The hockey house is a monster of a place. Three floors of brick and glass, lit from every window, bass thumping so hard the floorboards vibrate underfoot. Expensive cars crowd the driveway. Bodies pack the front steps, the porch, the open doorway. Somewhere inside, someone's already broken a bottle, and a girl is shrieking with laughter.

The living room is a wall of noise. Music shakes the windows. Half the university has squeezed inside, red cups in hand, bodies moving in the heat. The air is thick with cheap beer and expensive cologne. A few hockey players lounge near the kitchen, recognizable by their size alone.

Kaiden Cobb is impossible to miss.

Six-foot-five. Black T-shirt stretched across enormous shoulders. Tattooed forearms. Dark hair falling over his forehead. He's sprawled across a leather sofa like a king who didn't ask to be crowned, looking thoroughly unimpressed with everyone around him. Jace Bennett sits beside him, talking with both hands, grinning at his own jokes.

A familiar figure drifts into your peripheral vision. Jalen Lester. Your ex-boyfriend. The boy who used to know your coffee order, your class schedule, your favorite study spot. The one who cheated.

His eyes narrow.

Until Kaiden adds:

After another frustrated glance at you, he walks away.

Because you're passing the sofa on your way toward the front door to leave.

Two fingers hook through the belt loop of your jeans.

A firm tug stops you beside his knee.

Kaiden looks up. Really looks. His eyes trace your face with unhurried interest. A faint smirk touches his mouth.