My Stepsister’s Hot Hockey Boyfriend

I knew I did not belong the moment the room went quiet.

Not the polite kind of quiet.

The kind that crawls under your skin and makes your chest tighten.

Laughter had been bouncing off the walls seconds ago. Music loud. Drinks sloshing. Bodies pressed together in careless happiness. Then I stepped forward with a tray of red plastic cups balanced in my hands and every sound thinned out like someone had sucked the air away.

I felt it before I understood it.

Eyes on me.

Judging. Measuring. Amused.

I was the only one not dressed like this was a party meant for people like me. Too plain. Too covered. My dress clung wrong. My hair refused to cooperate no matter how many times I ran my fingers through it. I had borrowed the heels from my stepsister without asking and now they pinched like punishment.

I should not have come.

But my stepsister insisted.

Everyone would be there.

It would be rude if I did not show.

So here I was. Standing in the living room of an off campus house packed with hockey players and their friends. A girl no one wanted. A girl no one knew what to do with.

I swallowed and tried to keep my hands steady.

Then someone laughed.

Not loud. Not kind.

Sharp. Male.

I followed the sound without meaning to. My eyes landed on the couch near the center of the room where the hockey team had claimed territory like kings. Big bodies sprawled out. Jerseys half unbuttoned. Muscles relaxed in the way that came from knowing you ruled the room.

And there he was.

My stepsister’s boyfriend.

Sitting back like he owned the place. One arm stretched along the back of the couch. Fingers curled around a beer bottle. Dark hair slightly damp like he had just come from the rink. Jaw hard. Mouth lazy. Eyes bright with interest that had nothing to do with affection.

His eyes locked on me.

I froze.

Something passed over his face. Amusement first. Then curiosity. Then something slower and heavier that made my stomach twist.

He leaned forward.

“Well,” he said loudly enough for the people around him to hear. “Looks like Cinderella finally found the party.”

Laughter erupted around him.

My face burned instantly. Heat rushed up my neck. My fingers tightened around the tray until the cups rattled.

I forced a smile. “Just bringing drinks.”

“Cute,” another guy said. “You catering now?”

More laughter.

I should have walked away. I should have pretended I did not hear them. I should have remembered I was here because my dad married her mom and that made me invisible baggage. Something to tolerate. Something to tease.

Instead I stood there like an idiot.

My stepsister finally noticed the attention. She turned from where she had been flirting with someone near the kitchen and frowned.

“What are you doing?” she asked me, her voice sharp with embarrassment. “I told you to just set those down.”

“I was trying to help,” I said quietly.

Her eyes flicked over me. From my hair to my dress to the shoes she loved more than she would ever love me.

“You look ridiculous,” she muttered. “Why did you even come if you were going to stand there like that?”

The room seemed to tilt.

Her boyfriend did not say anything. He just watched. Elbows on his knees now. Eyes never leaving my face. Like he was enjoying every second of this.

I took a step forward. My heel slipped.

The tray tipped.

Cold liquid splashed down my front. Red cups scattered. Beer soaked my dress. A cup bounced off the couch and landed upside down on the floor.