2. Stella

The front porch of the hockey house is strung with colorful lights that blink in the darkness, giving the dilapidated old Victorian a festive appearance. There's a six-foot evergreen shoved in the corner. It's decorated with pucks and white hockey stick tape. Upon closer inspection, there are also metal beer caps with holes punched at the top and threaded with string that dangles from branches.

Even though the windows are closed to keep out the frigid air, music pours from the house. It could be heard from down the block where we parked. Riggs wasn't kidding when he said the guys were throwing a party. From the looks of it, half the university showed up to help celebrate how well the team is doing this season. Everyone's excited for them to make it to the Frozen Four and bring home another championship title.

Go Wildcats!

Ever since Riggs started playing hockey in first grade, I've been a diehard fan. I've only missed a handful of games over the years and love watching him on the ice. He looks larger than life on skates and with the shoulder pads. His dark hair, longer than usual, peeks out from the back of his helmet.

It's sexy.

As soon as a shiver dances down my spine, I shove those disturbing thoughts from my head and refocus my attention on my date. Nick keeps pace with me as I ground to a halt outside the front door. I'm more than ready to say goodnight.

This date has turned out to be a total bust.

I give it two out of five stars along with a solid would not recommend.

Only wanting to put an end to this evening, I mentioned several times on the way over that he didn't need to walk me to the door, but he insisted.

Nick nods toward the house as he shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "So, you live here?"

"Nope. A pipe burst in my apartment this morning, so I'm staying with a friend for a couple days." My fingers wrap around the door handle as I pop it open a few inches. "I mentioned it earlier when you picked me up."

His gaze flickers my way before he cranes his neck to get a better look at the mayhem ensuing inside. "Oh, yeah. Right. Must have slipped my mind."

Or you just didn't care enough to pay attention.

Instead of inviting him inside, I force a smile. It took less than fifteen minutes in his company to realize it wasn't going to work out. The only thing we have in common is that we're both hockey fans. But there's zero attraction to speak of. He's the exact opposite of what I'm usually attracted to.

Full disclosure—this little experiment was intentional on my part.

Last month, I noticed that all the guys I normally go for all have a similar vibe. They're muscular athletes with dark, messy hair that's a tad too long. It wasn't until I took a step back and analyzed the situation that I realized they all resembled my bestie.

So, I decided to look for someone who was the complete opposite.

Unfortunately, that backfired.

Now I just want to say goodbye and find Riggs. I'm sure he'll laugh his ass off when I admit how sucky tonight was. Although, I certainly won't be telling him the reason why.

I should probably get off these dating apps.

Clearly, they're not working.

"So, this was nice. Thanks for walking me to the door…" My voice trails off, hoping he'll get the hint that tonight is officially over. At least it is for us. Although, he hasn't picked up on any of the subtle clues I've been dropping like breadcrumbs so I'm not sure why I'm expecting something different now.

"Yeah, it was definitely a good time." Instead of meeting my gaze, he stares past me through the crack in the door before laying his palm against the thick wood and shoving it farther open. His eyes widen as he points. "Hey, isn't that Ryder McAdams?"

I glance inside the living room and find the blond defenseman. "Yeah, it is. Do you know him?"

His gaze flickers to mine for a second as he shakes his head. "No, but I'm a huge fan."

Of course you are.

A sigh escapes from me.

This is one of the reasons I don't advertise that I'm friends with Riggs Stranton. Or that my brother is Brody McKinnon. I got enough of that when I was growing up. People who only wanted to befriend me in order to get closer to them. I want to be liked for me. Not because my brother played in the NHL for more than a decade. Or my bestie has the possibility of turning pro in the not-so-distant future.

"Wait a minute…is this the hockey house? Is that where you're staying?" His voice escalates with every word.

"Yup, my friend is on the team," I reluctantly admit.

He perks up and nearly shouts, "Well, why didn't you say so? Now you can introduce me to all the guys. How could you forget to mention something so important?" He shakes his head.

"What?" Before I can tell him that wasn't in the cards tonight, Nick pushes past me. More music and voices drift out to the porch as I stare after him.

Irritated by the turn tonight has taken, I reluctantly step inside and close the front door. A dozen or so of the guys are wearing Santa hats and ugly sweaters. Colby McNichols has a red hat along with a big white beard, minus the festive sweater. He's lounging on a chair with a girl perched on his lap. She's stroking her hands over his bare chest. The guy looks like he was carved from marble.

That's not an exaggeration.

There's a line of girls waiting patiently for their turn on his lap as if he's actually Santa Clause.

It's tempting to shake my head.

Colby has to be one of the biggest flirts on this campus.

And the dimples…

My god the dimples.

My heart has actually melted when they've been flashed in my direction, and I'd like to think I'm made of sterner stuff.

My gaze skims over the sea of students before landing on Riggs. He's a little bit taller at six foot three than most of the people who surround him. A good number of them are girls vying for his attention. The moment our gazes fasten, a wide smile breaks out across his face before he lifts a hand to wave. Something unwanted warms my chest before spreading outward.

His gaze flickers to the guy I'm reluctantly trailing behind before he pops a brow. I roll my eyes and shake my head, silently pleading with him not to ask.

Nick's mouth falls open as he grounds to a halt. "Holy shit! Is that Riggs Stranton? I love that dude!"

Before I can respond, he practically shoves me out of his way and plows through the thick crowd until he reaches the dark-haired defenseman. I end up knocking into a girl just as she's about to take a drink from her red cup. Half of the golden liquid gets dumped down the front of the reindeer T-shirt that clings to her like a second skin.

My face heats as I mutter an apology and shimmy past her. When I glance at Riggs for a second time, he's grinning ear to ear and his broad shoulders are shaking with amusement.

With gritted teeth, I reluctantly trail after my date until I reach my bestie. He's already being bombarded with a flurry of questions.

Even after I arrive, Nick doesn't bother to acknowledge my presence.

Or apologize for pushing me out of the way.

What a jerk.

Riggs' steady gaze stays locked on mine as Nick continues to fangirl. Just in case you're wondering, second-hand embarrassment is a real thing. At this very moment, I'm being eaten alive by it. I can already tell by Riggs' smirk that I won't be hearing the end of this for a while.

When Nick launches into a game from a couple weeks ago where Riggs scored two goals in quick succession, I mutter, "I'm going to grab a drink." I need to get away from this guy before I totally lose it. With any luck, he'll be gone when I return.

Although, that's probably wishful thinking on my part. From the looks of him, he's in heaven. He might never leave the house.

In a shocking twist I didn't see coming, Nick finally glances my way. "That would be great. Could you grab one for me, too?"

My death stare has absolutely no effect on him.

With that, he dismisses me before pelting Riggs with more questions about the hockey team.

"Sure, no problem," I mutter, swinging away and heading for the kitchen where a makeshift bar is set up.

On the way, I pass by Juliette and pull her in for a quick hug. She's technically my niece, but we're more like cousins or even sisters since we're the same age and grew up together. Ryder, her boyfriend, has a brawny arm slung around her shoulders. Now that they're officially an item, he never lets her stray too far.

Carina, Juliette's roommate, is also here with her boyfriend, Ford. They're a newly minted couple who have been together for a handful of weeks. Others might be surprised that the ex-stepsiblings are now dating but not me. I had the sneaking suspicion by the way he'd tease her mercilessly that his feelings for her ran deep.

When Ford leans in to nip at her bottom lip, Carina nearly melts into a puddle of goo.

And who can blame her?

Ford Hamilton is hot with mahogany-colored hair, golden, honey-colored eyes, and muscles for miles.

As good looking as Ford is, he doesn't hold a candle to Riggs, who also has rich brown hair, although his is a little shaggier. He should have had a trim a couple weeks ago, but I like the length. His face is made up of sharp angles that hint at the Russian heritage on his mother's side. His body is just as chiseled from working out and skating six days a week.

Over the last decade, I've seen him grow from gangly boy into droolworthy man. As much as I don't want to notice, it would be impossible not to. And I'm certainly not the only one. I'm more than aware of how the girls on this campus clamor for his attention.

I certainly can't blame them for wanting to get closer to the hunky defenseman.

Even when it feels like I'm being eaten up with jealousy.

As soon as that sly thought pops into my brain, I shove it away before greeting a couple of the guys from the team. Wolf Westerville, Madden Caruso, Hayes Van Doren, and Bridger Sanderson. Bridger's got a black Western Wildcats hockey ballcap pulled low over his eyes. For the past month or so, unsavory texts have been popping up on the university message system that gets blasted out to both staff and students. Ever since then, he's been trying to keep a low profile.

Maverick, Juliette's brother, and my nephew, pulls me in for a hug. We've always been close too. He's more like a brother than anything else. Just like Ryder, he'll end up playing for the NHL after college. Especially with his father, Brody, carefully guiding his career.

After grabbing two bottles of beer from the fridge, I make my way back to the living room. It's tempting to ditch Nick, but how can I leave Riggs with that stage-five clinger?

My shoulders droop, because the answer is that I can't.

Just as I pass a short hallway that leads to the first-floor bathroom, strong fingers wrap around my bicep and tug me into the darkness. My heart jolts at the unexpected contact as I'm hauled against a broad chest. In the shadowiness of the hall, I find myself staring up into Rigg's chocolate-colored depths. They're so dark in their intensity.

His gaze burns into mine as air gets clogged in my lungs.

This kind of unwanted reaction has been happening with more frequency.

Even worse than that—I have no idea how to make it stop.

I open my mouth to say something—anything—but not a single sound escapes.

"I couldn't take the questions anymore, so I ditched the guy."

The low notes of his voice scrape something deep inside my belly. It takes effort to shake off the fog that's trying to cocoon its way around me.

"Is that why you're here, lurking in the shadows?"

"Yup." He rips his gaze from mine long enough to scan the thick crowd of partiers. "Think there's any chance that he'll give up and go home?"

That question is enough to dissolve the confusing cocktail of emotions that flared to life at his close proximity. Even though I don't necessarily want to, I take a step in retreat so that we're no longer touching.

Only then does my heartbeat settle into a normal rhythm.

The last thing I want is to blur the lines of our friendship. We've been besties for way too many years to throw it away on a bit of sexual attraction. No matter how long I live, there will never be another friend like Riggs.

When his gaze resettles on mine and he continues to silently stare, I gesture toward the living room. "We should probably get back to the party."

His voice dips. "If that's what you want."

Heat pools in my core.

Maybe it's not what I want, but it's what I need.