"Time for a break," Chase announced, shoving the keyboard tray back into place. He leaned back in his chair, stretching out his long legs.

I glanced up from the bed, where I was sprawled out on my stomach reading my Data Journalism and Methods textbook. "But it's only been an hour."

"It's five o'clock, which means it's time to eat. We need brain food, James. It's just science."

I groaned. "Let me guess, and then we're going to need second dinner. And a snack. And a pencil sharpening break. Maybe we can go chop a tree down, too, and handcraft some pencils so you don't have to actually finish your essay."

He grinned. "Probably, but for now let's start with pizza."

*

Chase hopped over the back of the couch, parkour-style, plopping down beside me. It was a surprisingly nimble move for such a large human, even for an athlete.

"Pizza's on its way in 25. Time for...video games?" He turned to me, head cocked questioningly.

I shrugged. "Sure."

I was hungrier than I'd realized and I couldn't focus on my dry as dirt textbook knowing food was on the way. The subject matter was difficult and dull, full of statistics and theory, which made it damn near impossible to hold my interest. It was my worst class this semester.

"Really?" His eyes lit up. "I was just shit testing you. I didn't think you'd say yes."

"I know," I said. "But I have three brothers. Didn't exactly have anyone to play tea party with growing up. We played NHL '07 all the time."

Much to my mother's dismay, I had never been a girly girl. When she found out about her "surprise" pregnancy with me after my three older brothers, she was excited for frilly pink dresses, Barbies, and tea parties. Then I was born, hating all things pink and preferring Derek's dump trucks to my dolls. I even cried at Christmas when I was five because Santa brought me a purple and pink Lego set; I wanted the "real," multicolored Lego that my brothers had.

He raised his eyebrows. "So you're saying you're good at video games?"

"Oh, I'm better than good."

Which Luke had hated, incidentally. In his view, having a pair of boobs was a disqualifying condition when it came to playing. He was less than thrilled when I wanted to join and even more annoyed when I beat them, which was often. It was pretty clear he wanted me to go hang in the kitchen with the other girls, like a good hockey girlfriend should.

"Sweet." He stood up, turning on the game console. "None of the chicks I know ever want to play. I think Shiv would like to strangle Dallas with the controller cord at this point."

"Who's Shiv?"

"Siobhan. Dallas's, ah...well, I don't know what they are. But she's cool. You'd get along with her." He scrolled into the team selection menu and we both began picking our players, building our lineups.

"You might not be quite as thrilled after I school you."

He scoffed. "Never gonna happen."

By the time the pizza arrived, I'd beaten him twice.

"What do you know?" Chase turned to me, giving me a sly once-over. A thrill ran through my body. "Hot and nerdy. You're full of surprises." He set the controller aside and got up to answer the doorbell, thanking the delivery person.

Wait. Did he just call me hot?

...And nerdy?

"Hey, let me pay," I called out, standing up.

"Too late." He shut the door, a truckload of food in his arms. Two large pizzas, wings, breadsticks, Caesar salad, and freshly-baked chocolate chip cookies. It was kind of nice, in contrast to Luke's restrictive chicken breast and broccoli diet he paid some nutritionist thousands of dollars to create. "I paid online when I ordered. Don't even think of trying to sneak me cash, either."

"But you paid for dinner that other night and hot chocolate..." Luke literally kept track to ensure we took turns. Everything was always even.

"And you're helping me with my paper, remember?" He shrugged.

I followed him into the kitchen, leaning against the black granite counter while he set out the boxes of food.

"Speaking of your paper," I said, "how far did you get on it?"

"Page four." He handed me a square white plate from the cupboard.

I suppressed a groan. His paper was twenty pages long, and I had a feeling I wasn't getting a ride home until it was finished.

*

Three hours later, I was hopped up on carbs and cookies, re-writing my notes for my exam. The good part about Chase working slowly was that it was forcing me to focus on my studying. I couldn't get off-track and start fooling around on my phone, because he would immediately use it as license to do the same.

"This fucking history class is going to be the end of me." Chase snapped his green pencil in half, tossing it in the stainless steel garbage can beside him with a clang. "It was the only social science elective that fit my training schedule."

I set down my blue ballpoint pen, shaking out the writing cramp in my left hand. If you really did retain things better when you wrote them out on paper, I was going to ace the exam. In retrospect, bringing my laptop would have been a good idea, but I hadn't planned to stay this long. I should have known to plan for contingencies when Chase was involved.

Not that I was complaining about spending time with him.

"What's your major again?"

"Econ." He turned the chair around to face me and a small smile played on his lips as our eyes met. My stomach flip-flopped, and not from all the sugar.

"Well, you must be more than a pretty face if you're studying that." I had taken microeconomics last spring as part of my breadth requirement for journalism and it was like a full-on foreign language to me. The class had made it a serious challenge to maintain my 4.0 that semester.

He shrugged his broad shoulders. "I barely knew what economics was when I chose it. I picked it by performing an Internet search for the top five majors with the fewest papers."

"Shut up. You did not."

But actually, he probably did.

"Sure did," he said. "Math isn't hard, it's all the reading and writing crap that gets me."

"Crap?" I gasped, placing a hand on my chest. "Blasphemy. You're talking to a writer, you realize? That's my bread and butter."

"It just doesn't come easily for me," he said. "And I have a low tolerance for frustration."

"You don't say."

He grabbed a new pencil from cup on his desk, tossing it in the air and catching it. "Lucky for me, now I have you to help me with that stuff."

"Oh, this isn't a permanent tutoring arrangement."

"Of course it is." He shot me a disarming grin and the room got ten degrees warmer. It should have been considered a controlled weapon—it could melt the clothes clean off your body.

"Finish the essay, Carter." I fought a smile and shook my head, returning my attention to my notes. Or trying to, anyway, because the tension in the room had suddenly grown heavy. Palpable. Suggestive.

Instead, he stood up and came to sit down beside me. The bed beside me sank under his weight and I could smell the mint on his breath, feel the warmth of his body. His cologne, mingled with soap and laundry detergent, formed some kind of heavenly mixture that should have also fallen into the controlled weapon category.

"So, when are you going to come see me play?"

His arm brushed against mine, skin against skin, sending a shiver down my spine.

I glanced up at him, finding his dark eyes serious and watchful. "What are you talking about? I've seen you play plenty of times."

"Yeah, but when are you going to come and cheer for me?" He gave me a boyish grin.

Who could say no to that? Not a single straight woman alive.

It was the flirting equivalent of a trick shot.

"You could sit with Shiv," he added, nudging me gently with his elbow. "You know, on a night we're playing someone else."

It would have to be. Watching Chase play against Callingwood would be way too uncomfortable; just imagining it brought up all sorts of mixed feelings. I was loyal to a fault, but after everything that had happened lately, I wasn't sure who I should be loyal to anymore.

It was like everything I thought I'd known was slowly unraveling. Or not so slowly, when it came to him.

Heat rushed up my neck and I dropped my gaze. "Technically, I should still cheer against you since both teams are in the same division and vying for points."

"I won't tell if you don't." Chase's voice dropped, innuendo-laden and impossible to resist.

The air in the room took on an electric charge. I lifted my eyes, meeting his. His pupils dilated and he paused, studying my face. My entire body hummed in response and my breath grew soft, waiting. His expression shifted from contemplative to something else and he shifted his weight, turning his body to face me.

"Carter!" A deep male voice yelled, followed by a door slamming. "Yo, I need a hand bringing something in."

The high I was riding vanished.

Chase drew in a breath and furrowed his brow, like he felt the same way. "Guess the roommates are home. Want to come meet Ward?"

"Sure." I drew in a breath, trying to regain my mental footing. It didn't work. I was in quicksand.

And knowing what kissing him felt like was a special kind of torture, because now I knew what I was missing.

I followed Chase down the wooden staircase, into the living room. There stood Dallas Ward, offensive sniper for the Falcons. While Chase was a total instigator, I should have hated Dallas on the grounds that he could shoot and stickhandle circles around anyone on our team.

He was almost as tall as Chase, with a sharp jaw, dark chestnut hair and arresting blue eyes. With him was a beautiful raven-haired girl who had dark blue-green eyes and a Cupid's-bow lips. They were the most beautiful couple I had ever seen.

I mean, I used to think Luke was good looking, but he was a potato compared to the three of them. Were all of the people on his team gorgeous up close? And their girlfriends? So far, everyone looked like they were straight from the cast of a network television drama. I certainly didn't fit in.

"This is Bailey." Chase gestured to me. "Bailey, Dallas and Siobhan. Or Shiv."

Dallas's eyes widened. "This is the famous James?"

Oh god. Was I famous because Chase liked me, or famous because I threw up on his shoes?

"It's so nice to meet you," Shiv said, giving me a warm smile. I had a feeling that unlike some of the hockey girlfriends I knew, who didn't appreciate the presence of new girls, she actually meant it.

"Likewise," I said.

Dallas jerked his thumb at the front door. "Can you give me a hand, man? I have a bookshelf I need help with."

"Bookshelf?" Chase cocked a brow. "Shiv, are you domesticating him or what?"

She shrugged. "What can I say? He's finally housebroken. It's a proud day for us all."

"Yeah, yeah." Dallas rolled his eyes, smacking her on the butt as he walked past her to the front door. It slammed shut behind them and Siobhan stepped closer to me, eyes twinkling.

She lowered her voice. "So, you and Chase, huh?"

"Oh, we're just friends."

I wondered how many "friends" he'd kissed. Then I wondered how many "friends" Siobhan had met...Especially lately.

Not that it was technically any of my business.

"Of course." Siobhan winked at me. "Dallas and I are 'friends' too. How long have you and Chase been, um, hanging out?"

Were we hanging out? I guess we were. What did that even mean? My dating experience consisted of one high school boyfriend plus Luke. I was not well versed in the workings of the single world.

But this wasn't that kind of hanging out...Was it?

How did I not know what I was doing?

"About a month?"

"Huh." She nodded thoughtfully. "Well, I could really use some more estrogen around here to balance things out. He's a good guy. I hope you can put up with him long-term."

I wasn't sure that would be the problem.

Could I have completed that essay a little faster? Probably.

Was I motivated to speed up the process when James was in my bedroom, looking adorable as fuck on my bed? Not really.

This song is 100% Chase. (Dazed and Confused by Ruel)

The next few chapters are my faveeeee! Because first come feels, then comes steam.