We stumbled into Chase's bedroom in a blur of kissing and groping, sighs and murmurs. Mouths still together, he shut the door behind us and locked it, then steered us over to his desk, reaching behind me to switch on the lamp.

After another minute, we broke apart, slightly breathless and dazed.

He gave me a slow, deliberate once-over in the dim light of his room. "You are wearing entirely too much clothing, James."

"Oh yeah? What are you gonna to do about it?" I asked, giving him a playful look.

"I'm not going to do anything." His voice turned dark and satin-smooth, like rich black coffee. "You're going to take it off for me."

Oh...my.

My pulse kickstarted, sending a surge of adrenaline through my veins.

"You want me to strip for you?"

"Uh-huh." He nodded, lips tugging into a rakish smile. "I'll make it worth your while."

"I might need a few drinks in me first," I said. "Like, approaching XS number of drinks."

Chase slipped his warm hands beneath the fabric of my sweater and ran them down the sides of my torso, landing on my waist. Ducking his head, his lips skimmed along on the curve of my neck, alluding to kisses without delivering.

"I know you don't have a shirt underneath that sweater," he murmured against my skin, "so it's only two layers, really, until you're in a bra and underwear. And I can take those off with my teeth."

Heat unfurled between my legs at his offer. He planted a line of soft kisses starting just below my ear, followed by a gentle nip on the top of my shoulder. I drew in a soft breath of surprise and a low chuckle rumbled from his chest.

"You are so beautiful." He kissed my neck again, feather light. "And hot." His mouth moved higher, kissing just below my jawline. "And sexy."

Winding his hand in roots of the hair at my nape, he angled my face up to meet his, mouth crashing down on mine. I drew in a breath, parting my lips as his tongue slipped inside my mouth. Kissing him was like an instant kill switch for my brain every single time. Everything else ceased to exist as the need between my legs surged, growing nearly too great to ignore.

His other hand slid around to grip my behind, squeezing possessively. A wall of warm muscle pressed up against my breasts as he drew our bodies closer together, close enough that I could feel exactly how much he wanted me. My palms landed on his chest, probing the muscle that lay beneath his shirt.

Then he slowly pulled away, pivoting us both half a turn. Taking a few steps backward, still facing me, he lowered himself down to sit on the edge of the bed with a devilish smile.

Once in a while, I found myself randomly awed by him. Surprised on some level that he was mine.

This was one of those moments.

Dark tousled hair and a devastatingly perfect face. Eyes you could get lost in and a smile you couldn't say no to. And while he was still fully dressed, I knew the body that lay beneath that shirt and those jeans, too. Smooth skin over taut muscle, power and prowess contained within.

Leaning forward, he placed his elbows on his thighs and gave me an expectant look. My eyes fell to his powerful forearms for a beat before sliding down to his big hands. Strong, skillful hands that I very much wanted on my body again.

Toying with the hem of my sweater, I paused, pretending to think. "You want me to take this off?"

"Very much so." Chase grinned.

Heart pounding, I took a step forward, watching the rise and fall of his chest quicken as I drew nearer. He watched me, rapt with desire. Although I did feel self-conscious, it also felt empowering to have that effect on him.

I came to a stop, almost close enough for him to reach out and touch me...but not quite.

"I guess I could." Crossing my arms across my chest, I slowly lifted the hem of the soft knit sweater, pulling it over my head. I tossed it aside, onto the floor.

His expression turned hungry, eyes tracing my body from head to toe with such intensity that I could almost feel heat glide across my skin.

With another step closer, I was standing between his legs. Our gazes locked as he looked up at me, eyes taking on a predatory gleam. Masculine energy radiated off him, carefully restrained but ready to pounce, to ravish.

I tilted my head questioningly. "Now what was I supposed to do?"

"Fuck it." He shook his head, letting out a low laugh. "This is a failed experiment. I can't keep my hands to myself." Reaching for me, he deftly unbuttoned my jeans, tugging down the zipper. He pulled them down, all the way to the floor, and I stepped out of them, nudging them aside with my foot.

A soft gasp escaped from the back of my throat as his hands gripped me from behind, yanking me up against him. His mouth landed on the sensitive skin just below my navel, beginning to kiss his way down my body. I let out a throaty sigh, running my hands through his soft, dark hair as he began to make good on all of the promises he'd made earlier.

*

The following days passed in a blur. Lectures, homework, the paper, and Chase occupied nearly all of my free time. Plus, a movie with Zara and Noelle on Friday and a Falcons game with Siobhan on Saturday. Unlike the game before, they won this time—including an assist from Chase. The win put him in a very...good mood. We didn't get much sleep that night, and slept in late on Sunday to make up for it.

But if I thought the Sunday blues were bad normally, it was nothing compared to facing down a Monday when I had to see Paul—especially after a perfect weekend. Talk about a rough transition into a new week.

With no small amount of dread, I headed to meet Paul at a coffee shop on campus after my psych class. Hopefully, a public setting would ensure he wasn't too much of a jerk. But Paul was basically Diet Luke, so how he would behave was anyone's guess.

I walked in to discover that he hadn't arrived yet, so I ordered a large vanilla latte at the front and tipped the barista with the change. Normally, I would have grabbed a berry muffin or banana bread to go along with it, but I had no appetite in light of my expected company. Then I grabbed a table off to the side, praying Paul would stand me up so I had an excuse to not write the article.

Not two minutes later, he crushed my hopes by appearing. Damn.

Pulling out a chair, he eased into it and placed an elbow on the table. He nodded at me, oozing arrogance and self-satisfaction. "Sup."

Objectively speaking, Paul would have probably been considered good looking. Tall, athletic, pleasant if generic features. But the personality that accompanied it was so lacking that it canceled out any appeal entirely.

I had never liked him, not even when Luke and I were still dating.

"Hi." I reached for my coffee, taking a gigantic gulp. Seeing him was beyond awkward, but the sugar and caffeine cushioned the blow a bit. If only I'd packed a flask to spike my coffee with. Even if it was 10 AM.

This was literally the first time we had ever been one-on-one. And hopefully, the last.

Working methodically through the list of ten questions I'd written—because Liam hadn't done that, either—I tried to be as professional as possible. How did he start playing hockey, when did he know he wanted to play at the college level, who were his role models, what did he intend to pursue after graduation, etc. I took scrupulous, detailed notes to eliminate any possibility that I might have to contact him again for clarification or follow-up.

While I'd planned to keep our meeting brief, unfortunately, Paul was more than happy to talk about himself. Or to drone on about himself, rather, because he didn't want to shut up. He kept spiraling off on unrelated tangents while I desperately tried to harness my interviewing skills and wrangle him back on course.

Paul was thirstier for the spotlight than I'd realized and apparently, he viewed this temporary Luke-free window as his time to shine. Seemed like Chase practically did him a favor.

25 painful minutes later, which was 10 longer than I'd intended to spend with Paul, he finally concluded some long-winded tale about hockey training camp last summer. Or last spring. I didn't know, I wasn't paying attention. I glanced down, cross-referencing my notes with my list of questions. Please tell me I didn't miss anything so I could end this nightmare of an interview.

"Okay, I think that covers everything." Standing up, I pushed my chair back and closed my silver laptop, gathering up my things. The massive tension I'd been holding in my shoulders started to ease. "Thanks for meeting me."

"By the way." Paul leaned back in his chair, leisurely crossing an ankle over his knee. I paused and glanced back up at him, bracing myself for another boring, self-promoting tale. "Funny story. My cousin waitresses at O'Malley's and she knows your boyfriend—you know, because he fucked one of her friends."

My stomach lurched and I stifled a flinch, wishing more than anything that I could un-hear what he'd just said. Someone needed to invent brain bleach to erase disturbing pieces of information like that. I didn't want to know, didn't need to know, didn't want to think about it.

He continued, "Anyway, she said some blonde chick was all over Carter when he was there recently."

Thoughts began to spin through my mind, rotating faster than an F5 tornado.

First, I attempted to process Paul's wholly unnecessary comment about his cousin's friend. I tried very hard not to get hung up on the past, because in theory, it didn't matter. But that didn't mean I liked being slapped in the face with it—particularly when I had just slept with him and was feeling extra vulnerable as a result. It wasn't that I judged Chase's past; it's that I was scared of becoming part of it.

Then there was this girl who was supposedly all over him recently. What was that about? When was Chase even at O'Malley's? Did he lie to me about where he was one night?

It was like being shot twice with one bullet.

Then again, Paul could be lying. Especially about the second part.

"Huh," I said. "Sounds like a misunderstanding." I tried to keep my voice steady, expression neutral.

"Doubtful." Paul smirked. "She was sitting in his lap."

Oh, so he had corroborating details. A sickening sense of déjà vu crashed over me. This was what happened with Luke. Always heard it from someone else, always long after the fact, always with specifics to back it up. And then he always denied it.

But Chase wasn't Luke. He was nothing like Luke.

At least, that's what I thought.

"I don't believe that." Shoving my laptop into my bag, I intentionally avoided Paul's prying gaze. I drew in a breath, trying to slow my speeding pulse.

Triggered would be putting it mildly. He'd hit me right where it hurt, like a sucker punch to the heart.

Paul shrugged. "Go ask my cousin. I'll tell her I sent you. Besides, why would I lie? I might think Carter is an asshole, but I have no issue with you."

"Right." I zipped up my black leather shoulder bag, meeting his gaze evenly. Barely-concealed triumph was all over his face. "I'm sure you're really looking out for my best interests."

"Just thought you should know."

"That's cute," I said. "You were always more than happy to cover for Luke before. Now you're pretending to be Mr. Honesty and Transparency?"

Paul had lied and provided alibis for Luke countless times. Of course, I hadn't known until Mendez got wasted last New Year's and basically confessed to being part of a three-person conspiracy that excluded my brother. But I never sold Mendez out, which meant I knew more than Paul or Luke even realized.

I knew more than Amelia did, too—but people liked to shoot the messenger and I didn't want to take that bullet. I was fairly certain sure she existed in a state of intentional ignorance, anyway.

As for why I took Luke back after that, I obviously had poor judgement. Maybe I still did.

I couldn't stomach the thought of making the same mistake twice.

Paul's expression hardened, dark blue eyes taking on a malicious gleam. "All I'm saying is, if you're determined to be a puck bunny, there are probably better options."

"Excuse me?"

"Going straight from being Morrison's girlfriend to Carter's girlfriend is a bad look, don't you think? A little desperate, really."

Asshole.

I glared at him, scrambling inwardly for something to say but coming up woefully empty-handed. Chase would have had something cutting and witty to fire back. Unfortunately, I wasn't as quick on my toes when it came to offering up retorts on the fly.

Especially when my brain was imploding.

"You can save your fake concern," I said. "As for the article, I've got all I need." Throwing my bag on my shoulder, I turned on my heel and stormed out of the coffee shop. I must have looked pissed, because two people standing near the door threw themselves out of my way as I approached.

For the sake of my position with the paper and my portfolio, I was going to write the article as diplomatically as possible, but it would be tough given the subject. I wanted to shred Paul and his bloated ego to pieces, word by word, paragraph by paragraph. Complete with a headline that read something like, "Assistant Captain With Inferiority Complex Revels In Captain's Absence."

Obviously, I couldn't publish that. But I might just write it anyway for my own petty enjoyment.

Continuing my brisk pace, I sped down the tiled hallway and pushed open the glass door, exiting the student commons. Fresh crisp air washed over me and I sucked in a breath, but it didn't quell the nausea in my gut. Then I realized I forgot my half-full coffee on the table because, why not? Clearly, even the smallest things were going to go wrong today.

I had planned to go to the Callingwood Daily office, but I couldn't face Zara and Noelle. My stomach was in my throat and my hands were shaking—they would know something was up the instant they saw me, and I was in no condition to discuss whatever had just transpired.

Instead, I turned right and cut across the quad, heading to the library to go hide at a table somewhere deep in the stacks.

As I walked, I tried to see things objectively.

I knew Paul's intentions weren't good. That was a given.

I knew he was probably trying to mess with Chase by messing with me. That was the most likely explanation.

But despite that, a small part of me wondered if what he said was true. If Chase had been flirting with some girl...or worse. I didn't want it to be true, but I couldn't say for sure it wasn't. I wanted to rule it out, but lord knows, I'd been wrong about things like that before. Multiple times.

And was that all I was, someone who went hockey player to hockey player? Just a girlfriend? What if what he said about being a puck bunny was right?

*

I told myself I would take a day to think. One day turned into two. Two days turned into three. Things with Chase were getting increasingly strained and I didn't know what to do about it. I knew I wasn't handling things well, but I didn't know how to handle them better.

Whenever I tried to talk things out with someone else, I inevitably made it worse than before I started. Somehow I always tripped up, things came out the exact wrong way, and everything blew up in my face.

It always turned into a fight, and I hated fighting.

On some level, I knew it was illogical, knew I was being illogical. But it was like being scared of a spider—an irrational, physiological fear I could not seem to shake.

Was I overreacting? Probably. But now that I had been sucked into this vortex filled with horrible, familiar feelings, I didn't know how to get back out. It was like being trapped in a pinball machine, rebounding back and forth between fear, hope, mistrust, and guilt.

What Paul said kept playing through my head like a broken record, setting off a vicious cycle of rumination. My first reaction was to dismiss it as ridiculous and false. Then I would second-guess myself and wonder if it could be true. Finally, I would consider talking to Chase about what Paul told me. But then I would reason if it was true, Chase would never admit it. And if it wasn't true, I was worried Chase would be mad at me for thinking it could be.

I went over it again and again in my head.

The only conclusion I kept reaching was that I had no idea what to do.

So I did nothing.

After several days of heavy tension at home, one blow-out fight that lasted a few hours, and tears I'd overheard one night while I was trying to sleep, Dallas and Siobhan finally made things official.

Ward was over the moon like a dopey puppy dog about the whole thing and they'd been extra affectionate ever since.

I was happy for them. Really, I was.

Except something was going on with Bailey.

Holed up in my room after a disastrous practice, I stared at my phone like it would somehow reveal an answer out of thin air. Re-reading old text messages for the tenth time didn't provide any insight. Restless energy seized me, and I went downstairs because I couldn't sit still.

As I came down the landing, I found Shiv curled up on the living room couch, highlighting something in a biology textbook. I guess asking her was worth a shot.

"Have you talked to Bailey recently?" I leaned against the wall, trying and failing to sound casual.

She glanced up at me, yellow highlighter in mid-air. "Not a ton," she said, looking thoughtful. "We've texted a bit but she said that she's been busy with classes and packing."

"Ah." I nodded, but her reply didn't shed any new light on the situation. That was the same line Bailey had fed me. Repeatedly.

"How come?" Shiv studied my face, dark brows crinkling.

"No reason."