T H E O  G R A Y

THIS ISN’T HOW I envisioned my Saturday. Saturdays are suppose to be for me. A good morning run to clear my head, follow by a brutal session at my building's gym downstairs—sweating out whatever thoughts decided to linger from the week. Maybe after that, I’d hit the college rink for six solid hours of practice, pushing myself to the edge before coming home, sprawled out on the couch, staring at the clouds because, let’s face it, sleep is a luxury I can never afford.

But what am I doing right now?

“Dude!” Jax’s voice yanks me out of my thoughts, and suddenly, there’s a red plastic cup being snatched from my hand. His glare is the definition of done-with-this-shit. “What the hell are you doing?!”

“What?” I blink, confused.

“If you didn’t want to help with the party, then you shouldn’t have come!” Jax huffs, stomping away to stack the cups I was clearly holding incorrectly. “You’ve been off since you got here. Why?”

I sigh, running a hand through my hair as I straighten up, my eyes searching for the next available couch. Of course, the love seat is taken—Logan and Lydia are practically fused together, making it impossible to sit there without gagging.

This wasn’t even my thing. Parties? Helping set them up? Not my vibe. But it was either this or stay home and face Sophie after yesterday’s little... incident.

God, Sophie.

The memory of her reaction flashes in my mind, uninvited. The way her breath hitched when I suggested she come into my room—it wasn’t meant to sound so… dirty. But the way her wide eyes darted to mine, the hesitation, the pink that crept into her cheeks—it was enough to make my body betray me in ways I really didn’t want to admit. My lower half had a mind of its own, and that was definitely not the kind of workout I had in mind for the day.

“Stop thinking about it,” I mutter under my breath.

Unfortunately, I must’ve said it louder than intended, because now the room is silent, and everyone’s staring at me like I’ve grown an extra head.

“It’s official,” Jax announces dramatically, throwing his arms out for emphasis. “Theo’s gone insane.”

I force out a laugh, shaking my head. “Oh, fuck off.”

“No, you fuck off!” he fires back, though there’s no heat to his words. “Seriously, man. When’s the last time you even slept? Those eye bags are basically a cry for help at this point.”

And just like that, all eyes are on me. People are squinting, clearly trying to inspect the supposed wreckage that is my face.

This is what I get for skipping the concealer today.

Sure, it might sound weird that I use skincare products—ones that some might call "female." But guess what? Plenty of male celebrities do the same thing. No one goes out on stage or in front of a camera with the “natural look.” Nobody needs to see the horrors hiding behind the illusion.

And if anyone’s to blame for the chaos in my life right now, it’s Sophie.

Ever since her foot crossed the threshold of my apartment, I haven’t had a single moment of peace. My skincare products, which were stored in the guest bathroom because it was convenient when I lived alone—or when Logan was practically a ghost—are still there because I haven’t had the time or privacy to move them. It’s been chaos trying to figure out how to coexist with her.

It’s like our schedules were designed to clash. Her course doesn’t even require late nights, so she gets home early, plops herself on the couch, and—of course—claims my favorite spot. The one I’ve always used to unwind after practice. But now? It’s her spot, and she’s always there.

To make things worse, she doesn’t retreat to her room. Nope, she just sits there, watching TV—the same TV I only ever use to catch hockey matches. And the way she watches me when I walk by? Those stares could freeze fire. I don’t even know how to interact with her without her firing one of those signature death glares in my direction.

It’s exhausting. All of it.

Back at the party setup, it’s no better. I feel everyone’s eyes on me like I’m some kind of spectacle. Every stare, every side comment, it’s building, pushing me closer to snapping but screaming “fuck off” at everyone probably isn’t the best move. Not when volunteers are hard to come by.

“Okay, guys,” Logan starts, trying to smooth things over. “Give him a break. He’s been practicing like crazy, that’s why.”

“Oh, knew you’d jump in to save him,” Jax chimes in, his tone laced with sarcasm.

I’m this close to losing it. My jaw clenches so tightly I can feel the strain in my neck. Logan’s about to say something else, but I can’t take it anymore.

“Okay, what the fuck is wrong with you?” I step forward, closing the distance between me and Jax. My voice is low, controlled, but there’s no mistaking the anger simmering beneath the surface. “Why are you acting like such a dick?”

He scoffs, crossing his arms. “I’m not.”

My jaw clenches so hard it’s a miracle I don’t crack a tooth. I’m seconds away from tearing into him when a hand lands on my shoulder.

I turn and see Sam, ever the mediator.

“Don’t mind him,” Sam says calmly. “He’s just bitter. Got rejected earlier, and now he’s taking it out on you.”

Rejected? Jax?

Now that’s something you don’t see every day.

All eyes are now on him, and honestly, I can’t blame them. It’s not every day you see the self-proclaimed king of ladies get turned down. And by a girl, no less—a girl who, in my book, is already climbing to the top of my favorite-person list for having the guts to do it.

Let’s face it: everyone thinks I’m the one doing all the sleeping around. Meanwhile, the so-called King of Sex just got rejected. This is going to spread like wildfire, and when it does, the mockery will start.

Should I feel bad for him? No.

The guy needs to learn that not every girl is going to throw themselves at his feet. Most girls these days want more than just charm and cheap promises. They’re looking for commitment, someone who’ll actually stick around.

And me? I’m not exactly in a position to offer any of that right now. I’m too much of a mess—too caught up in family drama and my own issues. But still, somewhere in the back of my mind, I can picture it: me being that guy one day. Stable. Reliable. The kind of guy who could give someone everything they deserve.

Just not now. Maybe in a couple of years.

Yes. A couple of years sounds like a plan.

"Oh, come on, Jaxy boy," Cameron says, grinning as he slings an arm over Jax's shoulders. He’s one of those guys who shows up once in a while, usually when there’s a party or free booze involved. "Don’t be so uptight. There are plenty of fish in the sea, and trust me, at tonight’s party, they’re gonna swim right into your net without you even trying."

He’s not wrong. Jax didn’t need to look as stressed out as he does right now. Girls practically line up for him. The campus party tonight isn’t going to change that. So why does he look even more pissed off now than before Cameron opened his mouth?

Jaxon shoots him a death glare, mutters a curse, and shrugs Cameron’s arm off like it burns. Then, without another word, he storms off. Cameron stands there, looking confused as hell. So are the rest of us.

"Are you guys just gonna stand here or follow him?" Lydia finally speaks up, her voice tinged with concern. She crosses her arms, glancing between us like we’re useless.

"Don’t worry, I’ll go," Sam says, setting a box of liquor on the table. He jogs after Jaxon, shouting for him to wait up.

"Well, that’s sorted," Lydia mutters, turning her attention to me. Her eyes narrow, a mix of frustration and worry. "Now, are you gonna tell me what’s going on with you?"

"What?" I ask, though I know exactly what she means.

"You’ve been staring off into space for the last ten minutes," she says, her voice softening. "And don’t say it’s nothing. It’s obviously something."

"Yeah, dude," Logan chimes in, cracking open a can of beer. He holds it out to me like it’s a peace offering, but I shake my head.

"No beer? Okay, now I know something’s wrong," he says, eyebrows raised. He passes the beer to Lydia instead, and she takes it without hesitation, sipping like this is all just a soap opera she’s watching unfold.

I force a laugh, brushing off the concern. "Nothing’s wrong, guys. I’m just... I don’t know... tired?" Even as I say it, I hear the doubt in my own voice. Maybe it’s true, though—tired of my problems, tired of thinking. But mostly, I’m just physically wrecked because I haven’t slept like a normal person in weeks.

Usually, four hours of sleep is enough for me to function. It’s not ideal, but I make it work. Lately, though, I’m lucky to get two hours before I’m wide awake, staring at the ceiling like a vampire, my mind running in circles. I try reading school notes to bore myself to sleep, but it never works.

Maybe that’s why I’m so damn cranky. I need some fucking sleep.

"Yeah, you look like you need it," Lydia says, her tone laced with judgment as she adjusts her jean skirt. "And Jaxon’s right—you seriously need to do something about those eye bags."

I know, I know.

"Oh, you can use my sleeping pills," Lydia adds, glancing over at Logan. "Babe, my pills are still in the car, right?"

"Yep," Logan replies, then suddenly stands up and grins at me. "Get your ass up and follow me."

I groan, slumping back in my chair. "I can’t take a pill here. I’m helping organize the party, remember?" It’s a weak excuse, and we all know it. The truth is, I’ve made a silent vow to avoid pills entirely. It’s not that I judge anyone who uses them—they’re just too tangled up in memories I’m not ready to revisit.

Logan gives me that knowing look, the one that says he’s not buying it. With a sigh, I drag myself up and follow him outside. He doesn’t say a word until we reach his car. He pulls out his keys, unlocking it with a beep.

"Don’t worry," Logan says finally, popping open the trunk. "Lydia hates swallowing pills, too. So instead, she sneaks them into something sweet—like these." He pulls out a box of chocolate cookies and holds it up like it’s some grand solution. "Two or three of these will knock you out. Trust me, dude. You look like someone who spends his nights watching freaky porn or something."

I blink, staring at the cookies, then at him. "How...?" I shake my head, at a loss for words. "How the hell did you know?"

Logan rolls his eyes as he places the box on top of the car. "Come on, man. We’ve known each other for, what, six years? I know you don’t take pills—not even the medical ones. You’re the type who’d rather deal with needles."

Needles. They’ve always been my preference. There’s something about that sharp sting in the flesh—a fleeting, grounding pain that feels strangely satisfying. Maybe it sounds a little twisted, but for someone like me, it just works.

"Now, take some and get your ass in the car," Logan says, tossing me his car keys. I catch them with ease, my reflexes automatic despite how drained I feel.

"Get some rest in the back. I’ll wake you when I’m done." He glances at his watch, sighing like the weight of the world is on his shoulders. "It’ll be a while, though. I’ve got a student committee meeting coming up."

And that’s exactly why I’ll never join the student committee—too much work, too much stress. School and hockey are more than enough for me to juggle.

"Thanks, Logan," I say, my tone softer than usual. It’s rare for me to let genuine gratitude slip through, but he nods like he understands, turning to leave.

"No problem," he calls over his shoulder. "Just don’t finish the cookies, or you’ll have to deal with Lydia."

The corner of my mouth twitches in a half-smile as I watch him walk away. Then I swing open the back door, box of cookies in hand, and slide into the car.

I don’t waste time. Opening the box, I stare at the cookies for a moment before popping one into my mouth. Then another. The sweetness coats my tongue, and before long, the pills start to kick in. My body grows heavy, every muscle relaxing in slow, deliberate waves.

I manage to close the box and stash it to the side before the weight of exhaustion pulls me under. My eyes shut, and before I know it, I’m out cold.

By the time I wake up, the car is pitch black, and so is the night outside. The thumping bass of loud music and bursts of laughter seep through the windows, pulling me from sleep. I stretch, groaning as stiffness sets in, and the satisfying crack of my joints tells me just how long I’ve been out. Still, I needed that rest—I feel alive again, maybe even a little wild.

First things first: I need a drink.

The sight of people holding beer cans outside the window only makes the craving stronger. I swing the door open, and the cold night air hits me like a slap. I take a deep breath, realizing how stuffy the car had been—I hadn’t even cracked the window, and it’s a miracle I didn’t suffocate.

Pulling Logan’s keys from my pocket, I grab my phone to check the time. Ten o’clock.

Shit. I’ve been out for hours. But honestly? I can’t complain—I desperately needed it. Still, I can’t help but wonder why Logan didn’t wake me. Maybe he saw how dead I looked and decided to let me rest.

Sliding out of the car, I head toward the party. The scene outside is already chaotic—students are everywhere, beers in hand, shouting and laughing like it’s the last night on earth. Some are definitely up to things that would raise questions, but I’m not in the mood to play hall monitor.

When I step into the house, the heat smacks me in the face, and the overwhelming mix of sweat, alcohol, and something vaguely sweet almost makes me gag. Cigarette smoke. My nose wrinkles as I scan the room for the source. No one mentioned smoking would be happening, and it’s supposed to be banned at these freshman parties.

“Hey!” Sam’s voice cuts through the noise. He strides toward me with Jaxon trailing behind. “Where the hell have you been, man? It’s like you bailed on us or something.”

I ignore him, glancing around the room. “Where’s Logan?”

“He’s around here somewhere,” Sam says, sounding as clueless as he looks. Then he smirks and elbows Jaxon. “Anyway, Jax has something to say to you.”

Jaxon shoots him a glare and mutters something under his breath before sighing and turning to me. “Uh… I just wanted to say sorry for how I acted earlier.” He pauses, his attention shifting behind me. A slow, knowing smirk spreads across his face. “And… to say how hot Sophie looks right now.”

Wait… what?

I spin around, and my breath catches. Sophie.

I knew this was a freshman party, but I didn’t actually think she’d come. Why hadn’t I considered that? And why does it matter so much now that she’s here?

She looks… stunning. Gorgeous in a way that makes my throat dry and my mind blank.

“Damn,” Sam mutters, stepping beside me. Jaxon doesn’t hold back either. “Is that your friend’s sister? The freshman? The one who’s your roommate?”

My eyes stay glued to her as I mumble, “Uh… yeah.”

I don’t know if it’s because I just woke up or if it’s the dim lighting in here, but she seems to glow. She scans the crowd like she’s searching for someone, her posture relaxed but deliberate.

She’s not alone. Two girls flank her, clearly her friends. The blonde one wastes no time slipping into the crowd, already dancing and catching the attention of some guy. Meanwhile, Sophie and the dark-haired girl hang back, watching their friend disappear into the chaos.

My eyes refuse to leave Sophie, and one thought keeps circling in my head:

What is she doing here?

And why can’t I look away?

Her laugh becomes uneasy, the sound carrying a nervous edge as she keeps her eyes locked on the blond. Her body looks stiff, her posture screaming that she didn’t want to be here. And yet, I can’t bring myself to care about her discomfort—not when she looks like this. My eyes, unbidden, rake over her again, devouring every detail.

Her jeans cling to her hips like a second skin, each curve so perfectly defined that it feels almost obscene. The black off-the-shoulder top molds to her frame, the fabric gripping her waist and chest in ways that make it impossible to look away. My gaze traces every line, every dip, committing it all to memory, knowing I’d never forget the way she looks right now.

Her skin—warm and golden in the overhead light—gleams at the shoulders, drawing my eyes to the smooth stretch of exposed collarbone and the faintest curve of her chest. The way the fabric just grazes her skin makes my throat dry, and I have to swallow hard to keep the heat in my chest from spilling over.

God, she’s distracting. Too much, yet not nearly enough.

A hand claps down on my shoulder, jolting me out of my spiral. “Hey, dude,” Logan’s voice booms, far too cheerful for my current state of mind. Meanwhile, I’m here—barely holding it together, my nerves fraying by the second. “Oh, look, Sophie’s here. Let’s go say hi.”

“Yes Theo,” Jax adds, his smirk stretching wide as he revels in my discomfort. The amusement practically drips from his tone. “Let’s go greet your friend’s younger sister. You know, the freshman.”

Fuck you. The words burn on my tongue, aching to slip free, but I swallow them down, forcing myself to stay composed. Barely.

I should’ve punched him earlier.

Instead, I shove down the mix of frustration and panic, finally managing to nod, though my jaw feels like it might crack from clenching. “Sure,” I grind out, forcing a casual tone. “Let’s go.”