The party is full chaos. Granny Murray is showing Cookie and her granddaughters how to play strip poker. Jonesy’s passed out on the couch. Bramms is slow dancing with an inflatablereindeer. Harlowe is trying to fish someone’s underwear out of the punch bowl.
Ellie stands alone by the tree, a red-and-white Solo cup decorated like Rudolph in her hand, her eyes tracking me with a frown that’s half suspicion, half something softer.
I walk straight over to her, my pulse still hammering from the risk, the deception. Hopefully, the win. “You’re not dancing.”
“Trying to manage the party.” She seems a little frazzled.
I get a text from my eldest cousin:
Hudson:Talbot’s down the street. Stand by. He’ll find you.
“Going to hit the head.” I lean in to kiss her.
But she moves her head at the last minute. “Okay, I should probably refresh the snacks.”
I grab her chin. We’re in front of everyone. But that’s not what it is. She’s lying. I can see it. But I don’t have the bandwidth to weasel it out of her. After tomorrow, I’ll probably never see her again anyway.
The sudden realization is like taking a puck to the teeth.
I look at her—really look at her—and I almost cave. I want to wrap her up in my arms. I want to kiss her like this party isn’t happening. Like she’s mine.
I turn away before I can wrap her in my arms and tell her I love her.There was always a time limit on this, I remind myself. And I’m out of time.
I look around at my teammates, at my dream.
This was never meant to be mine.
29
ELLIE
“Iheard him,” I hiss to Harlowe as we scurry into the stadium for the early-morning practice—way too early.
“He said to Dana Holbrook, ‘I want to know what it’s like to fuck a billion dollars.’” I blink back tears.
“After you guys had hot, sweaty, nasty postgame sex in your office.”
“Yeah, guess that didn’t mean anything to him.” I stare down at the ice.
“He’s a hockey player—they’re fuckboys,” Harlowe tells me gently. “You can’t get attached to them. Did he say he loved you, or was he talking about relationships or anything?”
“No.” I sniffle. “And it’s not like we could even…” I make a helpless gesture. “I told him I can’t sleep with players. I told him it was affecting his game,” I admit.
Harlowe waits a bit. “Yikes.”
“Yeah.” I sigh. “You think I blew it?”
“Well, now we know why he was chatting up Dana. He was trying to make you jealous.”
“I don’t know.”
Harlowe snorts. “Have you seen all the puck bunnies hanging around the stadium ever since we started winning? He could have a new one every night. But he’s flirting with Dana because she’s unobtainable.”
“Or he just hates me.” I feel miserable, even though Fletcher moving on is the best possible outcome.
“Be an adult and talk to Fletcher,” Harlowe coaxes me. “Tell him you want to be exclusive.”
“I can’t be in a public relationship with him. I mean, my dad would have a fit.”
