Just to fuck with him, I place my hand on his thigh and tell the group, “He’s already trying to convince me to let him move in with me.”

But my fuckery attempt backfires. First off, his thigh is rock hard beneath my palm. Second…well, I can’t think of a second thing right now because my hand is on Conor Edwards’ thigh.

Before I can snatch my hand away, Conor covers my knuckles with one big palm, effectively trapping me there. The warmth of his touch has me fighting a hot shiver.

“Obviously my girl thinks it’s too soon,” he says solemnly. “But I disagree. It’s never too soon to show how committed you are, right?” He directs this to the boyfriends, who each blurt out clichés in a mad scramble to avoid winding up in the doghouse.

“Yeah, if it’s meant to be, it’s meant to be,” says Cory.

“When you know, you know,” agrees Shep.

Sasha snorts loudly, then takes a sip of her soda.

“Conor loves commitment,” I explain. “He’s been planning his wedding since he was a little boy. Right, babe?”

“Right.” He sharply pinches my thumb, but his expression is all innocence.

“He even has one of those, what do you call it, Con? A love board?”

“It’s just a Pinterest account, babe.” He glances around the table. “How am I gonna know what kind of wedding reception centerpieces I like if I don’t have some options to choose from, amiright?”

Olivia, Lisa and Robin all but rip off their panties and throw them at Conor’s beautiful head. Sasha meanwhile looks like she’s struggling not to laugh.

“You getting married, Con?” a new voice drawls. “What, did my invite get lost in the mail?”

I look over to see a stunning woman in all black sauntering up to the table. She lightly bumps Conor’s shoulder with her hip, a wry smile playing on her full red lips.

This chick is drop-dead gorgeous. Dark hair, dark eyes, those vixen lips. And she’s rocking the kind of perfect body I can only dream of—slender waist, long limbs, and perfectly proportioned breasts.

Immediately I feel self-conscious in my leggings and loose white sweater. I tend to wear oversized shirts that fall off one shoulder, because they hide the curves beneath them but still show off a bit of skin. Bare shoulders are the safe kind of skin. The rest stays hidden.

“Sorry, Bren, you’re not invited,” Conor drawls back. “You’re too much trouble.”

“Mmm-hmmm, sure. I’m the one who’s trouble.” Her gaze flicks down to mine and Conor’s joined hands before locking onto my face. “And you are?”

“Taylor,” Conor answers easily, and I’m glad he does because my vocal cords have frozen.

And who are YOU? I want to demand. I mean, I assume she’s an ex of his—or at the very least a former lover—and the envy that coats my throat makes it difficult to maintain a neutral expression. Of course this is the kind of woman Conor would be attracted to. She’s perfection.

“Babe, this is Brenna,” Conor introduces. “She’s my coach’s daughter.”

Even worse. Now I’ve got porn scenarios about forbidden love flashing through my head. The coach’s daughter and the hunky star player. She blows him in the locker room and then they have sex on Daddy’s desk.

“Wait, I know you. Brenna Jensen. You’re going out with Jake Connelly!” Lisa suddenly blurts out.

The dark-haired goddess narrows her eyes. “Yeah, so?”

“So, that’s…you’re so lucky,” breathes Lisa. “Jake Connelly is…”

“Is what?” her boyfriend Cory demands, his tone revealing he’s officially fed up with the way his girl has been acting all night. “Finish that sentence, Lisa—he’s what?”

I think Lisa knows she’s pushed him too far, because she backpedals as if it’s an Olympic event. “He’s one of the best players in the NHL,” she finishes.

“One of?” Brenna mocks. “No, honey, he’s the best.”

Conor chuckles softly. “Whatcha doing here, B?”

“Picking up dinner for Dad and me. He can’t cook for shit and I’m tired of eating burnt food every time I visit him. Speaking of food…” Her gaze shifts to the counter, where one of the waitresses at the cash is signaling Brenna. “Enjoy the rest of your night, Con. Try not to elope without telling your coach beforehand.”

Everyone watches her go, and this time it’s Cory and Shep whose eyes are glazing over. Brenna is sex personified. She walks with such hip-swaying confidence that I’m once again swimming with envy, even knowing she has a boyfriend and therefore no threat to my fake relationship.

“Hey,” Lisa chides, smacking Cory’s arm.

“Payback’s a bitch, ain’t it,” he murmurs, his attention still fixed on Brenna Jensen’s ass.

Sasha grins at our sorority sister. “He’s got you there, Lisa.”

“So, back to Conor’s wedding board on Pinterest,” Olivia announces.

“Nah,” Conor says, “those pics are just for Taylor. Although…we might need to add some dress samples for inspiration, eh, baby?”

I swallow a laugh. “Definitely, baby.”

“Is this…” Olivia’s gaze darts between us, “getting serious?”

Conor looks at me. I expect his usual giddy mischief and mirth, and it’s certainly there—but this time, there’s something else too. A passing intensity in the crease of his forehead and straight line of his lips.

“It’s getting there,” he tells Olivia. But his gaze doesn’t leave mine.

11

Taylor

Dinner at the diner turns into drinks at Malone’s, the sports bar in town. Conor invites some of the guys from the team to join us. Likewise, some of my other Kappa sisters show up. In the back room near the pool tables and dartboards, we push a few tables together to accommodate our expanding party. While Conor’s teammates have playoffs to worry about and are keeping their alcohol consumption to a minimum, the girls have no such restrictions.

My fellow Kappas have become emboldened by their hormones and are well on their way to getting loaded. Except for Rebecca, who ordered a Diet Coke. She’s a few seats away and hasn’t looked my way once. I was surprised she even came out tonight, but I suspect she hadn’t known I was here when Lisa invited her. Since pledge week she’s basically run the other way any time she saw me coming.

“You’re not mad, are you?” Conor sits down beside me with our drinks that he just got from the bar. There’s some trepidation in his eyes. Like maybe he’s just realized that crashing dinner and inviting himself to drinks is more invasive than charming.

“Not mad, no.” I eye him over the rim of my drink. “Curious, though.”

“Oh?” A hint of his trademark playful smile resurfaces. “About?”

“What prompted you to hunt me down and subject yourself to the rabid hungry gaze of my sorority sisters. Surely you have better things to do.”

“We’ve got to keep up appearances, right?” He’s trying to play it cute, flashing his cheeky grin and flirtatious charms, but I’m not buying it this time. Something’s up with him. There’s a tension in his demeanor that doesn’t suit him.