Page 98 of Secret Obsession
Her friend keeps up with her. She might even have a magic of her own, some sort of ethereal grace that, as a hockey player, I wish I could emulate on the ice. Her feet barely touch the floor.
No—it’s still all Willow. She demonstrates her strength, joining together with another girl to perform a lift of a third. And then they end in a pose that has her bending backward, reaching toward the floor.
I rise along with the rest of the bleachers, giving them the standing ovation they deserve.
It’s only after the competition ends, and CPU is crowned the winner, that I realize I should’ve brought her flowers.
Or something.
Either way, I wade through the crowd toward the black curtain that separates spectators from dancers. Well, most of the crowd seems to part before me, so I don’t even have to use my weight to force my way through.
Interesting new thing, this borderline fame of being on the hockey team. It’s my first semester at college. I’m still figuring shit out.
But I like it, in a heady, power-drunk sort of way.
My legs are still sore from practice, and that grounds me a bit. I push through the black curtain, finding the gap, and step into the other side.
Chaos. Teams seem grouped together, but they’re busy packing their bags and chatting, sitting on the floor stretching, whatever. I follow the loud laughter around to the back of the stage, and my gaze latches on Willow.
She’s with her friend, her long, golden hair curled and down. It was just up in a high ponytail for the dance, but I spot the fabric tie around her wrist a second later.
Her hair down, where it reaches the bottom of her shoulder blades, makes my dick twitch. I want to stalk up to her, wrap my fingers around those silky golden locks, and wrench her head back. And kiss her like she’s my only oxygen.
Jesus, Miles, get a hold of yourself.
I shake it off and continue forward, until Willow spots me.
Red rises to her cheeks, apparent even through her thick makeup. Her fake lashes make her eyes look huge but half-lidded, adding to her sultry expression.
She captivates me without even trying.
“You were great,” I tell her.
“You saw?” Her lips part, and her gaze darts to her friend. Back to me. “You were just getting yelled at—”
I shrug. “Worth it.”
Her smile makes it worth it.
“We’re headed to Haven,” her friend says.
“You’ve met Violet, right, Miles?” Willow loops her arm through her friend’s. “She’s dating the football quarterback.”
I probably have, but this is the first time I’ve heard her name. I offer my hand, which she shakes.
“Do you want to join us?” Willow asks.
I find myself nodding. Although what I really want is to ask if she’ll go somewhere else with me. But on the high of winning a dance competition, I doubt she’d agree.
So we go to Haven, a bar close to campus that notoriously never cards college students. I get a drink and sit next to Willow, across from Violet and her boyfriend, as they discuss the other teams’ dance routines. And theirs. Jack seems bored, but he’s tracing some pattern on Violet’s shoulder that makes her lean into him.
“What do we have here?”
I bite my groan as my brother appears at the head of the table. “Hey, baby brother. Do you ladies mind if we join?”
Violet eyes Knox, then Willow. She’s the first to nod, and Knox grins.
Soon enough, there are more of us squashed around the table. Knox and Steele, thick as thieves, along with Erik and Jacob—two juniors who play crazy good. They act like magnets for the rest of the bar. We’re visited by more than a few of the other dance team girls, who touch the guys’ shoulders and bat their eyelashes.
