This may have been the moment I fell for him, but I’d never admit that out loud.

“Plus,” I added, “if you take the trade and I’m right, Dallas will be extra mad that he did it to himself.”

Chase grinned. “I like when you talk dirty to me.” He nodded at the phone. “There’s a lot of money riding on this pool, so if I win big because of this, I’ll buy you something nice.”

“I’d settle for a hot chocolate.”

“I’ll take you for that any time you want.”

Dark hair tumbled over his brow as he typed out a text to Dallas, frowning in concentration. He looked so heartbreakingly perfect, but what lay beneath the surface was a tangled mess of contradictions I didn’t understand. He was all sharp edges and swagger from a distance. But closer up, there was softness and vulnerability too.

The man, the myth, and the legend, yet—human.

I didn’t know what to make of it.

I didn’t know what we were doing.

“You can skate, right?” He stashed his phone in the console again. It stopped lighting up every two seconds, which confirmed that my initial assumption—that it was a roster full of girls—may have been hasty.

“Why?”

“Just curious. Maybe I like to plan ahead. But if you can’t, I mean…you can admit it.” A smirk played on his lips. He shifted the truck into drive, signaling to pull out of the loading zone. We waited while throngs of people milled about, blocking the way.

“Who do you think you’re dealing with here?” I asked. “I’ve been skating since I was three.”

“Figure skating?” Finally, a clearing opened, and he eased the truck onto the road, heading for the freeway exit.

“Psh, no. Hockey.”

He stole a sidelong glance at me, lips tugging up. “You played hockey? That’s awesome.”

“Until middle school. I mean, not very well. My skating was fine. Good, even. It was the other things that were the issue, like stickhandling.”

“I could teach you how to stickhandle.”

I suppressed a laugh. “Carter.”

“What?” He widened his eyes in mock innocence. “You know, I think you’re the one with the dirty mind, James.”

Maybe I was.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, we made our way up the sidewalk to Chase’s house. The street was packed with cars, and low bass throbbed out onto the street.

He glanced over to the front window, which looked into a living room crammed full of people. “Wow. It’s filled in since I left.”

“Ah,” I said, because nerves had hijacked my brain and I couldn’t formulate a more articulate response. What was I doing at this Boyd blowout anyway? I wouldn’t know anyone besides Chase and—sort of—Shiv and Dallas. And I couldn’t expect Chase to babysit me all night.