Page 2 of On the Breakaway

Instead, I slide into one of the two booths we’ve commandeered in the back. I spot Wesley at the next booth over and catch her eye, winking.

Wesley is one of my best friends and has been since we met through soccer our freshman year of college. Now that we play on the Boston Tempest together, we’re closer than ever. Which means she should know better than to think I believe a second of her fake relationship with Nathan. He is a fan favorite on the Blades, and while they both swear it’s all an act, he can’t seem to keep his hands off of her.

They’re both fooling themselves, but I’ve already done my best friend duties trying to talk sense into them tonight, so now I’m off the clock.

Come to think of it, her fake relationship has actually really screwed up my life. I encouraged it because Wes absolutely needed to have some fun, but if I’d known that said fun would end with me spending New Year’s crowded around a table with half of the Blade’s first line, I would’ve told her to run. Far.

Seriously, if anyone told me three months ago that I’d be not only spending time with the city’s hockey team, but also kind of enjoying it, I would’ve laughed in their face. Then, I would’ve maybe fled the state.

“Hey Aves, want to trade drinks?” Liam yells over the music, shaking a stray strand of his blond hair off his forehead. He motions to his empty glass.

I huff a laugh. “Get your own.”

Liam is my favorite person on the team. I met him at an awards banquet a couple of months ago, and after making it very clear that I’d never be interested in him, we became fast friends. Mostly because he’s fun, but also because he’s essentially the male version of me.

At least the version of me that everyone thinks I still am.

The version I used to be.

“If I go now, I’ll be swarmed with girls at midnight.” He smirks and nods to the crowd surrounding the bar.

He’s not exaggerating. I may play professional soccer, but no one recognizes anyone from my team off the field. The Blades, however, are another story entirely.

“That sounds like heaven for you,” I tease.

“Now that you mention it, why stop at only one kiss?”

I chuckle, taking another sip of my drink. “Giving all those women false hope that they might get you all to themselves.”

He wiggles his eyebrows. “And what? I’m supposed to believe you bought that drink yourself?”

I scrunch my face because he’s got a fucking point.

“You forget Aves,” he says, plucking my glass from my hand and taking a swig. “You and I, we’re the same.”

I steal my cup back and roll my eyes. “Fucking soul sisters, alright.”

“Hell yeah,” He yells, having no sense of shame over the title.

Honestly, most of the Blades players aren’t too bad. Neither is most of the team, really. It’s not their fault my ex-boyfriend is the devil. Or that he happens to play for the New York Yeti, the next closest NHL team to us.

To say I have a skewed opinion of hockey players would be a vast understatement. No one would blame me if they knew the whole story, but I’d honestly rather have them think I’m crazy than spill the details.

With every drunken night out with the Blades, though, my grudge against hockey players fades a little more.

That is, until Grayson Shaw slides into the booth on my other side.

“What’s so funny?” He asks, eyes bouncing between Liam and me.

The laughter dies in my throat the second I see him. I’m not exactly sure what it is about Grayson that gets under my skin. Maybe it’s the whole nice guy act, or how he seems to show up everywhere, but whatever it is, he kills my vibe every single time.

“Nothing. Now.” My tone is clipped and full of attitude.

Grayson smiles easily.

Okay, I lied.

I know exactly why he gets under my skin. It’s because nothing gets under his. I’m fairly confident I could punch this guy in the face, and he wouldn’t blink. I’ve tried insulting, ignoring, avoiding, and anything else I can think of to get him to realize I don’t like him. And still, he slides up next to me in the booth like we’re pals.