Chapter Eight
Lindsay
Confession #5: I used to see other girls as strictly competition, and I’d measure my assets against theirs and then do whatever it took to win.
Funny thing about that, it didn’t make you a lot of female friends. Growing up, Mom always claimed girls were just jealous of me like women were jealous of her. Said it like it was our curse to bear. Poor, poor us and our devastating beauty and feminine wiles. Hah!
Honestly, I think jealousy sometimes factored into the mix, but—thanks to changing up my life and the way I used to live it—I also knew it was frustrating for girls who didn’t want to put themselves way out there, whether by boldly flirting or boldly dressing, or a combination of both. We wanted to be noticed even if we weren’t flashing cleavage and a lot of leg. The problem was that guys noticed cleavage and legs, and they sure as hell noticed someone willing to press said assets up against them while having an “innocent” conversation. When you decide to be one of the girls in the mix not doing those things, it’s about a hundred times harder to snag guys’ attention.
Do you know how many guys had asked me out since I changed my ways and turned to the more conservative dressing and flirting route? Zero. And okay, not that guys asked me out on actual official dates before, but the second I decided I wasn’t into hooking up anymore, they seemed to lose all interest.
Only one guy had even bothered inviting me to a party, and the first time he’d done it, I thought it was more of a casual suggestion than actual caring if I went.
Now that Ryder had asked me to another party, and we were…tutoring friends…here I was, trying on every outfit in my closet, declaring one too revealing and the next too school marm-y.
Ugh, maybe I should just stay home. I could get a jump-start on my homework or make some progress on the next edition of the Heights… A lame way to spend a Saturday night, but doing so for the last several months hadn’t killed me. I hadn’t exactly been putting myself out there, and now I wondered if I had—if I’d dressed like the typical college girl and went to bars and did some mild flirting—if any guys would’ve bought me drinks. Asked for my number.
The knock at the door pulled me from the What if game. I stepped out of my bedroom and made my way across the messy living room. I had two roommates—who’d apparently had a party last night—but since I’d considered them competition when I first moved in, our chance to be BFFs had passed me by. Now they hung out with each other and occasionally glanced up when I entered the room. Last year, when I’d come home crying after things went sour with Hudson, they hadn’t even asked me what was wrong. I knew it was my fault for not trying to get to know them better, but it still stung. The reason I’d roomed with them again involved being a creature of habit, and I figured known-and-kind-of-sucky was worse than unknown-and-possibly-super-sucky.
“Whitney. Hey.” I gestured her inside. I’d hired the pretty blonde after she pitched a story on how college guys didn’t want to commit. Since she was clearly a woman scorned—much like I was—I thought she’d help me take the hockey players down with an exposé on how the college gave them unfair perks.
Confession #6: After years of viewing girls as competition, I almost didn’t give Whitney a job at the Heights because she was threateningly beautiful. Had I known she’d fall in love with one of the hockey players while writing her exposé, I definitely wouldn’t have given her a chance.
Whitney was now with the very hockey player who’d crushed my heart almost a year ago and made me target the team in the first place. Considering that fact, I liked to think of it as personal growth that not only did I not hold a grudge when her article didn’t turn out like I wanted, but that somewhere along the way, we also became sort of friends. Not super close ones, like she and her roommate Lyla were, but Whitney was the closest girlfriend I had. The closest I’d ever had, actually. I wasn’t sure if that was sad or hopeful, but I’d take it anyway.
“You ready?” she asked.
Nervous bees swarmed my stomach. What was I thinking? I couldn’t go to a hockey party. Last time I’d gone to the Quad, it was too much. Not just because of the many players inside, but because I’d started to soften toward Ryder almost immediately, and that was before I knew hardly anything about him.
Since he now knew my MO and had taken it upon himself to block all attempts at giving in to my flight response, I’d be trapped, and… My breaths quickened, coming right on top of each other.
“Lindsay?” Whitney placed a hand on my shoulder and lowered her face so it was level with mine.
“You know, I just realized how much I have to do, and I’m thinking I should really stay home and—”
“Ryder said you’d say something like that.” Whitney looped her arm through mine. “I’ve been ordered to make sure you join us.”
“I send you in to expose the hockey team and now you’re doing their bidding,” I mumbled. The pursed lips, head tilted look Whitney gave me made it clear she’d heard me loud and clear. “Sorry.”
See? Bad at making friends, at being a friend. Just when I thought I might be missing the girl gene—not like the actual double X chromosome, but the metaphorical one people referenced—a question popped out of my mouth, unbidden, because I shouldn’t care. “How’s my outfit? Do I look okay?”
I so didn’t want to care, but it was okay to want to look my best, right? I’d already captured the attention of a certain guy, and while I was having conflicted feelings about it to say the least, I didn’t want to look like a potato sack next to the puck bunnies I used to run with. Or hop with, I thought, laughing at my own joke.
“The maniacal laugh scares me a little,” Whitney said, “but I love your outfit. It’s the perfect mix of trying but not looking like you’re trying.”
“Well, your knowledge of what I’m attempting to convey with my outfit is a bit maniacal.” Words were the other reason I couldn’t help but like Whitney. She dealt in them like I did, and that meant she understood me better than most.
Is that a bad sign? Because clearly she’s into hockey players, and I really can’t go down that road again.
Before I could come up with another excuse, she gave me a solid tug and my feet automatically moved to keep up as she exited my apartment. “Come on. I’ll make you a cocktail once we get there, and that’ll take off the edge. The rest will work itself out.”
Ten minutes later, we stood near the entrance to the Quad, the crowd in front of us slowly filtering their way inside a couple of people at a time.
“So the team won their game tonight?” I asked Whitney as we walked toward the open doorway. The closer we got, the louder the music.
“Yeah. It was a close game, but they pulled it off. Playoffs this year are going to be intense, but we’ve got a great standing, and I know they can repeat as champs.” Whitney slowed her steps. “You should come to a game with Lyla, Megan, and me sometime. Just because of…what happened…doesn’t mean you can’t go watch a game.”
Most of the time, Whitney refrained from mentioning the confession I’d made to her a few months ago about her now-boyfriend and how he’d broken my heart. She didn’t even mention Hudson’s name much. I appreciated her discretion on both counts, but I’d finally reached the place where hearing his name didn’t hurt. Not that I wanted the details of their happy coupledom, but I still considered it a win.
But the intense yearning that washed over me at the mention of the hockey game made it clear that I hadn’t quite managed to rid myself of my former addiction. Even now, images of ripped hockey players were skating through my head. How I’d blow one a kiss as he glided across the rink, and he’d wink, and I knew that he’d find me later.
I worked to shut down the dirty mind reel and shove away the leftover desire. “Would you offer a drink to an alcoholic?”
Whitney shook her head. “Hardly the same thing, and you know it.”
No, I didn’t, just like she didn’t know how my former life often called to me, telling me I used to be happier. Less bitter. Less sexually frustrated for sure. Back then I’d also been seeking my self-esteem from other people, which negated the very definition considering “self” was right there in the word.
No doubt Whitney only saw a woman scorned, and while I’d played that role and held on to my grudge for too long, for my health, I couldn’t completely let it go, either.
The second we stepped inside the building, the buzz of the crowd and beat of the music made conversation nearly impossible. I took in the mix of people, several familiar faces from my past three years of being involved in the hockey circuit.
This was a mistake…
As if she could read my mind and see the urge to flee written on my face, Whitney re-looped her arm through mine and pulled me deeper into the sea of people, over to where Lyla and Megan stood.
“Hey, girls!” Whitney hugged one and then the other, then gestured to me. “You guys remember Lindsay?” They nodded at me and I lifted my hand in a lame wave.
“Hey,” Megan said, flashing me a big smile. “She went with Dane, Ryder, and me when we saw that play the other night. Wasn’t it amazing?”
“It was,” I said, because that was the truth. The curious look Whitney gave me made it clear that Ryder hadn’t divulged that info when he’d convinced her to get me to the party. I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing, but I was sure it probably wasn’t something I should obsess over.
“Glad you decided to join us,” Lyla said. “I don’t know how many of these you’ve been to, but my best party advice is to not open conversations with stories about your cat. If you have one. I suppose if you don’t have one, though, that still applies, as it’d be weird to bring up a pet you don’t have.”
“I’ll, uh, keep that in mind.” I sometimes rambled—especially around Ryder, which frustrated me to no end—but Lyla was the queen of rambling. Or maybe it’d be categorized as more rapid-fire fact giving. Once, I’d rhetorically asked, “What are the odds?” and she’d given them to me based on her research. I’d also heard quite a bit about her cat, Einstein, before. Whitney occasionally talked about him, too, and since I’d been experiencing bouts of loneliness, I’d momentarily considered becoming a cat lady. Didn’t that and being a book editor just go together? Might as well get a jump-start on my future.
“See? All the cool peeps are here,” Whitney said, nudging me with her elbow. “Aren’t you glad you came?”
Memories of past parties flickered through my mind as I looked around, and a tight band formed around my chest. “Actually, I’m second-guessing it even as we speak.”
“That means you need to dance,” Lyla said, and before I could explain that dancing wasn’t in my repertoire anymore, they dragged me onto the floor. The girls moved to the music and eventually, albeit reluctantly, I joined in, swaying my hips to the beat.
“Don’t you guys have boyfriends you’d rather be dancing with?” I shouted over the music.
“They haven’t made it over from the rink yet.” Lyla added a shimmy to her words. “But they’re not the biggest fans of dancing. Not this kind, anyway, and while I’ll admit I like being pressed up against Beck during a slow song, I also love a good fast one now and then.”
Megan was an amazing dancer, and I stopped moving to watch her. She smiled, then grabbed my hand and spun me around.
For a second, I wondered what game these girls were playing, being nice to me. Then I remembered that they were simply nice girls.
Off to my left, I caught sight of one of the hockey players—Henry Barnes, number eight, goalie—and I recognized the girl pressed up against him. Misty and I used to be as thick as thieves, puck bunnies in arms. I knew she’d stab me in the back if it meant snagging a guy’s attention and getting it off me, and honestly, I’d pulled some pretty low moves myself, so the feeling was undoubtedly mutual.
The thought of our past competitions sent a sick sensation through my gut now. If Misty still wanted to play the game, more power to her. I hated thinking about how I used to be. Hated to think of the desperation I’d felt, and I couldn’t help but wonder if it’d showed on the outside, too, the way Mom’s did when she was around her man of the moment.
I shuddered.
“You okay?” Whitney asked as the song wound down.
I nodded and attempted a smile.
“Let’s get that drink I promised you.” She clamped on to my hand and pulled me toward the table covered in various forms of alcohol and mixers.
I downed the first drink she handed me in record time. I swore I could feel eyes on me, and my skin prickled uncomfortably. I couldn’t pinpoint who was responsible for giving me the ominous vibe, but a few guys were looking at me like an easy mark, while several girls glared at me.
Or maybe I was projecting.
Whitney handed me a freshly refilled cup, this one fuller than the last.
I took a healthy gulp and then glanced around, my paranoia growing. “Look, tell Ryder I had to go.”
“Give it a few more minutes,” Whitney said.
“No offense, but why do you care if I stay? Hudson will be here any minute.” To my credit, I didn’t even flinch when I said his name. But I didn’t belong in this crowd anymore. This party only proved it—it shoved my past in my face and I didn’t like it. “And it’s nice that you and Ryder are friends or whatever, but he’ll get over it. In fact, he’ll probably have more fun if I’m not here.”
Whitney sighed. “Don’t get mad, but all you do is go to classes and work, and this is your last semester of college. Soon you’ll have even more responsibilities. You don’t want to look back and regret what you missed out on, do you?”
“When I look back on my regrets, they’re getting caught up in this kind of thing. Caring too much about hockey players and the parties.”
She shifted to the side to make way for a group who came over to make drinks. “So no parties, no dating, and no fun for the rest of the semester? That’s what you want to do with your last few months of college?”
“Well, when you put it that way…” It would be nice to get out of my head and have some fun. I nearly snorted at that, because Ryder was always claiming I had a grudge against it. Speaking of things on the guy front, it had been a long time, and while I didn’t have time for a relationship, it would be nice to have someone to cuddle up with at the end of the day. To kiss. To do a little more…
Basically some carefree college fun to round out my last year.
But Ryder was too dangerous. He was tied to the former life I’d shed and promised to never go back to, so he and I would have to keep things on the friendly level.
Which meant that I needed to look at this party in a different way. I wasn’t here to meet up with Ryder, hockey player and unexpected math nerd. No, this was my chance to dip a toe back into the dating pool. Like a slow reintroduction to college parties and flirting with boys. If anything, at least I wouldn’t be totally rusty once I attempted to get back out there in the real world.
There’s nothing wrong with having a little fun before I graduate. I’ve worked hard and I need a break from the stress of my life.
And this way I’m still in control, the way I need to be.
“Fine. You want fun, party Lindsay?” I tipped back the drink, chugging as much as I could and then adding another splash of vodka to the mix. “You’re about to get her.”