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Oh well.
What did she expect? Roses?
Outside the locker room, a man in a rough-looking polo shirt and khakis waits. He glances at me, then at the locker.
“You looking for someone?” I ask.
“Yeah. Knox Whiteshaw.”
“Oh.” My brows furrow. “That’s me. What can I do for you?”
He holds out a big manila envelope.
Without really thinking it through, I take it.
“You’ve been served,” he says.
My stomach drops.
Well,fuck.
39
MELODY
Imeet the Whiteshaw family, along with Jacob’s parents, and Vicky and Richard. Plus Jacob and Knox’s friends. Instead of being close to the ice, we’re up in a suite. It’s prime-time fancy, which Violet made sure to prepare me for before we showed our faces. Sometime between us leaving to go for the prison and our return, Willow and Aspen bought me a dress.
Now I sit in it, marveling at the soft fabric. It’s a deep red, and it perfectly matches the lipstick I found in the guest bathroom of Jacob’s condo not too long ago. Surprise, surprise—I still had it tucked in my purse.
Violet did the rest of my makeup while Willow fiddled with my hair.
They’re each wearing nice clothes, too. As is everyone else in the suite. I feel a little guilty not wearing a Rhodes jersey, but this seems good, too. The dress hides my belly, a source of insecurity, and amplifies my cleavage. It’s a magic dress.
Maybe made even more perfect by the fact that I didn’t have to try on eight hundred to find the perfect one.
That sounds like a hassle, especially in this body.
When the game starts, I’m joined by Miles. I glance at him, a little surprised. He, of all of them, has kept his distance. But I think I know why.
“You were my student,” I guess.
He nods. He’s wearing a navy suit jacket and matching tie. The color matches Willow’s dress, and he seems to keep one eye on her even as he’s talking with me and watching the ref drop the puck.
“Sorry,” I murmur.
“Willow said she talked to you about teaching.” He smiles. “I liked your class, too. You taught one of the harder English lit classes. Although Jacob thought he was going to get a different professor who would’ve gone a lot easier on him.”
I smile. “I guess I didn’t. He said I slapped him.”
Miles chuckles. “I don’t doubt that. Especially if he said something rude.”
“Something about sucking his cock.” My cheeks heat. “So you don’t judge me for…”
“No.”
He’s tracking the players on the ice. The black-and-gold jersey players, the New York Guardians, have the puck on the Titan side of the rink. One of them takes a shot, and Miles mutters under his breath.
The goalie sends the puck out to a Titan, and I spot his number—fifteen—and name. Rhodes. I brighten, leaning forward, as he takes the puck up the far edge of the rink. He passes it to a teammate a split second before a Guardian player slams into him.
