Page 3 of Daring the Defender

It’s Valentine's Day, and Valentine's Day is a couple’s thing and the last thing I want to do is lead someone on. Looking for a relationship is fine. Women should do what they want. Seewho they want. Fuck who they want. Asmuchas they want. Exclusive or not. But me? I’ve done the monogamous thing–and I’m taking a break.

This is why I’m sitting at home by myself, playing ice hockey video games by myself, while eating a heart-shaped pizza from the joint down on the stripby myself. It’s ironic, actually, that two of my roommates found serious girlfriends right when my relationship with Darla fell apart. Hell, Axel is the one that taught me the no dates on Valentine’s Day rule, but now both he and Reese are in the throes of it–all loved up and blissed out in that new relationship haze, fucking like bunnies, and simply just basking in one another.

While I’m over here shaking it off, trying to get my groove back one co-ed at a time.

Grimacing at the screen, I maneuver my man down the ice, body-checking the other guy into the boards. “Take that!” I shout to the empty house.

After moving my player into position, I’m waiting for the puck to drop when I hear a noise on the porch–a loud thump, followed by light footsteps. Our house, The Manor, is the biggest one in the old mill neighborhoods surrounding the University, and often the location for some pretty epic parties. Add in the fact that four hockey players live here, having visitors or one of the guys on the team drop by isn’t unusual. I assume it’s either one of them or maybe Jefferson, my only other single roommate out on the porch. I told him not to go out tonight, but history has proven nothing comes between him and getting his dick wet.

I make a few more plays on the game, waiting for him to come in, or for someone to knock, but that never happens. Maybe he’s out there making out with some girl.

Or hell, maybe it’s a serial killer.

Dropping the controller, I stand and cross over to where we keep our equipment, grabbing a hockey stick in one hand andgripping the knob with the other. Looking out the window at the top of the door, I can’t see anything but the shift of a shadow.

“Sack up, dude,” I mutter and yank open the door. I step out with the stick raised over my head. “If you’re a murderer, you picked the wrong damn house.”

I hear the smallest “eep” and look over to the opposite side of the porch. Blinking I take in the person sitting on the swing. It’s a girl. Well, a college-aged girl, with her hands up. “Not a murderer. Promise.”

“That’s what they all say.” I exhale and drop the stick. “Jesus, you scared the hell out of me.”

“Sorry,” she says, eyes flitting down my body, starting with my cut-up t-shirt and then down to the Wittmore sweatpants. When her gaze returns to my face, there’s something in there–and not the hot appraisal I expect. Judgment maybe? I don’t often feel exposed. I’m a big guy. Fit–although beefier than my roommates, which is what makes me a beast on the ice. I’m strong as hell, and I know women like my body, but this girl? I can’t get a read.

“You need something?” I ask, leaning the stick against the door frame. “There’s no party tonight, but I hear there’s some stuff going on down on Greek row.”

“I’m looking for someone,” she says, standing, giving me a better look at her. She’s a dirty-blonde, with doe-sized eyes. Her skin looks sunkissed, different from the winter pale skin of the girls on campus. Her clothes are modest; a gray skirt that comes down to her knees, and I see a thick sweater peeking out under a jacket that’s not quite warm enough for the weather up here. I try not to wrinkle my nose at her shoes, basic black flats. It’s pretty well known that I’m into fashion and know my brands, vintage or current. I figure that if everyone is already looking at me on campus because I’m on the hockey team, I may as well give them a full show.

This girl doesn’t look or dress like anyone we usually hang out with. Even Twyler’s got a sporty vibe, but the girl on the porch is all bundled up and frumpy. “Is Axel here?”

“Ax?” I repeat. “No.”

“But he lives here?” she asks, hopefully.

I could lie. Do my friend a solid and get rid of this girl for him, but she looks on the verge of panic so I throw her a bone. “Yeah, he lives here, but he’s not home right now.”

“Oh thank goodness. I was really worried I had the wrong place.” She exhales, visibly relieved and her eyes, the color imperceptible in this light, shine with hope. “Would it be okay if I waited for him to get back? I can stay out here on the porch if it’s a problem.”

I grimace, rubbing the back of my head. “Look, I gotta be honest with you, sweetheart, Axel’s got a girl now–a serious one. So whatever you’re wanting from him is a no-go.”

That news doesn’t deter her. She clears her throat and says, “I just need to talk to him. If he doesn’t want me here, I’ll go but… it’s important.”

Fuck. Did he get this chick pregnant? It’s hard to tell with that skirt and that jacket. I mean, I know it’s not always obvious, but she doesn’t look knocked up. She’d have to be early, and Axel and Nadia have been together a few months… and there’s zero chance he cheated on her.

Okay, this chick isn’t pregnant, but needs to talk to Ax. Maybe it’s just a school thing.

“Come on.” I jerk my chin at her. “Come inside. My nipples are about to freeze off.”

I don’t miss her eyes widening and then flicking down to my chest. Is she worried about being alone with me? Whatever. It’s her choice. It’s also February in New England and these temperatures are no joke. I step inside and she follows.

“There’s pizza on the table by the couch,” I tell her. “It’s probably a little cold now, but it’s still good. You want a drink?”

“Sure, that’d be nice.” She shrugs off her jacket, assessing the room. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” I open the refrigerator and grab two beers and a seltzer left over from the last party. I carry them over and set them on the table. “I didn’t know what you’d like.”

She stares at the two drinks, looking flummoxed, before settling on the seltzer and opening the can. She doesn’t drink it though, instead moving to the pizza box and opening the lid. “A heart-shaped pizza?”

I sit on the opposite end of the couch and pick up the controller. “Valentine’s Day special.”

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