Page 5 of The Players We Hate
People crowded the front steps, balancing red plastic cups and shouting over each other in every direction. A girl in a Rixton Wolves crop top was sitting on someone’s shoulders, waving a foam finger in one hand and a half-eaten slice of pizza in the other.
This was not the kind of party I’d ever been to.
Alisa practically vibrated with excitement beside me. “God, I love college parties. Everyone’s still acting like theycan keep up, and every drink feels like it’s leading to the kind of bad decision you’ll brag about later.”
I glanced up at the sagging banner over the front door.Wolves Win. Let’s Sin.
Yeah, this was definitely not like any of the formal dinner parties I’d attended.
Inside, it was worse. Or better, depending on your definition of fun. The air was thick with heat and perfume and bodies pressed shoulder to shoulder. A pong table dominated the living room, surrounded by a raucous group chanting someone’s name. The walls shook with laughter, the room suffocating from too many people and not enough circulation.
“Okay, we’re doing one lap,” Alisa said, grabbing my hand as though I might run if she let go. “Then I’ll find us a quiet corner to people watch. Scout’s honor.”
I nodded. My fingers curled around the bottle she shoved into my hand before we walked in—sparkling water with lime. No alcohol. That was part of the deal. I already felt like I’d stepped into another life. I didn’t need to blur the edges more.
We weaved through the kitchen, past a makeshift bar of melted ice and mystery punch, and into a hallway crowded with students laughing, kissing, and shouting over the music.
It was chaos.
I should hate it. Yet something about it felt electric.
I paused near the base of the stairs, trying to take it all in and wondering if I looked as out of place as I felt.
And then, I spotted him.
Leaning against the banister, half in the shadows, was a guy in a hockey jersey, the sleeves pushed to his elbows. His arms were crossed, shoulders broad, gaze steady and unreadable as he surveyed the room. He wasn’t drinking or laughing.
Just watching.
He didn’t blend in—definitely not like anyone else here. There was a tension in him, something coiled and contained, as if he was holding back. He could command the room with a word, but chose to stay on the sidelines.
My stomach slipped, and my breath caught before I realized I was staring. As if he could feel it, his eyes lifted and met mine.
I froze.
He tilted his head slightly, studying me with quiet curiosity. Not checking me out, but more like he was trying to place me. My gaze quickly darted away, but it was too late. My pulse was already racing.
“Okay, that’s Talon Pierce,” Alisa said beside me, clearly unaware of the fact that I was dying inside.
I blinked. “Who?”
She leaned in. “Number 20. Center. Hockey captain. Kind of a big deal around here. Don’t let the brooding thing fool you. He knows he’s practically a celebrity.”
Of course he was.
I glanced at him again, more subtly this time. He hadn’t moved, but he was still watching. I turned to Alisa. “He looks… intense.”
“Oh, he is,” she said. “The kind of intensity that could burn through steel and make people move out of his way in a hallway. But he’s supposedly great with kids and smarterthan he looks. You know—dark, broody, ridiculously attractive. A walking sports-romance trope.”
I nodded absently, but I wasn’t really listening anymore.
All I could think about was the way his gaze lingered on mine, like he was seeingmeand not the girl I was supposed to be.
For a split second, I didn’t mind being seen if it was by him.
Alisa got distracted by someone waving her over. Another sorority girl in glitter boots and a cowboy hat. She left me momentarily alone at the base of the stairs. I exhaled slowly, smoothing a hand down my blouse, telling myself to relax.
That was when I heard a voice.
