Scored (V-Card Diaries 1)

I swallow hard. “Thanks. You, too. Want to go eat donuts? I could use one. Or four.”

“Yeah. I do.” He grins, that smile that makes my skin feel hot all over, opening a whole new can of worms as we follow the others inside.

Deciding that being friends with Ian is my best and only choice is all well and good. But what if my body refuses to get on board with that decision? What if it insists on blushing and tingling and wanting things it can never have?

I don’t know.

But I’m pretty sure donuts will make things better.

At least for a little while.

Chapter 12

Ian

After class, Evie bolts out of the art room so fast I don’t get a chance to ask her if I should bring anything other than myself when I swing by her place later, so I text Cameron—I know you’re cooking dinner, but I’d love to contribute. Can I bring salad or a vegetable tray or something? Maybe some wine?

A moment later, Cam texts back—Yeah, a bottle of white would be great, but I have everything else covered. I’m making shrimp orzo with summer veggies. Tons of it, so bring a hearty appetite.

Sounds great, thanks—I reply, ignoring the anxiety pricking at the back of my neck as I head home to grab my supplies for our first meeting.

Evie and I talked after the firepit, and she said everything was fine. But I don’t feel fine for some reason.

I feel…confused.

When Evie and I were standing there by the fire, just the two of us, things felt different between us, and not just because she was dressed up and wearing makeup. And not even because I found myself aware of her beauty in a way I’ve never been before.

It was more than that, but I can’t quite put my finger on it, and when I arrive at her place at seven, as planned, Evie answers the door still damp from the shower and wearing her usual overalls over a paint-splattered, long-sleeved white thermal.

She looks like the old Evie, and for a moment I think that’s going to be it—the end of the weirdness.

But when she smiles and motions me inside, my stomach does that same clenching, flipping thing it did earlier today. “Come on in,” she says. “Food’s almost ready and I’m dying for a glass of that.” She points to the wine in my hand, and I pass it over, doing my best to ignore the fizzing feeling that shoots up my arm as our fingers touch.

“Yeah?” I clear my throat when the word comes out low and rough. “Hard day at the salt mines?”

“You’d better believe it,” she says. “Spent the entire afternoon with a bunch of stinky hockey boys. Had to come straight home and shower the smell off.”

“Yeah, about that.” I touch her elbow, triggering another squeezing sensation in my chest. “I’m sorry if I overstepped and made you uncomfortable in front of the team. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t even mean to draw your dad, it just happened.”

She glances down at my fingers, still wrapped around her elbow, and pulls in a deep breath before lifting her gaze to mine. “You didn’t overstep. But you did make me think. Honestly, I’m still thinking.”

I frown. “About?”

“About my dad. About our relationship and what it was like to grow up in his house. About whether I’m as well-adjusted and ‘normal’ as I’ve always thought.” A tight laugh escapes her lips. “I’m starting to think I’m actually kind of a hot mess.”

“Nah, it’s just been a rough few days. Starting a new job is always hard and the guys didn’t make it easy for you. Though they were better today.” I tilt my head, catching her eye before I add, “Seems like you’re starting to get through to them.”

Her lips twitch but a smile doesn’t form. “I hope so. And I hope our sessions help. They’re sweet guys, once you get past their outer grouchy and suspicious layers.”

I arch a brow. “Sweet isn’t the word I’d use, but I hope so, too. Maybe then I won’t have to think about transferring at the end of the season.”

Her eyes widen. “Wow. Really? You’re thinking about leaving the Possums? Where would you go?”

“Portland, Oregon, most likely,” I say, with an uncomfortable shrug. “But don’t say anything to Derrick or anyone else, okay? I haven’t mentioned it to anyone yet. I’m still mulling things over. I just know I can’t stay here if things don’t change. I’m tired of being the ‘bad boys’ of the NHL. I just want to play the game without all the in-fighting and drama.”

She nods. “That makes sense. But we’d miss you. I’d miss you.”

“I’d miss you, too,” I say, fighting the insane urge to brush her damp curls from her forehead and trail my fingers down her heart-shaped face. To run my thumb over her full bottom lip and see if it’s as soft as it looks.