Page 185 of Play Dirty

The thing on the screen was me.

Not now. Before.

College.

I was flying down the ice — full speed, cutting through defenders like they weren’t even there. One move, then another, then another. Stickhandling in tight space, slipping through traffic. Reading the play before it even developed.

I remembered this game.

Hat trick. Two assists.

I hadn’t thought about it in years.

“…what is this?” I asked softly.

All three of them turned. Sebastian grinned immediately.

“Ah,” he said. “There she is.”

On screen, I watched myself score on a breakaway. It looked so easy. Like the goalie wasn’t even there.

“Where in the world did you find this?”

Grayson stood up. Ignoring the question, he looked at me with admiration in his eyes.

“You were unreal, you know,” he murmured. “You had raw speed. Natural finesse.”

“I still have finesse,” I smiled demurely.

Ares stood up next, facing away from me. When he turned back, he was holding something.

He opened his fist and let it drop. I gasped as it dangled from his fingers.

My jersey.

My number.

I felt my stomach flip.

“How’d you get one of those—”

“Don’t worry about that,” Ares said. He held it out. “Put it on.”

I hesitated. Not because I didn’t want to.

Because suddenly… I did.

A lot.

Slowly, I took it from him. The fabric felt familiar. Lighter than I remembered it. Softer.

Like something from a different life.

I lifted it over my head—

“No, no, no,” Sebastian said quickly. “Not like that.”

I blinked at him.