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As he opens the door to their room, I hear him asking Harper if she’s feeling better, but she is more concerned about me. “Is everything okay with Reed?”
At least someone cares about me. Who knew the girl I spread rumors about as teenagers would become my rock and best friend.
Saturday comes and as far as hockey goes, I have a day off. Not really, I was playing until nearly three a.m.
The guys and I go to McShane’s to watch the baseball team and NHL games. Some girls meet Dawes and Flynn here. Without raising suspicion, I ask my teammates if anyone is dating someone new. All have the same answer, “No.” Most of the guys hook up but aren’t willing to give someone their jersey.
If you give a girl your jersey, it means something.
Hands. Fucking. Off.
Hockey players are primal beings. In hockey, there are firm rules about where you can be on the ice and when, or you’re offsides. If you make a play for a teammate’s girl, it’s the same way offsides, and I may not be able to comply.
A girl wearing a tank top in the middle of winter yanks on my shirt. “Hey, great game last night,” the raven-haired girl says as she scrapes her nails over my arm.
“Thanks.” I turn my attention to the big screen, Hagan’s up to bat and hits the pitcher’s fast ball to left field and makes it safely to second base.
“My apartment isn’t far. Do you want to party?” She’s a persistent little crow.
“Nah. I’m beat. Plus, I’m off the market.”
Flynn and Dawes snap in my direction. They don’t say anything, but they know I’m lying.
“Oh, well, if you change your mind, your goalie has my number.”
As she sways her hips and walks away, I mumble, “Right, because I love being where my teammates have been.”
The puck bunnies with Flynn and Dawes lift their eyebrows. Yes. I’m talking about them too.
“Have fun, boys. I’m out of here.” I’m in a state of I don’t give a shit about this life anymore.
Amidst a few protests, I walk down the street to my parked car. It’s early evening and when I pass a bar that’s known for its country music and dancing, I decide to go inside. Not my style, but maybe I need to shake things up. Get outside of the puck bunny circle. And quit thinking about Brooke.
I’m not that out of place; I only see one cowboy hat. Most of the guys are in jeans and a shirt similar to mine. After ordering a beer, I lean against a pole. No one here recognizes me. At my boarding school, everyone knew me. At my other college, I was a hockey god until I was kicked out. Here, unless I’m hanging with the team or wearing team garb, I’m just another person.
The dance floor is shoulder to shoulder, and I catch a glimpse of the girl I think is Brooke’s roommate. She’s dancing with Dane, the basketball player.
They part ways, and she brushes past me, but I tug on her shirt. “Is Brooke with you?”
Her eyes are glassy. “Brooke? No, she had her one night out. No two. She went to the hockey game last night.”
“Do you know where I can find her?”
“Home.” She spins and jumps into another guy’s arms. “You came.”
Dane stands behind her, and he’s fuming. It’s the same look I gave Brooke at the hockey game when she was wearing another man’s jersey. If he could deck her friend, he would. Maybe I should help him out, and then we could be friends. Unfortunately, I can’t be hitting people outside of the arena.
My phone buzzes, and I slip it from my pocket. It’s Brooke, and I don’t know whether to be pissed that she’s texting me when she has a boyfriend or happy because maybe it’s not serious. Maybe she has a brother on the team. Nope. That would have come up in conversation.
Brooke:Are you awake? I didn’t intend for you to find out like that.
Me:Yep. Whatever. At a bar. I saw your friend.
Inside my blood boils. I’m still in shock that she’s dating one of my teammates.
Brooke:Who? Lettie?
Me:The one who hangs out with basketball team.
