Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 97994 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97994 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
I pull her hand down.
“Sit down,” I hiss, grabbing at her sleeve.
“Never! Let me have some fun.”
A guy, two rows over, shouts down to us. “You know them?”
“Intimately, if you catch my drift,” Blaire says proudly, then pauses. “Well. One of us does.”
A teenager leans between us and blurts out, “Are you one of the girlfriends?”
I practically choke on my own embarrassment—but honestly, when am I not? My cheeks have been permanently overheated lately, for one reason or another…
Blaire beams at the kid, tossing her hair back. “We’re accepting applications.”
She is shameless. “Blaire!”
She leans closer to me without dropping her megawatt smile. “Relax. This is free publicity.”
“We do not need publicity!”
“No, but your dumb brother does,” she grumbles, plopping down into her seat. “And your broody boyfriend definitely could use an image overhaul. He comes off as so angry all the time.”
“He is not my boyfriend,” I clap back at her.
Blaire’s grin widens. “Ohhh, I love when you’re defensive. It’s adorable.”
I shrink into my seat as the arena lights dim slightly for player introductions.
When Aaron’s name echoes through the arena, the cheer is noticeably louder.
I don’t clap.
I mean, I do.
But casually so as not to draw more attention to myself.
Thunderous cheering and applause break out as spotlights sweep over the arena. Liquid smoke drifts over the ice. Music bumps for the pre-game show; a pop singer is here to do her latest hit and sing the national anthem.
The crowd loses its mind.
Blaire has to shout at me to be heard over the noise. “I love this for you, and I love this for me. It’s about time one of us finds a man who makes an effort.”
Guilt creeps in, pooling in my stomach. Sneaking around with a man I technically should not be dating, creating conflict with my brother—I haven’t once asked her how she’s doing. I’ve monopolized every video call. Every phone call. Every message thread.
“I’ve been a bad friend,” I blurt.
“What?” She laughs. “Because you’re dating a hockey player?”
“I’m not—”
She raises her brows.
Ugh. Fine.
Whatever.
“I’ve been so consumed with…” I refuse to use his name in a sentence. “Him. My new job. I haven’t even asked about you in, like, weeks.”
The crowd roars as the starting lineup is announced, but Blaire’s focus is homed in on me, body angled toward me, beer cup all but forgotten.
“Juliette.” She says my name firmly. “You are allowed to have your own life.”
“I know, but—”
She nudges my shoulder. “If one of us is going to accidentally fall into a broody, intense, good-looking athlete, I’m thrilled it’s you.”
“I am not falling into anything.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Also—I’d like to point out that my brother is also a broody, good-looking athlete…” It never hurts to mention this, lest she forget Declan is usually always single.
“Don’t make me throw up in my mouth.”
“Merely stating a fact. Maybe all of this loathing is sexual tension.”
Blaire stares at me blankly. “I would rather lick the ice.”
“Oddly enough, I’m sure that can be arranged.”
Down below, the crack of sticks colliding echoes through the arena, the game going fast, all the players aggressive. I gasp as Declan checks a guy into the boards, sending him falling to the ice.
That’s going to leave a bruise…
The crowd loves it.
Aaron takes the puck with a clean steal, skating it down the ice with controlled precision, movements clipped.
Focused.
Sexy focused.
“He looks so mad,” Blaire observes.
“So does Declan.”
On cue, my brother hooks a guy’s stick and nearly ends up in the penalty box for it. The ref’s arm lifts in warning.
“See? Everything that man does, he does without thinking it through first,” Blaire grumbles, watching as Declan climbs into the Sin Bin.
“Uh, he’s playing a game…?”
“The penalty box is a metaphor for his entire life,” she says primly, sounding judgmental.
“He’s in there for two minutes,” I point out. “It’s not a prison sentence.”
“Two minutes is all it takes to ruin things.” Blaire’s chin tilts up and it’s clear she’s barely enjoying the game, so fixated on her loathing for Declan she can’t peel her eyes off him.
“Are you going to punish him for the rest of your life?”
“Probably.” She drags her eyes off him so she can look at me. “You’re naïve to think your brother is perfect—he’s far from it. Like I said, whatever beef those two have, it’s most likely Declan’s fault.”
I purse my lips. “I don’t think he’s perfect.”
“You defend him like you do.”
“He’s my brother, Blaire.”
“And that gives him a lifetime pass?”
Girl, I want to say. He stood you up for one dance. Time to forget about it and move on!
Down on the ice, the opposing team presses hard while Declan sits in the box, tapping his stick restlessly against the boards. He looks caged.
Agitated.
Aaron blocks a shot and clears the puck, skating hard, jaw set.
The crowd roars.
“I’m not saying he’s innocent,” I try again. “I don’t think everything is a personality flaw.”