CADEN

Lennie St. James is something peculiar.

It was shocking enough to see her at the game earlier, wearing my old jersey. I had to do a double take, check that it really was the guitar-wielding girl.

It was. It is. And now she's in my house, thankfully with absolutely no idea we've met before. When I was threatening to kill three people and all that.

I spotted fucking Rowan-lapdog-Redwood leading her off somewhere, so I followed and kept a close eye from the other side of the kitchen.

Couldn't stop the laugh as she lashed her drink at him.

And now she's standing in front of me, running a coy finger around the rim of her vodka-cran.

"Oh?" She says, lifting her round, honey eyes towards my own. "I didn't realise that was your jersey. It was Hana's idea." She shrugs.

Sure she didn't.

"Maybe you should listen to Hana more often," I chuckle, resting an arm against the wooden island and pouring out some Smirnoff.

"Why's that?" She quirks a dark, fluffy eyebrow.

"Looked good." I grin, taking a vodka shot. Her eyes flare momentarily before she rapidly diverts her gaze.

"In that case, maybe I will," she smiles against the sip of her drink.

"Mightn't be my business, but why did you waste your drink on Redwood?" I ask, watching her involuntary edge a little closer to me as somebody pushes against the island behind her.

She heaves out a tipsy groan, stretching her arms forward on the surface. I'm reminded of how those lean arms felt around me when I gave her a ride.

"Because he was being a fucking dick," she blurts.

I raise my eyebrows, the language catching me off guard for somebody who looks so innocent. "A 'fucking dick'?" I chuckle. "Sounds apt."

"Yeah, he mentioned he wasn't exactly a fan of you." She gestures a hand up and down my body with a grin.

"Doesn't surprise me. I'm not exactly a 'fan' of him, either." I say truthfully. There's something not right about that man, and I've always been good at sensing bad intentions.

She bites on her lip in thought, and the small movement irritatingly shoots something right to my groin. Maybe I'm the one with bad intentions.

"Whatever," she eventually huffs, "I want to forget about him for now. He's tomorrow's problem."

"Don't you live in a flat with him? You'll have to face him when you get back." I laugh, pouring another vodka shot.

She glowers at me. "Thanks for the reminder," she scoffs. "Pour me one of those, whilst you're at it."

I raise my eyebrows with a smirk at her little demand. "No manners, St. James?"

"I'm out of good manners for the night. Throwing a drink over my friend's head was apparently when they went out the window." She shrugs. I do as she says, pouring her a shot and sliding it to her.

She tips it back the same time as I do, and I chuckle at the way she cringes. "Tastes like acid," she coughs."

"The beauty of Smirnoff. So, what are you studying?" I ask, genuinely curious.

"Literature," her head whips towards me, "and before you start saying 'that's a waste of time', just know that—"

I knit my eyebrows together, shaking my head. She really thought I was going to shit on her degree?

"—Why would I think it was a waste of time?" I interrupt, leaving her mouth hanging ajar.

"Well, it's just that Rowan always says—" she starts, and I take a sharp breath through my gritted teeth.

"—That's the only waste of time, here. Comparing me to him," I say bluntly. She gapes for a second before rolling her bottom lip between her teeth.

"So," she says after the moment, swirling her cup. "Do you do anything outside of being, well, hockey captain?"

"This and that," I shrug, definitely not planning on going through the ins-and-outs. "It pretty much takes up my life, though."

"Very hockey captain of you to say," she lets out a small laugh. "Are you an only child?"

"Nope," I shake my head. "Had a sister."

She scans me for a second, her literature brain most likely picking up on the use of 'past-tense'. I hear her sharp intake of breath.

"I'm sorry," she whispers.

"Don't be, wasn't your fault." I force a small grin, immediately covering it up with another shot glass. "You do anything outside of your degree?"

Her fingers drum against the kitchen island. "I'm  a reserve for the volleyball squad, and I play guitar in this shitty little band. Craziest thing happened, just the other day actually," she exasperatedly laughs, and I know exactly what's coming.

"I ended up interfering with this assault when I was heading home from a gig, and whacked one of the pricks with my guitar," she says. "Probably a stupid decision, could've gotten myself stabbed."

I know. I was there.

"Sounds intense," I chuckle, eager to hear it from her perspective. "Then what?"

"Some dude rocked up on this big-ass motorcycle. Scared them away with a pistol and gave me a ride back to near my dorm," she takes a breath. "Thinking about it, my bets are the gun was a decoy. Not real."

Well, you just lost that bet, St. James.

My gaze flits to her cheek, where it was scuffed up the other night. She's done a pretty good job in covering the bruise up.

"Classic Los Angeles," I grin, watching as she reaches for her purse. "You off somewhere?" I ask, gesturing to the bag.

"Yeah, washroom. See you in about three hours, the queue wasn't looking too great." She snorts, and I instantly push off of the island.

"Come upstairs," I say, placing my hand on the small of her back.

"Excuse me?" She gapes, my hazy eyes meeting hers.

"There's a few washrooms up there. You can use one of them," I shrug. "It's that, or the amusement park queue in the hall."

"Or I could head into the yard?" she grins as I lead us out of the kitchen. I know I'm earning a few stares, but I don't care.

"I doubt flashing your ass to a load of seniors out back would be a good look for a sophomore, St. James." I roll my shoulders as she takes a step onto the staircase, whipping around to glare at me.

"Isn't that exactly what I'm doing right now, Whitlock?" She giggles, and I can see what she means. Her ass is practically right in my face as she ascends in front of me.

"Funny," I blunt, diverting my gaze, to anywhere other than the ass that's about to make me regret the vow I made to myself.

No women messing this year up. Got more important things to take care of.

There's some seniors littered on the stairs that we have to step around. I make sure to 'accidentally' stomp on the calf of a guy trying to look up her dress.

"What way?" She asks as we reach the top, swivelling her head.

"Left, down to the end of the hall." I say, placing a light hand on her back and guiding her. She's stumbling a little, and my own vision is a bit hazy.

Alcohol is a bitch for bad decisions.

She halts momentarily as a phone rings from inside her bag, fumbling with the zip to get it open. With a groan, she looks at the caller ID.

"Who's that?" I ask, leaning against the wall to keep my balance steady. I was already plenty of shots down before anybody even got here tonight, and those extra shots haven't helped.

"Rowan," she huffs. I smirk, taking the phone from her hands and hitting the green button, despite her momentary protest.

"Lennie, what the fuck happened before? I swear to fuck, if you're with—" He starts.

"She's busy," I deadpan, pressing the red button as she rips the cell from my hand.

"Why did you do that? You dick!" She snaps, shoving the cell into her purse with a definite force of aggression.

"Oh, I'm a dick now? Like him?" I gesture to her purse with a sly grin.

"He's not normally a dick—" she starts.

"—Yes he fucking is. I've had to put up with him lounging around my house for the past three weeks." I interrupt, pushing open the door to the washroom.

"Well, here's a plot twist. I'm actually in love with him." She blurts.

What the fuck? She is in love with that piece of shit?

"You're twenty years old," I point out, and she raises her eyebrows for me to elaborate.

"So what?" She throws her arms up in frustration. "Because I'm twenty, I can't be in love with someone?"

"Be 'in love' with whoever you want, trouble. But when it's Redwood," I let out a small laugh. "Now that sparks some questions."

She drunkenly blinks. Once. Twice.

"You really are a dick," she barks, storming into the washroom and slamming the door behind her. "Why are men such jerks?" I hear her voice from inside.

"Pointing out the brutally honest facts makes me a dick and a jerk?—"

I don't even finish my question before the door flies open again. "What did you just call me?" She asks quietly.

"When?" I tilt my head, watching her eyes scan me up and down in analysation.

"Wait— nothing. Doesn't matter. And yes, that does make you a dick, and a jerk." The door closes again, and I bite down a laugh.

What the fuck do I do now? Do I wait here for her to come out or something? Women take forever in washrooms, something I've learnt from experience.

I decide to wait, and within thirty seconds I hear the flush of the chain. The running of the washbasin.

And then the door swings open, and she looks surprised to see that I'm still here.

"You waited?" She raises her eyebrows, pulling the purse back over her shoulder.

"Was I not meant to?" I ask with a small smirk.

"I thought the insults I hurled at you would drive you off, to be honest." She chuckles, stepping out of the washroom.

"Believe me, I've been called worse things than a 'dick', St. James." I say, leaning a hand between her shoulders and leading us back down the hall.

"Such as?" She gazes up at me with a sly grin, crossing her arms across her waist.

"We'd be here a long fucking time if I gave you the rundown," I laugh, and slow my wavy stride as we reach the top of the staircase.

"Is that a bad thing for you?" She drunkenly giggles. My own drunken eyes trail down her neck, across her sharp collarbone.

I have a feeling that this woman is going to be a bad thing for me.

"Come on," I barely bite down what I actually want to say, leading her down the steps. She walks a little ahead of me, into the crowd, and I curse myself for letting my eyes travel down.

She leads me into the back room, where her red-headed friend Quinn is deep in a drunken debate with Owen.

"Len?" Quinn slurs, leaning forward onto her knees. "We heading out soon, or what?"

"Oh," Lennie swivels her head between Quinn and I. "Yeah, sure. We can head out if you've had enough." She says, to my utterly embarrassing disappointment.

"Great," Quinn grumbles, pushing up to her feet. Some random blonde girl who I don't recognise comes skipping over to them, placing a hand on St. James' arm.

"Len, can I stay at your place tonight? I don't think I brought my keycard." The golden haired girl asks her, eyes widening as she whirls and notices me.

Lennie immediately nods. "Sure, Val. We're just heading out now. Quinn, you call Hana, see if she's coming with. I'll book us an Uber."

I hook my hand around Lennie's arm as she pulls out her phone, leading her off to the corner and standing behind her. "So," I lean down to her ear. "You're heading out?"

"It's that, or drag myself out of here in another hours time when I'm too drunk to walk." She snorts, glancing away from her phone to turn a little and look up at me. "But it's been nice, Caden." 

That's the first time she's said my full name to me tonight, and it sounds fucking divine coming from her mouth. There's other things I'd do to that mouth if I didn't have morals, right now.

I lean down, drunkenly breathing against the shell of her ear. "You could stay a little longer."

I watch as her shoulders tense, probably from the close proximity. "Not tonight," she mumbles, ordering the Uber and taking a step back. Flushing herself right up against my front.

Jesus Christ.

Talking to her has been a breath of fresh air. She didn't just want to immediately rip my fucking clothes off, we've actually had conversations.

And I want more where that came from.

Miles and Hana come sauntering the room with their arms draped over each other, St. James instinctively taking a step away from me and towards her best friend.

"Shall we wait out front?" Hana asks, linking her arm with Lennie's.

"Yeah, come on." She replies, gesturing for Quinn and 'Val' to follow. I blink as Owen drunkenly pulls Quinn in for a kiss, to which she coldly rejects and walks away.

St. James turns around to me, giving a final girlish wave over her shoulder and mouthing 'bye' as they leave.

"I'll see them out," Miles says, following after Hana like a lost puppy.

I step forward to go with him, but decide against it. Lennie St. James seems far too innocent to get herself involved in a life like my own.

As much as I'm curious to see what it would be like if we spoke again, it's definitely not for the best.

So, I hang back and let them go without a word.