10. Darcy

CHAPTER 10

DARCY

"That was a total disaster," I tell Hayden as we walk down the street, back to the apartment.

His brows shoot up in alarm. "What do you mean?" His eyes flash. "Did he make you uncomfortable? What did he say?" He glances behind us, at the bar, jaw tightening.

"No. Oh my god, relax. He was perfectly nice. I'm the one who was weird and awkward. We had nothing to talk about. Nothing . At one point, I actually asked him if he ‘came here often,' like some sleazy dude in a hotel bar." I cringe at the memory.

Hayden's face breaks into a grin. "You are sleazy; what can I say?"

I laugh. "How will I ever be a player if I'm so sleazy?"

"You'll manage." His features tighten. "I'm sure Green Plaid thought it was cute."

I give him a sidelong look. He doesn't seem as happy-go-lucky and boisterous tonight as he usually is. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah." He arches an eyebrow. "Why?"

"You wanted to go home early." I reach up and rest the back of my hand against his forehead, pretending to check for fever. "You must be deathly ill. "

He huffs a laugh, looking away. "I'm just tired."

"Oh." I nod. "That makes sense."

It doesn't really, though. Hayden's a night owl. He loves staying up late, and he's an extrovert. Being around people energizes him. He loves to move the party to a second, third, or fourth location.

If I think about the situation from his perspective, though, maybe watching his best friend's ex hit on guys isn't his idea of a fun time. I broke his best friend's heart, and now I'm moving on. He probably thinks I'm heartless. Maybe he resents me for it.

My stomach clenches at the thought of Hayden harboring frustrations with me. He's so kind; he'd never say anything to upset me.

It still doesn't sit well with me, though.

"Thanks for tonight." I give him a grateful smile. "I know it probably felt like teaching a baby to walk. I'm lucky to have you as a friend." Without thinking, I loop my arm around his waist like I've done a hundred times.

"You, too, Darce." He gives my shoulder a quick, friendly squeeze before stepping away, and a stab of embarrassment hits me.

He's definitely avoiding touching me. He's mad that I dumped Kit and broke his best friend's heart.

I can't list all the reasons Kit and I are wrong for each other without making it weird between them, so I keep my mouth shut, but none of it sits right with me.

"I love that your apartment is so close to bars and restaurants," I tell Hayden as he unlocks his front door .

His eyes narrow, but they spark with teasing. "Our apartment."

"Right. Our apartment." I'm about to set my shoes inside the front hall closet when I pause, frowning. "Where'd all your gear go?"

Yesterday, the closet was filled with hockey stuff. Today, it's half-empty.

Hayden shrugs his big shoulders. "Moved some to my closet, some to the storage locker downstairs."

"Why? It wasn't in the way."

"It was in the way. There was barely room for your coat." He makes a face. "And it smells like sweat. I know it stinks, even if you didn't say anything."

"I didn't notice anything. You always smell good."

"I want you to have enough room for your stuff. Like I said, our place."

My face feels warm with pleasure. Sometimes I forget how considerate Hayden can be, how he's always thinking about the well-being of others. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it," he says over his shoulder, walking into the kitchen. "Water?"

I nod, and he pours two glasses before heading to the living room, and I follow.

"Well, that was a waste of an evening." I flop down on the sofa beside him. "Sorry about that."

He shakes his head, smiling. "You did fine. Sorry, I, uh"—he glances at me—"pulled you out of there before you could get his number."

"I was already trying to think of an exit strategy after I told him he smelled weird."

Mid-sip, Hayden starts laughing and coughing on his water.

I give him a few firm slaps on his back. His t-shirt is so warm under my fingers, and the planes of his back are shockingly toned.

He clears his throat, still laughing. "I have to hear this."

"He smelled like pencils, but worse? Like rotten pencils?"

Hayden's shoulders shake, and I pinch his ribs, which only makes him laugh harder.

"I read a study where the researchers believed that it's part of our evolutionary system, when we think members of the opposite sex stink. They thought it meant—" I groan, burying my face in my hands. "I don't want to repeat it. This is exactly why I need lessons on how to be smooth like you."

He grasps my hands and pries them away from my face, grinning. "Come on."

I'm wincing so hard, I'm going to strain a muscle. "I told him our DNA isn't compatible and that we might be distantly related. I blabbed on for about five minutes about the study and then explained in very clear terms that he didn't smell good to me."

Throwing his head back, he lets out a booming belly laugh. My heart flops around in my chest, delighted at entertaining him.

"He didn't seem to mind if he still wanted your number," he says once he's composed himself.

"Yeah." Nerves and hesitation tumble in my stomach.

He frowns, watching me. "What's that face?"

I suck in a deep breath and try to put my feelings into words, something I've never been good at. Equations and patterns, I can do all day, but sifting through the swirling tension and worry doesn't come so easily.

"Tonight was stressful and scary," I admit, letting out a shaky breath. "I didn't feel like a player." Instead of being in control, I felt like things were happening to me .

Hayden makes a low, sympathetic humming noise. "Shit, Darce. I'm sorry."

"No, it wasn't you. You were great. I needed you there."

His mouth tips up at that, and I return his smile.

"I feel like I'm diving in too fast, but I don't want to sit around and wait." Impatience races through me. "Rule number four is always have a plan , and I jumped into the flirting deep end without knowing the next steps." The idea takes shape in my head, sharpening. "If Green Plaid didn't smell like moldy pencils, and maybe I did like him, how would I show him I want to move things back to his place?"

On the sofa beside me, Hayden's quiet for a long moment. "You could practice with me."

My eyebrows pull together. "I am practicing with you."

He runs a hand over his hair. "No, like, practice on me."

"Oh." I blink, staring into his eyes. Hayden has these crushing blue eyes, light in the center with dark rings. "Like, use you."

My pulse picks up. Why does that sound so dirty? He doesn't mean it like that .

"Yeah." He swallows, interlacing his fingers and resting them on his flat stomach. "If it would make you more comfortable."

Nerves rush through me, but they're not shaky and heavy like they were earlier in the night when I had to talk to that guy. These are lighter, sitting higher in my chest, fluttering and buzzing and fizzing through me. The excited kind of nerves.

This isn't what I had in mind when I wanted Hayden to teach me to be a player, but my brain snags on this idea, wondering what it would be like. I'll probably never get another chance to experience flirting with Hayden Owens.

Besides, he's the expert. He's done this tons of times.

Do it , an impulsive, devilish feeling whispers.

"I do love to be prepared." My heart's beating faster and I'm suddenly aware of how male Hayden is. How much space he takes up and how big his hands are. How good he smells.

"And I'm still your wingman." His eyes drop to my mouth.

"Exactly."

He's not going to get attached—that's not who he is—and this isn't anything more than him helping out his friend.

I shift my legs under me on the couch, facing him. "So I'm at a bar, chatting with a guy, and want to, uh, progress things. What do I do?"

Hayden's jaw clenches for a brief moment. "You want to hook up."

"Right." I can't even imagine feeling ready for that, but I'm supposed to be practicing and preparing. "How do I make that clear?"

The long line of his throat works, and his gaze drops to my mouth again. "Touch him."

My expression turns alarmed as images race through my mind.

He cracks a smile. "Not like, grab his package, Darce. Touch his arm, make up an excuse to touch his hands. Say you want to compare hand sizes."

I arch an eyebrow. "That old trick? That can't actually work."

He gives me a knowing smile, and I get a weird stab of unease picturing him trying it on other girls.

"My, what tiny hands you have." I hold my palm out. "I bet my hands are twice the size of yours."

He snorts and begrudgingly gives me his hand, pressing our palms together.

Oh .

That's interesting.

Awareness rolls through me at the sensation of his calloused palm against mine. Every nerve on my hand lights up, tingling, snagging all my attention. It's not even funny how much bigger his hand is than mine, and my mind immediately goes to dirty places.

He must be proportional. I mean, he has to be. He's a big guy; of course he has big hands, and… Hayden's dick is probably huge. My mouth goes dry. I've heard the rumors.

He pulls his hand back, and my palm feels cold.

"I'll add that one to my toolbox, even if it feels a little high school." I give him a teasing grin. "What other tricks do you have?"

"Just find other ways to touch him." His brows bob. "He won't mind, trust me."

"Like this?" I rest my hand on his arm. It feels a little awkward, but his skin is warm. He's not pulling away like I'm burning him, so that's something.

He smiles down at me, nodding, features relaxing. "Mhm."

"Or like this?" I reach up, pretending to see something in his hair. "Oh, I think you have something in your hair."

He chuckles, but when I sink my fingers into his thick hair, he lets out a deep sigh, eyelids falling halfway closed.

Delight flutters in my chest. He likes me playing with his hair. I wonder what else he likes.

"Your hair is really soft." I run my fingers over his scalp, dragging them through the luxurious strands, and his jaw ticks. "I'm going to start stealing your conditioner."

"Yeah." His voice is rough. "That's perfect."

Reluctantly, I pull my hand away. Tension hangs in the air as Hayden watches me, waiting for my next move, and that impulsive urge strikes again.

"Or…" My hand comes to his thigh. He's so warm through th e fabric of his black jeans, and under my hand, his muscles tighten.

Hayden has the thighs of a professional athlete—strong, thick, muscular. From beach vacations and pool parties over the years, I know that, under his jeans, they're dusted with golden-blond hair.

Having my hand on his thigh isn't quite the same as noticing the way his swim shorts stretch over his body from behind my sunglasses, though. A pulse of heat moves through me, and my skin prickles.

"Like this?" I look up into his eyes.

"Yeah." He nods, nostrils flaring and breathing uneven. "Exactly like that. You're doing great."

Some weird impulse has me stroking my thumb across his thigh, lightly pressing into the thick, tight muscle.

Hayden has a nice mouth, I realize, staring at it. For such a strong face, his lips are a surprisingly delicate shape, and my fingers itch to trace them.

"That's good." He snatches my wrist up and drops it in my lap like it's on fire, turning away from me. "You've got the hang of it. You're a natural."

Embarrassment rockets through me. I probably had my jaw unhinged while furiously rubbing his thigh.

A player watches for signs that his advances are unwanted , the list said. Don't be a creep .

"Great." I tuck my hair behind my ear, pretending I didn't make it weird. "That was easy."

"I'm going to go to bed." He jerks to his feet, not looking at me, and moves to the hallway, shoulders and back tense. "I need to take a shower. Good night."

"Oh. Okay." My pride stings at the way he's scrambling to get away from me. "Good night. Thanks for your help," I call after him .

His bedroom door slams, and a moment later, I hear his shower running. I sit there, cringing. He couldn't get away fast enough.

Let that be a reminder to me. He's my wingman and nothing more.