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She frowns. “Yeah. I still can’t believe you have to deal with everything that happened with him. It’s been four years.”
“Some mistakes can’t be undone.” I push back the tears that are fighting to escape.
I allowed Kellan to win for too long. He’s not allowed to keep controlling my life, when he’s no longer in it.
She touches my shoulder to comfort me. “I’m sorry, babe.”
I sigh at the thought of the boy who ruined my life in high school. The piece of shit who still somehow manages to fuck everything up for me.
“Kellan was—”
“An ass,” Taylor finishes for me.
Once we reach the parking garage, I remove my dad’s spare set of keys from my bag and click the remote to open his car. He’d called me after my last class and asked me to bring his wallet to the rink across campus. He must have been in a rush, because he left it in the center console, right where anyone can see it.
I retrieve my wallet and hold it up for her to see. “I have to run this over to my dad. It won’t take long. Do you want to tag along? We can grab something to eat from the cafeteria afterward.”
Her nose wrinkles in disgust. “No to cafeteria food. A definite hell yeah to sneaking a peek at the men’s ice hockey practice.”
“Awesome.” I shut the door and lock the car. “I was hoping I wouldn’t have to face the guys alone, especially not Preston.”
“Are you kidding me? As if you even had to ask.”
I chuckle. “Don’t act like this around the guys. Their egos are big enough.”
“Gotcha,” she says. “Don’t feed the players. Duly noted.”
I shake my head, entertained by her stupidity.
Five minutes later, we reach the ice rink on the other side of campus. Taylor glows with delight. She fixes her black hair with her fingers and adds a thin layer of pink gloss to her lips, smacking them together loudly.
Taylor turns to me. “How do I look?”
“Fine. Stop worrying about your appearance. A guy should like you on your worse day. Otherwise, he’s not worth your time.”
“I wish I could be more like you, Bex. You never care what anyone thinks of you.”
I shrug. “It’s simple. People will either like you the way you are or hate you for it. You know what my dad says about opinions and assholes.”
She laughs, as I pull open the door to where my dad holds practice. “I’ll try to find my inner Bex. Be like Bex,” she chants a few times under her breath, joking. “You’re the only girl I know who would show her face around a bunch of guys with a bloody lip and no makeup.”
I roll my eyes. “I haven’t worn makeup since my dad made me wipe it off my face my sophomore year in high school. Anyway, who cares if my lip is busted open? I wear it like a badge of honor. I wasn’t about to let Stacey Weaver get to the net.”
“Instead, you guarded her so hard, she ended up dropping bows on you like you’re in the UFC.”
A rumble of laughter shakes through me. “Drop bows? You sound like a lunatic.”
“What? Haven’t you ever seen a spinning back elbow? It’s pretty sweet. That’s basically what Stacy did to your face.”
“I hustled my ass off to become a starter this year. I wasn’t about to punk out, allow her to make the easy layup, and show Coach Vaughn I wasn’t starting material.”
“It was just a scrimmage. You can ease up a little bit. What if Preston tries to kiss you on Saturday and he tastes blood? That’s not sexy.”
“He’s a hockey player. I’m sure he’s used to the taste of blood in his mouth. And it’s not like I’m going to kiss him.”
Once we reach the outer edge of the ice, our conversation comes to a halt. Taylor’s eyes are as wide as her mouth, full on ogling the players. Her behavior is almost embarrassing. Almost. Because I’m doing the same thing after I spot Preston on the ice. He skates with such grace I can’t help but admire him in all of his glory.
A quick squabble ensues, where two players fight for possession of the puck. In a blur of blue jerseys, I don’t have a good view, but someone takes a shot on goal. It hits the post and bounces to the left of the net. One of Preston’s teammates passes the puck to him, and then he’s gone. He moves so quickly down the ice I have to blink to refocus. Damn, he’s fast. My dad wasn’t kidding about Preston. He’s talented.
I walk closer to the Plexiglas, stumbling over my high-top Chuck Taylors. Pressing my hand to the glass, I stare in awe as Preston scores for his team. I bite my lip, accidentally digging into the fresh cut from practice. A metallic taste fills my mouth. But I don’t care. All I can think about is Preston.
