I spend most of the press conference ogling a triumphant and relaxed Ollie. I can only imagine the type of high he’s on right now after scoring the winning goal. His smile has the ability to break hearts and light up the goddamn room, and if I could, I’d write an entire article on how pretty he is when he’s not scowling.

Somehow, I don’t think Ollie or my editor would be okay with that.

I type out the game recap, send it off to my editor, and then make my way out of the stadium to meet Jet and head home. We’re almost the last ones to leave the building by the time I’ve finished.

“Everyone’s gone to a bar a few blocks away if you’re up for it,” he says.

“Like … with the team?”

“Yeah. They’re in the playoffs. Everyone is going.”

I adjust my laptop bag on my shoulder. “You go on. I’ll catch a cab home.”

“Nuh-uh. I might’ve pretended to give you a choice right now, but it was an empty gesture. We’re going.”

“Why?” I’m not a joiner. Never have been. Might have something to do with never being asked to join when I was a kid. I got used to being on my own.

“Because it’s a bar full of meatheads. You need to be my gay buffer in case they try to suck me in with their hetero-ness.”

I sigh. “One drink.”

“Three.”

“Two?”

“Four.”

I purse my lips. “I don’t think you realize how this negotiating thing goes.”

“Okay, fine. We’ll stay for five drinks.” Jet holds my hand and drags me down the street, and my lazy feet stumble after him.

When Noah told me Jet was Matt’s little brother, I expected a mini, younger, broody Matt. Turns out, he’s an adorable twink with attention deficit disorder.

The sports bar is crammed to the max and smells like fried food, beer, and bad decisions. The bar area has a line as long as the entire NHL roster, and there’s barely room to move, but Jet holds my hand again and pulls me farther into the club.

The setup is not like a normal nightclub but not an average sports bar either.

Loud and happy cheers roar through the small space, and it’s all coming from the back where the team is. Half of them already have their ties either loosened or off, post-game suit jackets are hanging over chairs or on the floor, and they’re rowdier than your average sober man.

My gaze spots Ollie as soon as we get closer, and I can’t help wondering if it’s the win or the alcohol that’s lighting up his face like that. Or maybe it’s that he’s not looking at me.

While the suit he wears is no tux like the night of the benefit, he looks just as hot. Fuck it, he looks hot in everything, even the casual jeans and T-shirt he wore the first night I met him.

He’s still mad at you, I remind myself.

Ollie’s teammates surround him, handing him a fresh drink as soon as he’s finished with the one in his hand.

Before we can reach the players, we hit a wall of women hoping to vie for a hockey player’s attention. We can’t seem to get around them, so we stand awkwardly waiting for them to move.

Jet leans into me. “I feel like my eyes are too young to see this much skin. I’m impressionable, damn it.”

“If they were guys, you wouldn’t be complaining.”

“Fucking duh.”

We push our way through, still holding hands so we don’t lose each other, and we finally make it to where the rest of the Dragons’ staff and team are.

Ollie catches sight of me, and he immediately frowns. Then he glances at Jet’s and my hands together, and the glare deepens.

I use my free hand to give him a casual two-finger salute, and he cocks his head as if he can’t tell if I’m genuinely waving hello or mocking him. It’s hard for me to tell, so he has no hope.

Jet leads me in the opposite direction than Ollie, to two women sitting on couches along the back wall. I recognize one as the team’s PR and media person.

“Ava, right?” I say loudly and shake her hand when she offers it.

“Lennon Hawkins. Sporting Health Magazine,” she says.

“Impressive.”

“I read your articles about one of my players.”

I try not to roll my eyes. “I think my reputation is getting blown way out of proportion. Let me guess. That player would be Ollie Strömberg.”

“Ollie and Lennon have Taylor Swift levels of bad blood,” Jet says.

“What would you know about it?” I ask.

“Noah told me. And you’re both idiots.”

“Most men are,” the other woman says and introduces herself as Camille—the GM’s assistant. After we shake hands, I turn back to Jet.

“What do you mean, we’re both idiots? Ollie’s the one who’s mad at me because he can’t handle criticism.”

Before he can answer, a loud crash of glass hitting the floor sounds from the players’ table, and there are screams from some girls and laughter from the guys.

“You’re not going to report on all this, are you?” Ava gestures to the messy state the team is already in.

I throw my hands up in defeat. “Off the record. Promise. I’m only here because of my roommate.”

Jet raises his hand. “That would be me. He wanted to go home, but I convinced him to stay for at least five drinks.”

“Two.”

“Okay, seven.”

I’m learning really fast that negotiating with Jet is pointless. “Guess we better get started on them then.”

The burn of staring follows me to the line at the bar, and I know exactly where it’s coming from. Ollie’s gaze is locked on me, as if trying to kill me with the Force. I’m tempted to fake choke, but I don’t want to make a fool of myself when no one will understand what I’m doing. This crowd doesn’t seem like the Star Wars type.

A teammate gives him another drink, but he still doesn’t take his eyes off me even as he sips the dark liquid. The man of the hour, the hero of the night, doesn’t have to wait in line for drinks like us nerds.

He finally breaks our stare off when a girl in a short tank top and even shorter skirt approaches him. The smile that finds his face makes me hate her. He smiled like that at me only a few nights ago, before he knew who I was, and now I’ve never hated being Lennon Hawkins more. Which is saying something considering it sucked being me as a teenager.

Why does this guy get to me? Because he reminds me of all those asshole jocks who I couldn’t help but want in high school and college? Because for a split second, I thought I had a chance?

He puts his arm around the puck bunny, and her face glows as if she won the freaking lottery.

Wrong tree, precious.

The girl on Ollie’s arm steps even closer to him, and I grit my teeth. Someone pushes me from behind, and I realize there’s a gap at the bar in front of me.

I mindlessly order two glasses of scotch and make my way back to Jet. Ava and Camille excuse themselves to go to the bathroom, and Jet stares at me with young, hopeful eyes as he reaches for the second drink.

“Shit … how old are you again?” I ask.

“Twenty-one.”

I eye him warily.

“Ish.”

I hesitate but relent. “Don’t tell your brother. Matt could snap me in half with one hand.”

“I’m a grown-up.”

“You know who never has to point out they’re an adult? Actual adults.”

Jet playfully shoves me, and I laugh, but it dies when my eyes meet Ollie’s across the room.

Geez, there he goes glaring at me again.

“Okay, seriously, what happened between you two? It can’t only be some articles,” Jet says. “You won’t stop staring at each other.”

“I think he’s trying to kill me with his mind.”

“I’ll tell him telepathic assassin is off the list of possible careers for him if the hockey thing doesn’t work out.”

“Did he say something about hockey not working out?” I ask, taken aback.

Jet pinches my arm. “Put Reporter Lennon away and be Friend Lennon.”

“I’m not his friend. Clearly. But I was curious because he has talent most people would kill for. I know my articles got to him, but if he let me explain it to him instead of trying to jump down my throat—”

Jet looks down at his drink. “I Googled last night after Noah told me the story. Read your article. The first one. You want the honest truth?” When he meets my eyes again, I get the feeling I’m about to walk into a trap.

That doesn’t stop me from defending myself. “I said he needed to get out from under Tommy, and look at tonight—he killed it.”

“You also referred to Tommy as a star and implied that Ollie was only good because of him. And I’ve heard talk around the arena. They say Ollie’s not the same on the ice without Tommy, so he’s getting it from the media and his teammates. Tonight was either a fluke or he’s finally gotten over the doubt.” Jet leans in closer. “The doubt that started with your article.”

I hang my head. “That wasn’t my intention. At all.” I wanted his star to shine brighter.

“I could see you two being friends if you could manage to get along.”

“How do you even know him?”

“He got me the job at the arena and helped me cover up the whole not knowing how to DJ thing. Apart from my bandmates, I haven’t met many people since moving to New York, but you can’t be my friends if you don’t get along. I refuse to be in the middle of two guys unless it’s in the fun way. Ooh, damn, a blond sandwich with you and Ollie would be hot.”

I raise my eyebrow.

He ignores it and moves on. The ADD is strong with this one. “Okay, so this is what’s going to happen. Because I’m Ollie’s friend, I’m gonna go say hi and congratulate him on how awesome he was tonight. Are you going to grow some balls and come with me or hide over here like a child too scared about monsters in his closet?”

“Your mouth’s going to get you into trouble one day.”

“I’m betting on it.”

The closer we step toward Ollie, the less composed he appears. His eyes are glassy, he sways a little, and as he finishes off a drink, another teammate replaces it with a new one.

Jet and I have only been here for fifteen minutes, max, and in that time, I’ve seen Ollie take two new drinks from someone like he’s on some sort of mission.

When we get close, Ollie steps around his puck bunny friend. “Hey, Jude.”

Great. Let’s start with The Beatles jokes. “Original,” I murmur.

“Let me guess what tomorrow’s headline’s gonna be.” His words are slightly slurred, but not too bad, and his Boston accent is a little thicker. “Big Idiot Goofball Falls on His Pretty Face and Should Be Traded Again Because He Sucks and is a Hack But He Managed to Pull One Out His Ass in the End.”

Even though he’s being an ass, I can’t help but find him entertaining. “That’s way too long for a headline. And good to know you think of yourself as pretty.”

He looks as if he doesn’t know if I’m mocking him or not.

“Not that you’ll believe me, but my article will say you saved the whole team. Congratulations on making the playoffs.” See, at least one of us can be mature.

Ollie blinks at me, and his shaggy, unstyled hair falls into his eyes. It’s the only time I’ve seen his hair unruly and not slicked back. I think I like it even better than the wet look.

No. Stop liking Ollie things. He’s no different than the others.

“You were awesome,” Jet says, pulling Ollie’s attention away from me.

Oh sure, he’ll shake Jet’s hand and give him a smile. “Thanks, man. You totally didn’t suck as game DJ either. Even if some of your song choices … were, uh … inventive.”

“You were listening? I woulda thought you’d be too busy kicking ass and taking names.”

Ollie laughs, and I hate that I like the deep rumble as it vibrates through the loud club. “I caught snippets.”

“My personal favorite was Bieber’s ‘Love Yourself’ when Toronto started a fight,” I say.

Ollie smiles in my direction, but then his face drops as if he realized he’s not allowed to like anything that comes out my mouth.

“Everyone knows that song is code for go fuck yourself,” Jet says. “I found it appropriate.”

“Yo, Strömberg! Over here,” Ollie’s line mate Kessler yells out.

Ollie stumbles away from us, seemingly forgetting the girl who was patiently waiting behind him.

Someone else hands Ollie another drink, and he gets caught up talking to them. He’s well and truly on his way to being buzzed.

Jet leads us back to the less crowded side of the bar where Camille and Ava are with fresh drinks. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?” he asks me.

“No. But can we leave yet?”

“We just got here. Go get another drink.”

If I wasn’t living with the guy, I’d be tempted to ditch him right about now, so instead, I head to the bar and wonder exactly how I’ve become Jet’s puppet. I’ll have to ask Matt and Noah how they ever say no to him.

Despite my protests, as the night wears on, we actually have fun. I drink a few more, and the PR rep and I end up having a lot in common. We both went to Saratoga and both minored in sports management although she graduated a few years before I was even a freshman. She majored in communications, whereas I majored in journalism.

Throughout our chat, my gaze keeps finding Ollie, and he’s getting sloppier by the minute. I know he’s stupid drunk when he looks over at me and he smiles.

Then he looks at the girl who’s been following him around like a puppy, and he sways as he tries to concentrate on what she’s saying. It almost looks as if she’s speaking alien with the way his forehead scrunches.

Ollie sways a bit more, and I realize he’s more than stupid drunk. His official level of drunkenness is probably around three-quarters of the way to shitfaced. That’s only a few steps below “I can’t remember my address” and right on the verge of asking profound questions like “Do penguins have nipples?”

His friend grabs him by the hand, and he follows her out of the bar after wolf whistles and back slaps from his team.

Ugh. The sickly feeling coming from my gut can’t be jealousy. I don’t have that right. But as I watch them leave together, there’s no doubt something inside me doesn’t like it.

I finish off my fifth drink and send Jet a telepathic please can we get out of here now? And I’ve either gained superpowers I’m unaware of or my face gives me away, because Jet nods at me.

“Was that number five?”

“Yup.”

He relents and stands. “Okay, I did promise him I’d let him go home after that.”

“I feel like I should be offended you’re running out of here as soon as possible,” Ava says. “Am I that boring?”

“No, hon”—I lean in and kiss her cheek—“you made my night tolerable.” While a certain hockey player made it almost unbearable.

“Not your scene?” she asks.

“Not really.”

Jet and I make our way outside, but as I go to ask which way the subway is to get back to Noah’s place, I see Ollie’s lips on that girl’s mouth.

They’re by the curb, just kissing away like Ollie does this all the time.

So much for being gay, gay, gay, gay, gay as he pointed out the other day to me in the pressroom. The lengths some of these closeted guys will go to …

I swallow my irrational disappointment and go to leave when Jet pulls me back.

“Quick—look like you’re wasted,” he says.

“Uh, do what now?”

“Just do it.” He grabs the back of my neck and pushes my head down, forcing me to hunch over.

“What the fuck?” I try to shake him off me, but for a smaller guy, he’s surprisingly strong.

“We’re saving him from the jersey chaser.”

“In hockey, they’re puck bunnies.” I try to push him off me again. “And by the look of him, he doesn’t need saving.”

“Friends don’t let friends do stupid drunken things. You’d know this if you had any friends.”

Touché. Apart from Noah, I don’t really have anyone. I relax under Jet’s hand and follow his lead.