A Deal with the Hockey Captain

The lights were too bright, the music too loud, and the laughter downstairs too fake for Eden to breathe properly.

Her eighteenth birthday wasn't supposed to feel like this.

She stood in front of the upstairs bathroom mirror, alone, trembling, her fingers nervously adjusting the thin strap of the baby-pink silk dress hugging her soft curves. The fabric clung to her hips like a promise she wasn't sure she could keep. Her lips, painted a shy cherry red, trembled around the words she'd practiced all week.

"I saved myself for you."

Her eyes closed.

"I kept it for you, Liam..."

She whispered it again and again until her voice cracked.

He was downstairs. Somewhere. Laughing, drinking, maybe flirting with another girl in a tight dress and too much lip gloss. She had waited all night for a moment alone with him. She had planned it perfectly-her makeup, her dress, her gift, her confession.

The boy she'd loved since she was fourteen. The same boy who still didn't know.

And now, four hours into her own birthday party, she knew.

He wasn't coming for her.

Not the way she hoped.

She blinked at her reflection, throat tight. Maybe she was never meant to be one of those girls-confident, touchable, desirable. Maybe Liam only saw her as sweet Eden. Innocent Eden. His best friend's little sister. Not the woman she had become.

The woman willing to give him everything.

A sound behind her made her freeze.

The bathroom door hadn't clicked shut all the way.

Slow, heavy footsteps padded over the carpet.

Her stomach dropped as she turned.

And then it dropped even further when she saw him leaning casually against the doorframe.

Hunter Cross.

Captain of the university hockey team. Six-foot-four of cold-blooded swagger. Tattoos on his arms, smirk on his lips, and danger in his every breath. Her brother's rival. Every girl's reckless fantasy.

And the last man she ever wanted to see her like this.

His eyes dragged down the length of her body, taking in every inch of exposed thigh, every shiver in her breath, every trace of heartbreak she hadn't managed to wipe off her face.

"Nice dress," he said, his voice dark and lazy. "Is that for me?"

Eden turned away too fast, cheeks burning. "What are you doing up here?"

He stepped inside, shutting the door behind him with a solid click. "Avoiding people. Same as you."

She crossed her arms over her chest, not meeting his gaze. "I'm fine."

"No, you're not." He said it too casually, like he saw through her soul and didn't care that it hurt.

She swallowed. "Don't you have a girl to screw tonight?"

"Maybe I already did."

She flinched.

He laughed softly and leaned against the vanity, arms folded. "Let me guess. You dressed up to finally tell Golden Boy Liam how much you love him. Planned the whole night out. He looked in the mirror ten times, picked the right lipstick, and tried to walk like one