Page 45 of Collide
“That wingman title won’t bring you comfort when she’s leaving with another dude,” he calls.
He doesn’t know anything about my relationship with Summer. It isn’t like that with us. She’s focused on her application, and I’m focused on hockey. Balance hasn’t been my strong suit lately, so even harboring any thoughts about her would throw me off. Ergo, we’re completely platonic.
Ignoring his comments, I head to my car and queue up the playlist I made for her. I sent it to her earlier, but I don’t know what she thinks of it yet because I only got a thumbs-up in response.
Iona House is a short drive on clear roads, so I get there earlier than expected. When I text Summer, she tells me to wait in my truck.
That isn’t happening, so I park and head to the entrance. But the view in front of me draws me to a halt.
“You’re wearing that?” I choke out when I see her.
Summer runs a hand over the material of her top as she approaches me. “What’s wrong with it?”
I clear my throat. “Nothing.”
Everything.
The neckline of the red top plunges between her breasts and reveals her cleavage, long legs like stilts on those heels and her pants hug her hips like I wished I was. My dick stiffens in my jeans, alarmingly quickly. Only this girl could give me a hard-on in the middle of a fucking sidewalk.
I have to swallow before I can speak again. “You look beautiful, Summer.”
The compliment melts the crease between her brows and she gives me the smallest smile I’ve ever seen before walking past me to hop into my truck, once again not taking my help to get in. Though I have no qualms about it since I get to watch her perfect ass wiggle into my truck. Inside, she zips her jacket, and I hold back from exhaling a breath of relief.
Get a grip, man.
This is the worst moment to be feeling any type of way. Kian’s words float back to me, and I can’t help but think that he’s right. If I didn’t regret it then, I regret it now. Big time.
Summer is a smoke show, and going out with her only to watch her leave with another guy might be the dumbest fucking thing I’ve done all year. And that’s saying something.
When we arrive at Myth, the converted warehouse bar, we skip the line. I’ve been here with the guys too many times to have to wait anymore. It also helped that the owners are hockey fans.
“One margarita, and a Sprite,” I say to the bartender. While she fills the order, Summer shoots me a look. “What?”
“Only a Sprite?”
“I’m driving us home.”
Most college students drink a beer to start the night and end up driving home a few hours later. It technically punches below the legal limit, but I’d never take the chance. Especially if I’m responsible for another person. Too much can go wrong in a split second. I’m well aware of that.
“So how do you have all that fun you were talking about?”
Keen eyes find mine, and I like that she's excited. “I usually have a few girls around me for that.”
“Sorry, am I cock blocking you?” she asks, tilting her head.
Soft tendrils frame her face, and I can’t help but notice how pretty she looks. She would look even prettier on her knees, looking up at me with those pink lips in a perfect O.
Jesus,I need a cold shower.
“Tonight’s about you. I’ll be your wingman and if that works out, I can find myself a lucky lady,” I say just as our drinks arrive, and I slide hers over.
“You make it sound like an afterthought. It can’t be that easy for you.”
“It can’t?” I look over her shoulder to nod at a group of girls watching me since we walked in.
Summer peers at them, then at me in disbelief. “They see that you’re with me. What if we were– you know – together?”
“You haven’t done anything for them to believe that.” Ireallywant her to do something to make them believe that.
