Page 28 of Don't Let Me Fall (Don't Let Me 1)

I need us to be okay.

His phone vibrates in his pocket, bringing him back to reality. He softens the kiss and mutters against my lips, “See you later. I gotta get to class.”

I smile back at him. “Sure.”

12

COLT

The house is empty. Not sure if it’s a good thing or not. Ash should be here any minute. And despite my own rules about not touching something not belonging to me, I have to admit, she is tempting.

There’s a soft knock against the front door, and I know it’s Ash without even looking. I’d know it was her even if we didn’t have plans tonight. It’s a quiet knock. Unobtrusive. Almost shy, if knocks can sound that way.

My mouth quirks up on one side, and I open the door, bracing myself for another night of banter I can’t help but crave. She’s the most interesting thing I’ve encountered since my life went to shit, and I’m starting to look forward to our conversations more than I’d like to admit.

“Um, hi,” Ashlyn greets me as I open the door. Her thumb is hooked beneath her backpack’s dark nylon strap on her shoulder, and her hair is pulled into a high, messy ponytail. So effortlessly sexy.

The fact she has no idea still blows my mind.

I scratch at my jaw and step aside. “Hey. Come on in.”

“Thanks.”

The scent of vanilla tickles my nostrils and makes my mouth water when she slips past me, and I close the door behind her.

She’s less salty than she was in the quad earlier. More shy, like her knock. Her blue gaze flitters around the room, refusing to land on me or anything else for more than a second before darting to the next object. I shouldn’t like watching her squirm––but I do.

“It’s quiet in here,” she notes, looking around the empty family room and kitchen.

I nod. “Yeah. Most of the guys are at the rink, getting in another practice.”

“Got it.” She nods and peeks at me. “Do you skate? Or play, or…?”

“No.”

“Really?” She looks me up and down, surprised.

“That a problem?”

“I guess I assumed…” Her voice trails off, and she bites her lower lip.

“Assumed what? I play hockey?”

“You have the vibe, I guess.”

“What kind of vibe?”

“You know, the cocky, hot, competitive, alpha hockey player kind of vibe. All you guys have it.”

“Hot, huh?”

Her lips pull into a thin line. “You’re right. I don’t know what I was thinking. So, where do you want me to set up?”

I almost suggest my bedroom to see her reaction, but I motion to the kitchen on the opposite side of the house. “What about the kitchen table?”

“Sounds good.” Her tennis shoes squeak softly against the hardwood floor as she walks to the kitchen, slips off her backpack, and pulls out a laptop, binder, and a couple of textbooks, spreading them across the table. “So…statistics, right?”

“Sure.”

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