Page 44 of Cold Front
“More like a warning.”
Micah led us toward the main group, where a few of the guys were debating something over slices of pizza. Logan was nursing a drink in the corner, half-listening to the conversation but mostly keeping to himself, as usual. Across the room, Hunter and Roman were mid-argument.
“You got lucky,” Hunter said, shaking his head. “That puck barely crossed the line.”
Roman scoffed. “I fought for that goal. That wasn’t luck—that was skill and positioning.”
“Skill? You whiffed the first shot.”
“I was battling at the crease! Not my fault the puck took a weird bounce.”
“The only reason that went in was because their goalie was already looking for the rebound,” Hunter shot back.
“That’s luck.” Roman threw up his hands. “You had a wide-open rebound and still couldn’t bury it.”
Hunter smirked. “Yeah? And who was screening the goalie so you could sneak one in?”
A few guys laughed or groaned in agreement.
I let them argue and grabbed a bottle of water instead of beer. I wasn’t much for drinking on game nights—didn’t like the way it messed with my recovery.
Eli was still standing close, close enough I could feel the warmth radiating off him, even in the crowded space. He was watching the team dynamics, taking it all in, and for some reason, I liked that.
I told myself I wasn’t watching him. Not really. But every time he laughed, the room seemed warmer, and I hated that I noticed.
Then Micah clapped his hands together. “All right, boys. Time for a little fun.”
I exhaled sharply, shaking my head as I leaned back against the couch. “This is exactly how bad decisions start.”
Micah, already grinning like the troublemaker he was, raised his plastic cup in a toast. “And yet, here we are.”
I should’ve shut it down. Should’ve walked away before I got dragged into whatever chaos Micah had planned. But then Eli leaned in, just slightly, his arm brushing mine. He was sitting far too close, nudging my knee with his own. “Come on, Captain,” he said, voice light, teasing. “Live a little.”
It wasn’t the touch that got to me. It was the way he was looking at me—like he knew I couldn’t say no to him.
Like he knew I didn’t want to.
This guy.
I huffed out a breath.
It was easier to keep people at arm’s length. But with Eli… with Eli, things seem to be different. When he smiled at me, suddenly ‘easier’ didn’t feel good enough anymore.
I sighed. “Fine.”
A small cheer rippled through the group, and Micah clapped his hands together. “All right, let’s get started!”
The game started out easy, almost deceptively so. A few harmless truths—favorite pre-game rituals, worst class taken, most embarrassing moments on the ice. Dares followed, mild at first. Take a shot without using your hands. Chug a beer in under ten seconds. Stuff a ridiculous amount of popcorn into your mouth at once. Text your ex something ridiculous.
I sat back, arms crossed, watching as the chaos unfolded. I wasn’t playing. At least, I hadn’t planned to.
Then Micah, still riding the high of a win and the reckless buzz of alcohol, kicked things up a notch.
“Eli,” he announced, pointing dramatically. “Truth or dare?”
Eli stretched his legs out, looking completely at ease and like he wasn’t sitting in the middle of a disaster waiting to happen. He flicked a glance at me before answering. “Dare.”
Micah grinned, a little too widely. “Swap shirts with Hunter.”
