Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 100612 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100612 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
“Yeah, but we’re not talking about flirting—we’re talking about hockey and how maybe you’re not as good as you think you are!” she shouts at my back.
I feel a grin tugging at my lips but don’t turn around. Instead, I line up another shot, focusing on the puck in front of me. Or I try to.
Because the problem is, I can’t stop picturing the way her lips purse when she’s teasing me, glossy and distracting. I can’t stop thinking about how I want to kiss her again later.
I need to focus. Hockey.
Shots.
Not Harper.
Net.
“Oh, I’m as good as I think I am,” I call back, my tone cocky as I line up the puck and spin it around on the blade of my stick, letting the motion feel easy, effortless. “In fact, I’m better.”
I hear her laugh behind me, light and airy, and the nerves in my body do the stupidest shit.
Macy, however, is less than impressed.
Her groan carries across the ice, loud and clear, as she throws her hands up. “I can’t take it anymore. Can we please go? My toes are literally frozen.”
“In a minute,” Harper replies, not sparing her bestie a glance. Her eyes stay locked on me. “I think Easton has a little more showing off to do.”
“Damn right I do,” I mutter, grabbing two pucks and pushing off with purpose.
If Harper wants a show, I’m more than happy to give her one.
“Well, do I have to be here to see it?” Macy noisily complains, stomping her feet like a petulant child. She presses her fingers to her jawline. “My face is freezing off.”
“It’s fifty-five degrees in here,” I yell. “You’re being dramatic.”
“No, you are,” she snaps, wrapping her arms tighter around herself in a hug. “It’s called having thin blood.”
“Yeah,” Harper adds. “Not all of us can look hot while skating in frigid temperatures like show ponies.”
Wait. She thinks I’m hot?
I push my tongue against the inside of my cheek, fighting the idiotic smile threatening to form. Play it cool. Don’t make it weird. But my body betrays me, heat creeping up my neck.
Jeez, am I blushing?
Is this what it feels like when Harper Conrad has a crush on you?
The light bulb goes on in my head the same way the alarms sound when someone scores a goal.
“Show pony?” I grin at her like a doofus. “I think you mean stallion.”
“Sure, we’ll go with that if it’ll get me out of here,” Macy says, rolling her eyes.
With both pucks in play, I weave them effortlessly between my skates, pulling off a spin before shooting the first one into the top left corner of the net. Bam!
The second puck follows immediately, zipping low into the bottom right.
Bam, bam!
I glance back at the bench, half expecting more sarcastic rhetoric, but Harper’s eyes are wide.
“Did that do it for you?” I call out, skating toward them. The pull I feel toward Harper gets stronger the more time I spend with her, and I love showing off for her.
Yes, I’m showing off.
Yes, I want to impress her.
Yes, I want her to think I’m—
“It was…all right. I’ll give you that.” She’s doing her best to look unaffected, but the pink flush creeping up her neck gives her away.
“That was poetry in motion, baby.”
Baby.
The word causes her eyes to widen, but Macy?
She is not having it.
“Poetry doesn’t make me lose feeling in my face,” Macy snaps, her voice muffled by her scarf as she rubs her hands together furiously. “Seriously. I’m going to die of frostbite if I have to stand here one more second.”
“It’s not cold in here!” I laugh, gesturing at the rink. Seriously—they keep the temperature between fifty-five and sixty degrees.
“Maybe you don’t think it’s cold,” Macy grumbles. “This is your second home. Meanwhile, I’m turning into a Popsicle.”
“A cute Popsicle.” Harper stifles a laugh, biting her lip to hide her amusement.
Macy throws her hands up. “Great! Good to know I look adorable while freezing to death. That totally makes me feel less cold.”
Harper laughs, which adds fuel to her friend’s fire.
“You know what, Harper?” Macy has had enough. “Stay here and freeze with your dumb hockey hottie.” She stomps toward the exit, her boots squeaking against the damp rubber floor. “Text me when you’re done with your Disney on Ice moment!”
Her voice echoes through the rink as the heavy doors slam behind her.
Harper snorts, shaking her head as she watches Macy’s exit. “We really know how to clear a room, don’t we?”
“Not my fault Macy has the cold tolerance of a cactus,” I reply, shrugging. “Now it’s just you and me.”
“Lucky me,” she whispers.
I skate to the boards where she’s leaning, planting my elbows on the half wall and tilting my head as I study her. She meets my gaze, and for a moment, it’s like the air between us shifts—quieter, warmer, charged with something unspoken.