She’s a no-fly zone. She used to be the cute kid sister of my best friend, but something shifted recently and I went from thinking of her as Owen’s younger sister to something more.

This was the girl who borrowed my sweatshirts and never returned them. Took my warmest gloves and lost one somewhere between home and the ice rink. The girl who followed me and Owen around like a lost puppy all throughout our childhoods and the girl who cried during sappy commercials.

I had no idea how badly I would miss all those things about her until I moved away for college. But then my life got so busy with school and exams and hockey and fighting for a spot in the pros, my fascination with Elise took a backseat, and I knew it was for the best.

Still, despite my best efforts, she traipsed out of friend territory somewhere along the way, and into a sexy woman who made my dick ache. It was dangerous. And my best friend Owen made no apologies for the fact that his sister was very much off-limits to any member of our team.

My gaze drifts over to her again, and my breath catches. She’s beautiful, intoxicatingly so. But she’s smart too. And feisty. And she knows the game of hockey better than most of the guys, Lord knows she grew up spending just as much time at the ice rink as we did. Plus, the fact that I’m a pro hockey player doesn’t impress her in the slightest. That’s the best thing about her. I can just be myself.

“How pissed off are you?” I ask, unable to hide the amusement in my voice.

Elise shakes her head, the smirk on her mouth unmistakable. “On a scale of one to I’m going to murder Owen?”

“Sure.” I polish off the rest of my beer and wait for her to answer, but she doesn’t say anything else, she just lets out an exasperated sigh. So I grab another from the six-pack resting on the polished wood floor beneath my feet. “Want one?” I offer her a beer, but she shakes her head.

I drain half the bottle watching Asher and Teddy flirt with a group of girls on the balcony. They’re eyeing the hot tub, which I’m suddenly sure will have floating remnants of jizz in the morning. Fucking fantastic.

“Those fuckers better not take those bunnies in the hot tub,” Elise says under her breath.

I swallow a chuckle and shake my head. “You’re good peeps, E,” I mumble, feeling the effects of the alcohol already.

Elise shakes her head, a smile tugging up her full lips. “I’m the freaking best. Someone’s got to babysit this idiot team.”

I study her for just a second. Long dark hair hanging over one shoulder, grey eyes that always seem to see straight through me, along with a sassy mouth that has always called me out on my bullshit.

But I never let myself notice things like that about her, and I won’t start now, so I look down at the beer bottle in my hands instead.

When she’s beside me, all my nerve endings light up with a feeling I can’t explain.

I feel alive.

Raw.

On edge.

And there’s no point in denying it–a whole lot turned on.

I need to get myself in check, but instead I’m feeling a little reckless. Unsteady.

“You know what will make this situation better?” I ask, sneaking one more glance at her.

“What’s that?”

“Vodka.”

Elise shakes her head.

“Come on, E-Class.”

This earns me a laugh. The old nickname I bestowed on her in eighth grade still strikes a chord.

“I’ll slice the lemons, you get the glasses?” she asks.

My heart starts to beat faster as she grins up at me. Well damn, I didn’t know I still had one of those.

I smile back. “It’s on.”

2

* * *

The Vodka Was a Terrible Idea

Elise

It’s way past my bedtime. So why haven’t I gone home yet?

Oh right, because I’m babysitting my idiot brother and his teammates. As per usual.

And considering that they won a national championship tonight—they’re in an especially celebratory mood. We started off at the sports bar near the rink, but when things got too crazy being out in public with some overzealous fans, we moved the party back to my brother Owen and his BFF Justin’s penthouse.

Owen, my disgusting slut of a brother, is feeling up one blonde on the couch while his tongue is down another’s throat. The sad thing? I’ll probably be responsible for kicking both of these naked ass girls out of his bed tomorrow morning.

Awesome.

TK and Asher are in the hot tub with no fewer than five girls between them. No, scratch that, there’s six of them—one chick’s head just surfaced from under the water. Just freaking wonderful.

I’m never going in that hot tub again.

Justin hasn’t hooked up with anyone yet, and I’m just waiting for it to happen. He’s been all strangely sad and mopey tonight and I’m not sure what the hell is going on with him.

But I do know one thing—the shots I took with him were a bad idea. One shot, shame on us, multiple shots, shame on me. I know my limit, and doing shots with Justin is a hard line I shouldn’t have crossed.

I know I should see him as nothing more than a disgusting manwhore, or see him as a second brother to me—but I’ve never felt anything remotely familial about Justin Brady like I should. First there’s my traitorous body—which reacts to his in a very non-sisterly way. So much so, my lady parts are tingling and I’m pretty sure there’s a tiny damp spot in my panties from when he smiled and pushed my hair behind my shoulder as he watched me drain my shot glass for the umpteenth time and suck on the lemon slice afterwards.

Then there’s my heart, which pumps faster whenever he’s near and does stupid shit like ache for him when he takes a hard hit on the ice. It’s all like please don’t have broken anything adorable or important.

But finally, there’s my head—which knows without a doubt that this man is bad for me. My head wins out, which meant I finally extracted myself from beside him on the sofa, leaving him to polish off most of the bottle of vodka alone. Everyone else is drinking like they’re celebrating. Justin is drinking like he’s trying to numb some indescribable pain that I know isn’t hockey related.

I’ve always been enamored with him, from his quiet confidence, to his dedication and hard work on the ice, to his hard won smiles and casual attitude.

The physical changes he went through as we aged made me fall even harder. Instead of being the boy who pulled my ponytail and hid my dolls from me, he grew from a lanky teen into a man. A man with so much sculpted muscle and iron-carved abs it made my knees weak.

It’s late—or early, depending on how you look at it, and about half of the guests have left. The team and their bunnies are still here, but I’m guessing people will begin coupling off and disappearing into bedrooms soon. I clean up the kitchen a little bit, throwing empty bottles away and bagging up the garbage that’s been left out on the counters.

Owen has disappeared with the two blondes, and the door to the media room is now closed, which is where he’s probably taken them since he has a weird rule about not bringing hookups to his bed. Public displays of drunken sex are never a good thing, especially when one of those people is your brother, so I’m just grateful they’re behind a closed door, although I know I’ll be forced to see some of their prime real estate when I kick their hungover selves out in a few hours. God help me. Teddy and Asher are still in the hot tub with the group of women, and Justin is still on the couch where I left him, drinking party of one.

I’ve had more to drink than I should have, and decide that it’s probably time to say goodnight and get myself home. After I toss a few more empties in the trash, I lean one hip against the counter and fish my cell out of my back pocket to request a ride to come pick me up. I just need to use the restroom first.

The guest bathroom in the hallway is occupied, and after I wait for a few minutes, and no one emerges, I knock again. Then I hear moaning coming from inside.

Gross. Is it too much to ask any person here to have some shame?

Plan B.

I head to Justin’s bedroom at the end of the hall to use the en-suite attached to his room. I have to pee and I know I won’t make it the twenty-minute ride home. Plus, I know Justin won’t mind.

When I enter, I can’t help but inhale deeply. His room smells like him. His scent hasn’t changed in all the years I’ve known him. The smell is a combination of an understanding boyfriend, clean cotton, and a bar of soap. It’s fucking amazing, and I’m in his personal space alone, so I inhale more of it than I should. What can I say? I’m greedy like that.

The space is neat and organized, his king-sized bed dressed in fluffy white linens and a handful of personal items are lined up neatly on the dresser. A phone charger. His wallet. A leather watch. A bottle of cologne. A small day planner. His tablet.