Chapter 1

POV: Connor Macleod

There are two kinds of mistakes you can make at a Northpoint party. The ones you regret the next morning… and the ones that ruin your life in the best possible way.

“I should have stayed home that night. If I had, I wouldn’t have walked into that crowded Northpoint party. And I definitely wouldn’t have met the only person who made my blood boil .”

The music is too loud. The air smells like sweat and cheap cologne. The floor is sticky from spilled beer, and the whole place feels like it’s shaking from the bass.

Something always happens at these parties.

I’ve been to too many of them over the past few years. At this point they all blend together—flashing lights, loud music, people dancing in dark corners, the smell of beer and vodka energy drinks.

Random faces, loud laughter. Hookups I barely remember.

Usually I just move through the night on autopilot, smiling at the right people and saying the right things.

But not tonight.

Tonight my attention is locked on one person like he’s the center of the room and I’m stuck in his orbit. Tyson Bennett

He’s just across the room, standing with a group of guys from the student council. Their laughter rises above the music in quick bursts. But Tyson doesn’t need to try to get attention, he naturally gets it.

His dark hair falls perfectly over his forehead under the dim string lights hanging across the ceiling. He leans against the kitchen counter like he could be on a magazine cover, not in a messy student kitchen.

He laughs at something someone says, tipping his head back slightly. The sight hits me harder than it should.

Pathetic, right?

I’m the captain of the Northpoint hockey team. I’ve had more than enough attention from girls since freshman year and ever since my coming out, more from guys.

But every time I see Tyson, I feel like I’m a nervous seventeen-year-old all over again.

Awkward and Stupid.

Half in love with someone who always seems just out of reach.

And tonight I’m apparently making it obvious.

“Close your mouth, Connor. You’re starting to look like a puppy begging for food.”

Owen Laurent’s voice cuts through the music and my Tyson trance. He’s grinning with a red plastic cup hanging from his fingers. His denim jacket is half open over a black T-shirt.

He looks like he just woke up and grabbed whatever clothes were nearby, but somehow he still looks good.

Owen only has two goals at parties which is drink and tease me and tonight he’s doing both.

I drag my eyes away from Tyson.

“Shut up, Owen.”

Dylan McCarthy , my other best friend, pats my shoulder.

“He’s not wrong,” Dylan says. “You’ve been staring at him since we walked in. It’s getting sad.”

“I’m not—” I stop talking. There’s no point arguing.

If I say anything they’ll just make it worse.

Owen’s grin gets bigger.

Dylan already looks like he’s about to start one of his speeches about staying focused for the hockey season.

“Forget it,” I mutter. But they’re right.

Tyson has been my problem for years.

He’s smart, confident, sharp, and completely untouchable.The kind of guy everyone respects.

And me?

I’m the idiot who keeps watching him from a distance but never actually makes a move.

“You gonna stare at him all night,” Owen asks, leaning closer, “or are you finally gonna talk to him?”

I grip my cup tighter. “I’ll talk to him.”

“When?” Dylan asks. “Before or after graduation?”

I take a long drink of my beer so I don’t have to answer. Owen laughs.

“Unbelievable. Captain Ice King can score three goals in one game but can’t even start a conversation with the guy he likes.”

I flip him off, my face getting warm.

The worst part is he’s right.

The night goes on in a blur of music, sweat, and drunk athletes. I smile at a few girls who are still stupid enough to try to get my attention even after knowing I’m gay and move through the house with the crowd.

But every few minutes my eyes go back to Tyson.

He laughs. He drinks. He pushes his hair back.

And the pull is impossible to ignore.

Then all of a sudden.

Tyson leans toward his friend and says something before stepping away from the group. He starts walking toward the staircase.

For a second the crowd shifts and he glances over his shoulder.

My heart jumps.

“Don’t do it,” Dylan mutters.

But he doesn’t sound serious. Owen just grins.

“Oh he’s definitely doing it. Go on, hero.”

I put my empty cup down and start moving through the crowd.

Every step makes my heart beat faster.

Upstairs the music is quieter. The bass fades into a distant thump. The stairs creak under my weight.

The hallway is cooler and darker. The party noise downstairs sounds far away.

I walk down the hall, looking for Tyson. Instead I almost bump into someone else.

He’s leaning against the wall near the end of the hallway, staring at his phone with a bored expression.

Like he’d rather be anywhere else.

His hair is blond, messy and falling around his face. He’s wearing a dark T-shirt and fitted jeans.

He’s smaller than me but there’s a lot of confidence in his demeanor.

The kind that says he’s not scared of anyone.

I stop when he looks up and he’s grey-green eyes meet mine.

For a moment the world goes quiet.

Definitely not Tyson. But suddenly I can’t look away.

“Well,” he says, sliding his phone into his pocket. His voice is calm and smooth. “If it isn’t Northpoint’s golden boy. Did you get lost?”

It took me a second to respond.

“You know me?”

He smirks, a small dimple appearing.

“Everyone knows you, Connor . Hockey captain. Campus heartbreaker. Want me to continue?”

I grin slightly.

“Heartbreaker, huh?”

“That’s the polite version.”

His eyes move over me quickly like he’s judging exactly who I am.

I lean against the opposite wall.

“You’re funny,” I say.

“I know.”

Something about his confidence is interesting.

“So,” I continue, lowering my voice, “do you have a name? Or should I just call you hockey hater?”

One eyebrow lifts.

“That’s the best line you have?”

I smile.

“A guy like you hiding upstairs during the biggest party of the semester from a party organized for hockey players ? Yeah. Sounds like hockey hater.”

His lips twitch.

“Maybe I just don’t like loud athletes and warm beer.”

“Then why come?”

He shrugs.

“Watching the chaos can be entertaining.”

I laugh.

“So I’m part of the show?” He tilts his head.

“No. You’re the star of it. Everyone’s watching you, Connor. Must be tiring always being perfect.”

The way he says it sounds like a challenge.

“Should I be offended?” I ask.

“Depends,” he says calmly. “Do you care what I think?”

The answer leaves my mouth before I think about it.

“Yeah.”

For a moment his expression softens.

Then he pushes away from the wall and walks past me. A light scent of vanilla follows him.

“Well,” he says while heading toward the stairs, “good luck finding whoever you came up here for.”

I watch him walk away.

Then reality hits.

Tyson.

Right.

Tyson Bennett was the reason I came upstairs.

I check a few rooms along the hallway.

Nothing.

No Tyson.

It’s like he disappeared.

But as I walk back downstairs into the loud party, I realize something strange. My thoughts aren’t on Tyson anymore.

They’re stuck on the blond guy with the sharp mouth and the dangerous dimple. I came upstairs looking for something familiar, Instead I think I just met someone who might completely change the game.