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She doesn’t have Shannon’s green eyes or long dark hair. This girl has a deep shade of auburn and looks more like Trent’s girl. There’s not a single bit of the woman who occupies my thoughts in this girl.
Preston’s next to me, ignoring the girl on his lap as he pounds another beer. He doesn’t want to get an earful of shit from Bex for getting a lap dance. I can see it in his eyes that he’s already thinking over what he’s going to tell her. Clearly, he’s not into it. Neither am I. Both of us are here for Trent and nothing more.
Drake, Tucker, and Trent are on the other side of the room from me with strippers on their laps. I can’t see their faces, the girls blocking them. This is so fucking pointless. None of us even want to be here.
Well, Drake and Tucker never turn down a lap dance, though I’m sure Taylor won’t be thrilled with Drake if he tells her. I want to go the hell home. From the looks of it, so does Preston.
I miss Shannon. I miss having her in my bed, waking up to her making breakfast for the house. We were all getting used to having her around, and now she’s that gone, I realize how much I took her for granted. I should’ve been honest with her from the start. She was right about deserving better, which is why I haven’t chased after her. I’m giving her the space she needs.
I tip the bottle in my hand to my lips and drink the rest of the beer, and then I throw the girl on my lap off me. Because I’m done for the night. I need to go home and figure out how to get my old life back.
Chapter Seventeen
Jamie
Boston College is a hard team to beat. They’re running our asses up and down the ice forcing my team to step up our game. Preston fights for possession of the puck. He lines his stick up against his opponent’s, taking away his shot. A fight ensues, and Preston exchanges words with Kellan Lehane, a winger for Boston College.
Lehane plays dirty, he’s a total dickhead, and the biggest shit-talker I’ve ever met. Preston has had issues with him for years. Lately, he’s been talking about how he wants to make him pay. For what, I have no idea. He never elaborates. But now, I can’t help but wonder what’s going on between them.
Lehane taunts Preston, both of them nudging each other, scrambling for the puck. As our captain, Preston is completely focused. His mind is always on the game, but something’s bothering him, and it has to do with Lehane. Keeping my distance, I watch as Tucker appears at Lehane’s other side. A quick squabble ensues between Preston and Lehane which gives Tucker enough of an opening to steal the puck.
As Lehane turns to go after Tucker, Preston does something uncharacteristic and pushes him into the boards. He smashes Lehane’s face into the Plexiglas, holding him there with his gloved hand. The referee calls a penalty as he should. Five minutes for boarding gets Preston thrown into the sin bin.
The linesmen have to pull Preston and Lehane apart. One of them tugs at Preston’s jersey, skating in the direction of the penalty box. Now, we’re down a skater for the next five minutes.
Way to go, Prez, I think, shooting daggers in Preston’s direction.
His eyes are still fixed on Lehane, who’s headed toward his team’s bench.
After killing Boston’s power play, Preston’s back on the ice with me. And again, Lehane is all over him. What the fuck is with these two? Preston has the puck, and Lehane sweeps his stick at his leg. I expect the ref to call a penalty on Lehane for slashing, but of course, Boston gets the home advantage, and no whistle is blown.
Preston scrambles to keep possession of the puck, and when he has a clear line to Tucker, he passes it. Tucker takes off down the ice. He’s one of the fastest players on our team. With seconds on the clock, he shoots the puck, and I mentally cross my fingers.
We need this win. The puck hits the back of the net, and Tuck scores the winning goal. As the goal horn blares, the rink erupts into a series of boos and cheers. We’re in Boston and just beat the home team so it’s expected. The few rounds of applause we receive are from the few people who traveled from Strick U for the game, Bex and Taylor among them.
We huddle together, celebrating our victory, patting each other on the back and helmets. I look around for Preston—he’s nowhere in sight. My gaze falls to where he once was with Lehane.
I stare in shock at Preston as he rips off his gloves and punches Kellan Lehane in the face. The game is over. We won. He needs to act like the team captain right now, but he’s blind with rage over Lehane. Preston’s taking this too far.
