Evander
“CAPTAIN,” THE girl with her hand in my hair calls.
She leans close, her low-cut v-neck giving me a beautiful view of her cleavage.
“Captain,” she drawls again, slower, her nails softly kneading my hair.
The title drips from her tongue like something said under dim lights and tangled sheets.
I hum in response.
Three girls circle me with their syrupy laughter, painted lips, and compliments that are like background music I’ve heard too many times before.
For a second, I let myself sink into it.
The attention. The praise.
The illusion that I’m the perfect hockey captain.
It feels good.
Or at least, it should.
I hear footsteps, heavy and determined.
I glance up.
Reyna.
Her nostrils flare and her eyes blaze when she sees me with the girls.
If I didn’t know better, I’d
