1. Tessa

Never in my life did I expect to be attending a fancy-as-hell party like this. Glitz and glam aren't really for me. I function best at home in my pajamas, pretending I'm not emotionally attached to my couch.

Cozy and comfortable are my middle names, so why I'm currently walking into a skyrise apartment wearing a skintight glittery red dress is beyond me. I'd much rather be at my house alone than surrounded by people I've never met and don't share interests with.

"Relax, Tessa."

"I am relaxed," I tell my best friend, the evil woman who dragged me to this party.

"How tightly you're squeezing my arm tells me otherwise."

I look down at where my fingers are wrapped around Piper's arm, and based on how white my knuckles are and how red her skin is, she's right. I'm not relaxed. I am so far from relaxed it's not even funny.

"Sorry," I mutter. "It's just…" I wave my free hand. "This. It's a lot. And I feel weird in this dress."

"Well, that's ridiculous. You look Jessica Rabbit with all that gorgeous red hair of yours."

"Exactly, I look like a cartoon."

"A hot cartoon." She winks. "The guys are going to have their tongues hanging out of their mouths when they see you."

"I'm not interested, Piper. I'm nursing a broken heart."

My best friend has, hands down, one of the coolest jobs…if you're into hockey, that is. Unfortunately, I'm not, so I'm not overly impressed that she works with hockey players daily as part of their social media team. It's a dream job for her, though, so when she asked me to be her date for their annual beginning-of-the-season party, I couldn't tell her no.

"It was six months of your life, and Bryan was an ass. You'll get over him soon enough. Besides, you know how the saying goes: if you're heartbroken, find a new dick to ride."

I snort out a laugh. "I really don't think that's a saying at all."

"It sounds good to me." She shrugs. "This party is crawling with hot, eligible guys. Find one."

"You know these guys aren't my type. I'm in?—"

"Into sad, mopey, emo boys who write poetry and like silent artistic films." She lifts her brown eyes skyward. "I know, but look how that's turned out."

I groan because she's right. I definitely have a type, but it's not escaped my notice that every relationship I've ever had has failed. You'd think I'd take that as a sign to find a different type, but I always drift back to what's familiar then get bummed when the sex is stale and it doesn't work out.

"I can introduce you to a few guys I work with on the social media team, or even a few trainers. Some of them are a bit older but hot." She bounces her brows.

"I think I can manage to find someone on my own, but I appreciate the support."

She shrugs. "Your loss." A grin pulls at her lips. "Or my gain."

I laugh, letting her tug me inside the elevator. Piper digs into her tiny purse, pulls out a compact mirror, and checks her makeup even though it's flawless.

"You're gorgeous. Stop fussing with it."

She snaps the case closed then drops it back into her purse. "Thank you, but you're my best friend—you have to tell me that."

"No, as your best friend, it's my duty to tell you when you don't look gorgeous."

"Yeah, but you never tell me when that happens."

"That's because you always look gorgeous." I bump her hip with mine, grinning at her.

She's like the heroines in movies who always wake up with perfect makeup and hair and never look at all disheveled.

She rolls her eyes just as the doors slide open, and my breath catches in my throat at the view in front of me. There's a vast glass spread with double doors leading out to the party. It's easily the grandest entrance to a rooftop I've ever seen.

"Damn." Piper lets out a low whistle. "This is nice."

"I already feel out of place."

"I work with these people, and I agree."

The second she pushes the doors open, I'm assaulted by the music thrumming through the speakers. It's loud but not unbearable, and I'm thankful for that. The only thing I hate more than going out is going somewhere so loud you can't hear what the person standing next to you is saying.

"Drinks?" Piper asks.

"Lots of them. Stat."

She shakes her head at me with a smile, fully aware of my distaste for crowds, then pulls me along to the bar on the other side of the roof.

Piper nods and smiles at several people as we weave our way through the crowd, but she doesn't stop, in hot pursuit of alcohol.

"Two Cosmos, please," Piper says to the bartender when we reach the bar.

He nods then busies himself with making our cocktails.

I turn back toward the party to take it all in. The decor is upscale with tall tables scattered about, sophisticated-looking centerpieces adorning each. There are lanterns strung up around the perimeter of the space and a cute little photo booth off to one side that two couples are currently occupying, taking goofy photos with props. Then there's the city as the backdrop, the moon appearing to be so close you'd swear you'd be able to touch it if you were to reach out.

But the party isn't the only thing I notice. It's the people too. Each person's outfit looks as expensive as my rent, and they're all sipping out of real glasses and not plastic cups. There's a mix of beautiful women and equally beautiful men, but the guys are what stand out. Nearly all of them are giants, easily over six feet, which feels enormous compared to my five feet and three inches. Their jaws are sharp, their muscles look like they're about to bust out of their shirts, and I swear I've seen at least two of them on the cover of a romance novel.

"This is…"

"Incredible, right?" my best friend finishes for me. "And it's all paid for by the team captain."

She points toward the attractive man sitting on the other side of the roof, spread out on the couch. His arm is slung across the back, and a woman with dark hair is snuggled up against him, looking up at him like he hung the moon.

"That's Lowell," Piper tells me. "He's the captain." She points to the woman next to him. "That's his baby mama, Hollis. And that…" She shifts the focus to another couple. "That's Wright and Harper, then Rhodes and Ryan. Miller and his lady, Scout. Next to them are Greer and Stevie. They just started dating earlier this year, but it's serious. Then, of course, Fitz and…"

She rattles off several more names and some positions. I do my best to pay attention, but keeping up is hard. I highly doubt I'm going to remember a single person after tonight. This isn't my scene, and I don't plan on changing that any time soon.

"And that guy right there is Ford."

My eyes follow her finger, and there's no mistaking the stuttered breath that leaves me when I see the person she's talking about staring right at us.

No. That's not right.

He's staring right at me.

"He's new to the team—a trade from Toronto during the summer—but he's already making a big splash on the social media pages, and I can see why. I swear, sometimes the way he looks at the camera makes my panties melt, and I see these hot guys daily, so I'm basically immune at this point."

I don't blame her. I can't imagine how anyone in the world couldbe immune to this man.

His jaw is chiseled and strong and covered in stubble. His nose is slightly crooked, like he's been hit there once or twice. His brows are perfectly shaped, and his lips are full—kissable even. His dark hair is styled perfectly, not a single hair out of place, and his crisp gray dress shirt is unbuttoned just enough that you can see his chest hair peeking out. I've never really been into chest hair before, but I'm hit with the sudden urge to run my finger through it.

Even though I'm standing on the opposite side of the roof, I can see his eyes from here.

Blue.

A bright, piercing blue.

The kind of blue you could get lost in for days.

And maybe…just maybe…I wouldn't mind getting lost in them.

"Here you go, ladies," the bartender says, pulling my attention from the man still staring at me.

I try to ignore him as I turn around and grab my drink. I pull a few dollars from my small clutch, drop them into his tip jar, and sip my cocktail.

"Oh crap," Piper mutters, and I look in the direction of where she's currently shooting daggers.

Some guy is standing at the double doors, bumping fists with a few others before sticking his hands into his pockets. He looks this way as if he can feel us staring at him. The second he spots Piper, a grin curls at the corners of his lips. It's one of those expressions that's a little sinister but somehow still hot.

I don't miss the way my best friend reacts to it. She likes him—a lot.

"Who is that?"

"That's Steele, the guy I've been telling you about."

"The player who is constantly ruining your shots?" She nods. "Well, you didn't mention Steele is hot."

"Oh, I didn't?" She clamps her bottom lip between her teeth, but only for a moment. Then she's straightening her back and tossing her long dark hair over her shoulder. "That's because his assholery surpasses his looks."

"Right. Sure."

I don't believe her for a second. She didn't tell me about him because it's obvious she's into him—big time.

"I'm going to go talk to him. Get it over with, you know? Then I can enjoy my night."

"Makes total sense."

"Stop smiling at me like that." She narrows her eyes, which makes me smile even wider. "Stop it."

"What? I'm not smiling at you. I'm just smiling. Smiling is my favorite."

"Okay, Buddy the Elf." She rolls her eyes, and I'm not sure if it's at me or due to her distaste for Will Ferrell and Christmas movies, but either way, it makes me laugh. "I'll be right back."

I watch as she sashays across the rooftop party, heading directly for the hockey player she supposedly hates. His demeanor changes the moment she approaches, and it becomes abundantly clear to me that he's just as into her as she is into him.

"Who are we watching?"

I startle at the sudden intrusion then look to my right where the voice came from, stumbling back when my eyes collide with those same baby blues.

The man reaches out, grabbing my arm to steady me, and my skin feels like it's on fire the moment he touches me. It's like his fingers have a direct link to my soul, and I'm burning alive from the inside out.

He's staring down at me with a look that makes me feel like he's on the hunt for something…for someone.

I roll my tongue along my dry lips. "Excuse me?"

The corners of his eyes crinkle, and one side of his mouth kicks up in a smirk that should be illegal because it has no business being so damn hot.

What is wrong with me? Since when do I find hockey players attractive?

"You were watching someone intently," he says. "I was curious who."

I glance down to where he's still touching me. He follows my gaze then slowly pulls his hand away, but it's almost like he doesn't want to pull his hand away.

Honestly, I don't think I want him to either because I miss his touch the moment he does.

"So, who are we watching?" he asks again, his deep voice sliding over me, touching me in places I'm not expecting, like right between my legs.

"My friend."

He brings his tumbler to his lips, sipping on the amber liquid inside as he lifts his brow, silently asking me to elaborate.

"She pretends she hates this guy, but she doesn't. It's painfully obvious she's attracted to him." I slam my hand over my mouth, surprised I just put my best friend's business out there to a total stranger. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have told you that. You're a stranger. I don't even know you."

His eyes narrow briefly before he says, "Ford."

"Huh?"

"I'm Ford. But I assume you knew that already."

Those damn azure eyes are piercing into me. They're mesmerizing. And distracting. Like make-my-head-fuzzy kind of distracting.

I swallow thickly. "I…did. I knew that."

His kissable lips twitch slightly. "Well, now that you know my name, we're not strangers." He winks. "Is that your friend? The one talking to Steele?"

I nod. "That's her."

"She works for the team, right?"

"Yes. The social media department."

"And you? Do you work for the team?"

I shake my head. "N-No."

His grin widens. "Good."

"G-Good?"

"Good."

I don't know why it's good. I want to ask him, but I'm afraid of his answer.

So instead of asking for clarification, I change the subject. "So, you play for the Comets, right?"

He nods. "I do. But you already knew that too."

Heat rushes to my cheeks. He must have been paying more attention to me than I thought.

"I might have heard something," I mutter, bringing my drink to my lips and gulping it down quickly. I set the empty glass on the bar.

"Another?" the bartender asks.

"Please," I reply.

Ford chuckles, and it's a soft yet deep sound. I like it. He shakes his now empty tumbler at the bartender, who nods, acknowledging his silent request for another drink.

"So," Ford says, "you know my name. Do I get to know yours?"

"It's Tessa."

"Tessa," he repeats, like he's testing it out. "What brings you here tonight, Tessa?"

"Piper."

"The friend, right?"

"Yes. It's a company party, and she works for the team, so…"

"So you came to be a supportive friend?"

The bartender slides our fresh drinks over, and I don't miss it when Ford slips a twenty in the man's jar. I like that he does that.

"Exactly."

"But you don't really want to be here, do you?"

A laugh escapes me. "Is it that obvious?"

"Well, when you walked in, you were scowling, and that's pretty much a dead giveaway."

He saw me walk in?

"Of course I saw you walk in," he says.

Crap. I must have said that out loud.

Ford leans down, his lips barely brushing against my ear. The slight touch sends a shiver through me. "You're hard to miss in a dress like that."

I tug at the hem of said dress, pulling it down, trying to cover my bare legs. I don't usually wear anything this short, but I felt feisty last week when I picked it out.

A hand lands on top of mine, and I halt my movements.

"Don't," he instructs quietly.

So, I don't. I stop fussing with the fabric. Instead, I put my hands to better use and pick up my drink, taking a big gulp. I feel Ford's eyes on me the entire time, just like I feel my body heat up and my palms get sweaty, even against my cool glass.

It's him. I know it is.

"Is it just you and Piper here tonight, Tessa?"

I nod.

It's dumb. I'm dumb. I shouldn't tell this man I'm here alone.

But I do it anyway.

"Good," he says again.

This time, when he says it, it sounds like a promise.

A promise of what, I don't know.

But whatever it is, I hope he keeps it.