Page 19 of Ice Bet

“Who gave you the drink?” His tone gave way to his anger, and there was a little flex to his jaw.

I put my hand on my hip. “You do know that I’m twenty-one, right? I amallowedto drink. It’s legal.”He’s probably writing this down in his little tattletale book to give to my dad.

“Who gave you the drink, though? Did you pour it yourself, or did Rogers get it for you so he could get you drunk and into his bed?”

I thought fast on my feet. “Who said I needed to be drunk to get into his bed?”

Aasher laughed, but it was as sharp as a knife. “Who gave you the fucking drink, Riley?”

I pictured myself splashing the drink in his face because his tone was full of conviction, and it made me feel like a child.

“You’re worse than my dad,” I mumbled.

Aasher tilted his head. “What was that?”

“Isaid…”I pushed my cup into his firm chest, and his heart beat wildly against the back of my hand. “That it's really none of your business.” My fingers lifted, and the cup fell swiftly. If he wasn’t so quick, it would have dropped to the ground and spilled all over his feet.

A grumble left his mouth, but I didn’t stick around to hear what he had to say. I stopped by Sutton and whispered into her ear that I was going to head back to the apartment. She was kind enough to stop playing beer pong to say she was coming with me, but I told her I was totally fine on my own. Sutton was much more comfortable with the party crowd than I was. She was the center of the room with her pretty pink cheeks and a high-pitched laugh. Everyone gravitated toward her.

After making my way to the front door and successfully avoiding everyone, I sucked in the cool night air and let it blanket my hot cheeks. The brick porch was empty, which wasn’t much of a surprise. It was a cold night, and I was in the minority with my love of winter, just like I was in the minority of wanting to get far away from all the jocks at this party.

“You shouldn’t take drinks from guys you don’t know.”

I paused mid-step, pretending like I didn’t hear Aasher.You’ve got to be kidding me.I stared at the houses lining the street, wondering if I could just slip into one of them to avoid him.

“You also shouldn't be walking by yourself at night.”

“Excuse me?” I said, spinning around quickly. I spied his tall figure leaning against the pine tree outside of the football house with his arms and ankles crossed like he was waiting for me.

Aasher shrugged before pushing off from the bark. He looked like a black cat lurking in the dark with his piercing green eyes locked onto me. “I’m just saying, you shouldn’t take drinks from guys you don’t know. Haven’t you seen any of the hundreds of documentaries out there?” He walked closer to me, despite the fact that I was making strides to get away from him. His hands casually dug into his pockets, and he seemed completely unbothered by my scowl, which only made me scowl deeper. “So many sweet, naive girls taking drinks from guys and ending up without clothes on the next day, unsure of what had happened to them.” His lips flattened before opening his mouth to offend me. “Although, you’re not really sweet, are you?”

“You truly do think I’m stupid, don’t you?” It was a loaded question and one he probably didn’t realize had a double meaning.

Aasher thought for a moment. “Well, I didn’t until I saw you falling for Sully’s bullshit.”

The more I stood in front of Aasher, the angrier I grew. It was the way he was looking at me. As ifIasked him to follow me out here. “What is your deal? Are you trying to impress my dad by coming to my rescue or something? Is there a camera out here somewhere?” I looked through the branches of the trees, even moving a low hanging one for dramatic effect. “Are you gonna record yourself walking me home like a gentleman? Or maybe tell him I took a drink from some guy and you swooped in and stopped me from getting roofied?”

His throaty laugh filled the quiet street, and my stomach clenched. “I have no need to impress him any more than I do now with my skill on the ice.”

“I bet you impress him with how humble you are too.” I rolled my eyes.

“There’s nothing wrong with being confident. I’m good at hockey, and I know it. I’m proud of it too.”

I understood where he was coming from, from an athletic perspective, but he annoyed me, so I called him out. “You’re cocky, and it’s unattractive.”

Aasher threw his head back with laughter. He had a really good laugh, but I refused to let it show on my features. I kept my lips pinched tight.“You find cocky hockey players unattractive? Good. Then we will have no issues moving forward.”

“Is that what this is about?” I asked, pondering his overbearing attitude with me. It was all making sense. The disapproval of my lack of clothing, the comment about his teammates wanting me, being at this party, taking a drink from one of them. “Your teammates going against your coach’s wishes and fucking me?” Aasher’s eye twitched, and it was like pouring gasoline on a fire. I was starving, and his irritation fed me down to the very last crumb. “So what if they do? It’s really none of your business.”

I watched him very carefully, wondering which direction his concern leaned to. Did he want me for himself so he could win the bet, or was there another reason for his unprompted overprotectiveness?

“Actually, itismy business.” Aasher took a step forward, and I met him halfway. My chest brushed his, and we both paused at the touch. I opened my mouth to say something, but he beat me to it. “Your dad would lose his mind if he found out that one of his players touched you…let alonefuckedyou. The team isn’t going to be jeopardized because of you.”

The way that word rolled off his tongue should have been illegal. His green eyes flared, and his lips moved with ease. I was so riveted that I almost didn’t notice his hands on my hips. He spun me around and pushed me in the opposite direction of the party. “Go home, Duster. I’ll walk you.”

I stumbled forward and whirled around in a wrath, more annoyed with myself than him. “Stopcalling me that.”

To most, I seemed uninterested in hockey, but growing up in the rink and having a father who coached, I knew whatDustermeant. A duster was a benchwarmer. It was someone who was “collecting dust.” I refused to give them the time of day—or anyone, for that matter—therefore Iwas collecting dust. But if Aasher kept it up, I was going to put an end to that nickname just to spite him.

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