longer than two seconds before he’s being pulled in this direction and that.”

When you’re in the hockey world, everyone wants a piece of a hockey legend like my dad. Every time I see it I can’t help but wonder what my mom thought every time it happened.

My dad is one of the goofiest people I’ve ever met and my mom always called him her cinnamon roll. And yet, people always think of him as this fierce hockey player. It’s hard to reconcile the legend with the dad I grew up with.

“Guess I’m stuck with you after all,” he drawls and I stick my tongue out at him. I find my jersey and pull it on over my jeans. I’m wearing Zac’s number tonight, mostly because it’s the one that I found first. I do try and alternate between both of their numbers though. Not that I think either of them ever notice.

“Maybe I’ll ditch you for Colby. Oh, I need to text her. Can you pass me my phone?”

He huffs but grabs it from the charger next to my bed, muttering how it wouldn’t be the first time but I continue to ignore him.

“Speaking of your phone,” Xander starts, pinning me with a narrow eyed gaze. “Why is my name in your phone knight in training?”

So he saw that? I thought it was rather clever. He wanted to be my knight so damn bad. “That’s what you called yourself,” I answer easily.

“Not the training part,” he argues, the real reason he’s even asking about the name.

I raise a brow at him. “And what am I in your phone? ”

He tries to keep a straight face, he really tries, but his lips twitch and pull up into a cocky grin. “Brat.”

I wave my hand in front of me. “And that’s why you’re still in training.”

“I’ve saved you twice now,” he points out and I hear the front door open.

I pat Xander on the shoulder. “And yet you’re still in training,” I console, heading out of my room in search of my dad.

“I’ll show you training,” he mutters, following me out. His hand trails over the top of my back, from one shoulder to the next. “But this’ll be the last time you’re not wearing my name across your back.”

Before I can process what he’s saying, he’s pushing past me and welcoming my dad home and congratulating him on his wins.

My dad doesn’t even bat an eye over Xander being here when he knows both the boys are already at the arena. Maybe it’s not as weird as it feels for us to really be friends.

But are we?