Page 5 of Best Kept Secret
Glancing at Millie, I see that she looks hesitant, and before I can stop myself, I reach over and place my hand on top of hers, concern pricking the back of my neck when I realize she’s actually trembling. “Hey, it’s gonna be okay.”
The look on her face tells me she doesn’t believe me one bit,but with a heavy exhale, she unfastens her seatbelt and hops out of the car after me.
I follow as she leads the way onto the front porch, stopping to dig around in her purse before she pulls out a set of keys. The moment she opens the front door, loud music and voices spill out into the night, and again, she pauses. But it’s more than just hesitation this time; shefreezes. And her reaction only pricks my hackles because how is shethisterrified? Does she not think I can handle some drunk douchebag? Or is it more than that? Which only begs the question…what the fuck has this asshole done to her?
Touching her arm, I duck down enough so that her pretty eyes are forced to meet mine. I offer her a reassuring smile. “Follow my lead, okay?”
Her eyebrows draw together momentarily before she finally nods. And then, stepping over the threshold, I reach back and take her hand in mine, weaving my fingers through hers. Just like back at the club when she shook my hand, a spark rages up my arm at the feel of her soft skin, and I pause, glancing down at her. Judging by the rose that tints her cheeks, I can tell she feels it too. But I decide to play it cool, acting like it’s nothing, because it has to be nothing. Even if it is something, it’s nothing. Fuck, I absolutely shouldn’t be here.
“Where’s your bedroom?”
Millie’s mouth falls open on a soft gasp, but she recovers quickly, squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin a little higher. She nods to the staircase. “U-upstairs,” she stammers adorably, clearing her throat. “First door on the right.”
A smirk tugs at my lips.Fuck she’s cute. But, at that thought, dread settles in my gut.She’s also your teammate’s little sister, dickhead.
Ignoring my subconscious, I continue inside, holding Millie’s hand as we pass by a wide archway that opens to a sunken den. I don’t look inside, but from my periphery I can see at least a fewpeople lounging about, and suddenly the music stops, followed by a muttered, “Who the fuck is that?”
“Hey, Mils!” a high-pitched voice chirps.
Millie pauses, causing me to stop, and I turn slowly, finally allowing myself to acknowledge the room. A few people lounge over a big black sectional, and two guys are perched on beanbags, PlayStation controllers in hand, both wearing matching hoodies with Greek letters displayed across the front. Two identical looking girls with pale blonde hair wearing matching light blue tracksuits glance at one another, and the brunette who just said hi to Millie side-eyes the guy sitting next to her. He’s slouched low in his seat, wearing a backward ballcap and a pop-collared polo shirt underneath a t-shirt with the same Greek letters as his two buddies playingGTA. And immediately I can tell by the death-like glower I’m on the receiving end of that Mr. Abercrombie and Fitch is Millie’s ex.
“Hey, guys,” Millie says, her voice tight.
She tries to release my hand, but I don’t let her; instead, I tug her close enough that I can wrap my arm around her, giving her hip a reassuring squeeze while trying not to lose my ever-loving shit at the feel of her curves. Chrissake, she’s fucking stacked.Breathe, Logan.
“Who’s your friend?” one of the twins asks, big, brown eyes looking me up and down like I’m a snack and she’s got the munchies.
“Oh, um—” Millie looks at me, uncertainty in her gaze. “This is… um… L-Logan.”
“Her boyfriend,” I say, lifting my chin in their direction while choosing not to make eye contact with any of them. I look down at Millie and lean in to whisper loud enough for them to overhear, “Let’s go to bed, babe.”
“Boyfriend?” someone hisses.
“Hey, I know you!” one of the guys says, pointing a finger at me, and I don’t know if it’s the finger or the tone, but I don’t like it.
“Youknowme?” Pointing at myself, I spear him with a threatening look, and he quickly retracts his finger. “You don’t fuckin’ know me, man.”
“He’s… I-I mean… y-you play hockey,” he stammers, suddenly a lot less sure of himself than he was a few seconds ago. “You’re Logan Cullen...?” It’s almost a question, and I have to stifle my own chuckle because what a little bitch.
“Come on, let’s go to my room,” Millie says, turning and heading for the stairs.
I offer the room one last unimpressed glance before following her.
“Millie!”
Millie stops, not turning around at the sound of her name. But that’s okay, because I sure as shit do. Swinging around, I stand tall, watching asPopped Collarhefts himself up from the sofa. Placing his beer can onto the coffee table, he staggers a little on his approach, eyes red-rimmed and bloodshot, lids half-mast. Yeah, he’s fucked up. And he’s not getting any closer.
“You good, bro?” I hold a hand up, stopping him.
He looks me up and down, top lip curling up into a snide smirk. “I need to talk toMillie.”
I shake my head. “No, you don’t.”
He guffaws. “Who the fuck are you?”
“Who am I?” I point at myself with an incredulous scoff, stepping up so we we’re toe to fucking toe. I’ve got at least five inches on the guy, and I make a point of looking down my nose at him, my smirk fading as I grit out, “Who thefuckareyou?”
When I feel a hand graze my back, it’s the only thing that stops me from launching myself at this joker. Millie’s right. He is a gerbil. A gerbil who needs a fist to the face.
