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I will not let him ruin my happy place. I wonder if I can find one of those little devices they used in that alien movie, the ones that can erase your memory. Then I could make it so he doesn’t remember this diner exists.
I slip back into the booth and stare at my phone, which is still sitting face-down where I left it.
“It’s been blowing up. You might want to check it,” Liam says.
I swipe up my cell at the same time it dings with an incoming text. I open the messaging app and see my group chat with the girls has ten unread messages. I open the thread and regret it immediately.
Charlie:
@AliyahMonroe Are you on date #3? Is that why we haven’t heard from you?
Amanda:
@AliyahMonroe I want all the details. Was he good?
Charlie:
@DuchessAmanda Was he good? Like that man could possibly be anything but good. Have you seen him on the ice?
Amanda:
@CharlieBear I don’t think someone’s skating ability has a single thing to do with their fucking ability.
That one does make me chuckle. I’ve never dated a hockey player, so I can neither confirm nor deny that their agility on the ice helps with their movements off it.
“Something funny?” Liam asks.
I look up. I almost forgot he was sitting there. Almost. “My friends want to know if being able to skate well has any correlation with your skills in the bedroom,” I tell him.
“Well, tell your friends I’m happy to give them a personal demonstration, both on and off the ice.” He winks.
“You don’t even know what they look like. Are you really that much of a whore you’d stick your dick into anything?”
“It’s hot girl logic.” He shrugs.
“What the hell ishot girl logic?” I ask, switching my phone to silent and putting it back down on the table. I’ll answer the girls later.
“It’s just the way things are. Hot girls group together in bunches. You’re hot, which means your friends will be hot too. I mean, usually there’s one in the group who’s a standing five instead of a ten. But don’t worry, you’re not it.”
He can’t be serious. Do men actually think like this? It’s ridiculous.
But then I consider my friends. They’re all hot in their own way. Charlie could have gone into modeling if she wanted to. She’s tall, thin, with long sandy-blonde hair that’s worthy of being in a shampoo commercial. Amanda is everything you’d expect a princess to be, always perfectly put together and elegant. She has fair skin and dark hair, with amazing bright-blue eyes. And then Nicole is the typical girl next door, or rather that head cheerleader you hated in high school. Blonde as blonde can be. She’s tall with curves in all the right places and huge D-cup breasts that she’s not afraid to flaunt. Finally, there’s Phoebe. Olive skin tone, dark hair, and dark eyes that I swear you’re likely to get lost in if you stare for too long. She has a way of drawing you into her orbit.
I’d hate to break it to Mr. King here, but if he saw me amongst those girls, I’d probably bethe fivehe mentioned. “Remind me to never bring you around my friends,” I tell him.
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want the hassle of taking them to the health clinic to get scanned for STDs,” I say.
Liam picks up his phone, taps on it a few times, and then hands the device over to me. “Just so we’re clear, this was done the day before I arrived. I’m as clean as a whistle, sweetheart.”
I stare at the report on his screen. Who the hell carries around their labwork like this? Manwhores, that’s who. I hand the phone back to Liam just as the waitress approaches and places our food down in front of us.
ChapterEight
I’ve never really cared too much what people think of me. They either love or hate me. I don’t try to change their minds. As far as I’m concerned, it’s on them to determine what they think, not me.
But for some reason, here I am, sitting across from the owner’s daughter, trying to change her opinion. It fucking irritates the shit out of me that all she sees is an NHL superstar, a player with only one thing on his mind. Okay,superstarmight not be the exact word she would use—that may have been reaching.
