Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 83358 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83358 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Lucky’s reply comes through quickly and my pulse skitters. Understood. But I’m not giving up. We still have that second date you promised me.
A smile breaks out on my face. He’s not giving up! I glance at Kelsey, show her the text and even though she’s disappointed to not hang out with the Titans, she gives a little squeal of delight.
“He’s not giving up,” I whisper to myself, slipping my phone back into my bag.
CHAPTER 10
Lucky
Half the team rolls into Mario’s like we’ve just clinched the Cup. It wasn’t a playoff game, just a solid Friday night win, but Mario’s is our go-to for postgame highs. The place is packed, loud and humming with Titans fans three drinks deep. I slip past the line at the door and straight into the roped-off VIP section near the back, greeted by cheers and high fives. After a game like that, especially with an assist on the board and the crowd chanting my name, this intense energy feels earned.
I see Foster, Penn and Atlas at one of the standing high-tops with a beer already in front of them. Mazzy and Mila hover nearby, heads bent toward each other. I make my way to them, passing Kace chatting up some girl at the bar who looks like she bites men for fun. He’s either in trouble or in love, but regardless, he’s done well stepping into goal since Drake’s groin injury. Apparently, the doctors are saying he’s going to need six to eight weeks before he can return. That takes us all the way through the rest of the regular season and into the first week of the playoffs.
Assuming we make the playoffs.
While Kace was poised and fluid in goal tonight, it’s only his first full game. He has a big burden to ensure we make the playoffs and an even bigger burden to ensure we keep our current ranking. Earning the top slot in our division is crucial.
I step in next to Atlas while he’s telling some story that involves a bachelor party and a lost shoe. I’m well known here and a waitress slides my favorite beer on tap in front of me.
Atlas acknowledges me with a nod, as do the other guys, and I half listen while sipping at my brew. Unfortunately, my focus is split.
I’m not sure why this is on my mind, but under a different set of circumstances, Winnie could have been standing here at my side. I’m not sure exactly what it would have been. Definitely not a date, and definitely not a social experiment. Maybe a friendly outing? I know by inviting her to a team gathering, I stepped outside her dating experiment boundaries.
Regardless, she’s not here and I’m bummed about it. Something during the game hit different. I think it was knowing that she was up in the stands, at my invitation.
Watching me.
I felt like I had an extra kick in my step, and while I’d like to think I give a hundred and ten percent every time I’m on the ice, tonight a weird fire burned inside me that hasn’t necessarily been present in prior games. Winnie being there was the only difference in my usual hockey life.
I know she wants a normal, regular guy, and she’s right—I’m anything but. But fuck if a part of me tonight didn’t relish being a big deal out there on the ice because I wanted to impress her. I wanted to break through this aura of standoffishness that she projects because she thinks we’re too different.
I try not to let it mess with my head, but every time I replay it—her in the stands, jumping up and down with her friend, beaming at the ice like it was Christmas morning and I was Santa on skates—my chest does something odd.
It’s tight. Warm. Yearning.
What has me feeling like I won a victory—in addition to the game tonight—was that she showed up and didn’t have to. She could’ve gone out with some dude who probably has a drawer full of calculator-themed boxer briefs.
But she came. She watched. And maybe I imagined it, but I swear I could feel her pride when our eyes briefly caught after my assist.
“You good?” Atlas asks, nudging me with his elbow hard enough to jostle the glass held loosely in my hand.
I blink, startled like someone snapped me out of a dream, and realize the conversation’s moved on from bachelor party destinations to… well, me. Atlas eyes me with one eyebrow raised accompanied by an infuriating smirk that says, Yeah, dipshit. You’ve been out in space.
“What?” I ask, trying to act like I haven’t been thinking about Winnie smiling at me from the stands.
“I asked if you’re good.”
I scrub a hand over my jaw. The bar is a little too warm and crowded. The scent of fries and beer clings to the air, and somewhere, someone’s drunkenly singing along to a nineties alt-rock song that’s too loud through the speakers. For some reason, those things are annoying me when they never have before.