Page 33 of Vibes

“Yet you’re still calling me that,” I reply, blowing out a breath.

Lachlan raises an eyebrow, the corner of his lip twitched. He leans in a little closer, his breath dancing across my skin. “Would you prefer it if I stop? I suppose I could be like everyone else and just call you Iris—”

“No,” I interrupt, and he grins. Lachlan’s the only person who’s called me a wallflower and said it as an endearment, not a catty jab. When he says it, it makes something bloom in my soul now, because he’s the only one who gets to do that. "I just don't feel like that's what got you cursed."

He nods. "I never should have helped Flynn set you all up.” Lachlan winces. “Especially you. I don’t know what all he planned on doing to Cora with the punch, but she turned it around on him. I should have stayed away from all of that. I’m sorry I didn’t see it that way sooner.”

It’s hard to see what he’s apologizing for, since he’s a victim too. But I know Lachlan didn’t have anything to do with this mess, and like me, he’s a victim of proximity. I was never going to really deny this apology.

Clearing my throat, I glance away from him. "I know Cora doesn’t like Flynn. I could’ve tried to talk her out of going to the party altogether.”

He offers me a dry laugh in return. “Those two need to get their shit together though. They’re ruining lives.”

“Yeah,” I agree, reaching over to trace my fingers down his shoulder. He’s still sitting up where I’ve leaned back, and I can see where I left little marks on his shoulders. I don’t think I’ve ever scratched someone up so much because I’m enjoying sex. “Sorry about your back.”

He doesn’t miss a beat, winking at me. “Battle scars, wallflower. I love them.”

I snort. “That seems a little excessive.”

He ignores me, reaching over to grab my hand and lift it to his face. He kisses the back across my knuckles, holding my gaze the entire time. “Come to my game tomorrow night.”

“The coach isn’t going to bench you for missing so much?” I ask, trying to figure out mentally if that’s a thing or not.

“Nah, it’s a big deal that I’m back,” he says, his lips tugging into a half smirk. “I have a shit ton of messages to go through.”

I hesitate. “Any from…”

“My team?” he asks knowingly. “I haven’t gotten anything from Ollie or Theo, and I don’t expect to hear anything from Flynn unless you hear something from Cora. Which, if you could tell Cora to fix her shit so we don’t bomb out of the competition this early in the season, that would be spectacular.”

Wincing, I nod. I don’t know if I can talk to Cora without yelling at her myself, but something’s going to have to give.

“I did get a text from Jaxen,” he continues, and I try to remember which one Jaxen is. He’s one of the players, and I’m pretty sure Lachlan mentioned his position, but all the details went in one ear and out the other when he was explaining. It was too much hockey jargon for me.

“And?” I prompt.

“I’m pretty sure someone else sent the message,” he replies, raising a brow. “Jaxen doesn’t send hearts.”

“Oh no,” I groan. “Should you be worried?”

“No. If he’s fucked like me, he’s got to work to get his body back.” Lachlan’s eyes drag over my body, still naked, and I can’t believe he wants to go again. But when my gaze shifts to his lap, I can see that his ideas are already running wild as his cock swells. “It’s not the worst price to pay.”

I sigh when he kisses my thigh, trying to keep my focus on what we’re talking about. “I suppose not.”

He grasps my chin, drawing my attention to his face again. “So you’ll come to my game tomorrow night?”

“You want me there?” I ask, genuinely surprised. I was pretty sure my 0% hockey knowledge would be a turnoff from him ever wanting to take me to another game. I took notes, sure, but after this morning…

“You don’t have to go to class or work on Friday evenings, do you?”

I hesitate. “No.”

“Then come to my game,” he says, smirking. “This time you can wear something you didn’t steal from me.”

My eyes widen, and I had all but forgotten about the hoodie I took last weekend. I know he saw it at the apartment, but was it in the collection he brought back to the hockey house? “You want me to wear your hoodie to the game?”

“No, wallflower,” he tells me, those dark eyes softening. “When I look up into the stands, I want to see you in my jersey.”

14 Bitter and Bad