Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 113072 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113072 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
“Yeah, this’ll never get old,” Eric Tremaine snickers. He leans over to peer at O’Connell’s phone. “Is Merry wearing sparkles?”
“No,” I say quickly. “The fabric is just a little… shiny.”
“It’s sparkly,” O’Connell says. “Can’t bullshit a bullshitter, Zoe.”
Fine. The costume I borrowed for Chase was totally sparkly. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.
“He looks like that dude in Dirty Dancing,” O’Connell says gleefully. “Did you know Merritt could move like that? I’m a little turned on, I won’t lie.”
They both howl, and I bury my face in my hand. The only saving grace is that Chase isn’t here with us at the airport. He got special permission to join the team on a later flight, after his chiropractic appointment.
But surely his phone is blowing up, too. I can only imagine how many people forwarded him the link. OMG is this really you???
The greediest part of me wonders if he watched it, and what he thought when he saw it. Did he smile, even a little? Or did he use his phone for slap shot practice instead?
Probably that second thing.
As for me, I couldn’t even make it through the first thirty seconds of the video. It’s too hard to confront my young, desperately in love self.
“Where was this taken?” Tremaine asks, leaning over to see Weber’s phone. “Tell me everything. Was Merritt really your skating partner? Like, for competitions?”
“No!” I yelp. “We were both coaching at this summer program in Massachusetts. For, like, just a few weeks. And the, uh, coaches were supposed to perform for parents’ weekend.”
“Uh-huh,” O’Connell says with a grin. “So you and Merry had a summer fling?”
“Nobody said that,” I argue, my face flushing. “We’re just skating together. It’s called a performance.”
“Uh-huh,” he says, his dancing eyes flipping up to mine. “Except what’s with that spin thing? Where he’s clutching you against his too-tight pants?”
And now I want to die. Preferably soon.
“Maybe Merry can stare into my eyes like that the next time we skate together,” Tremaine says. “I feel cheated.”
The surrounding rows erupt with laugher. “Play that part again where he’s reaching for her. Like he might die before he gets there.”
“Bro, that’s you every morning trying to get your first cup of coffee.”
More hoots and howls.
“Darcy,” I hiss. “Stop laughing.”
“I can’t!” she says, wiping her eyes. “And you deserve this, anyway.” She drops her gaze to her own phone, where I see my own stupid lovesick face. She’s watching the damn thing, too. “Can’t believe you were holding out on me like this.”
“I wasn’t. I had no idea this video had been posted to some dark corner of the internet.” If I knew, I probably would have watched it on repeat like a dreamy fangirl. “I can’t imagine how the reporter ever found it. Journalists are dangerous people.”
“I don’t know what to tell you.” Darcy lets out a little sigh. “The two of you look like you’re seconds away from tearing each other’s clothes off.”
That came later.
O’Connell looks up and winks at me. He’s a young man with angular features and dark hair. The suit he’s wearing probably has to be specially tailored for his huge frame. “Listen, Coach Zoe. I have to tell you this video thing is incredibly unfair. You made Chase look like a sexy beast, and now he’s going to get all the female attention.”
I blink. “Um, sorry? I don’t see how I can help you with that.”
“But you can! What if we evened things out? You can make a reenactment video with me, where I get to be the sexy beast. I won’t drop you, promise. Look at these guns.” He rises from his chair and does a pantomime of lifting me over his head and then turning in a circle. “We could be so hot together, amirite?”
Darcy snorts.
“Nope,” I say firmly. “I’m retired from making videos. Go fish.”
He sighs. Then he rolls his dark brown eyes. “Fair enough. But I had to ask. I have other options, I guess.” He puts two fingers in his mouth and whistles. “Weber! Over here, please.”
The rookie gallops over. He’s cute in a fresh-faced way, with a spray of freckles on the bridge of his nose. “What’s up, O’Connell?”
“You and I are making a sexy video to ‘Wicked Game.’ Can’t have Merritt getting all the views, right?”
The rookie jams his hands into his pockets and thinks this through. “Yeah, I see your point. You got some moves?”
“Of course. All hockey players got moves.”
Alexei raises his hand from a nearby bench. “Not all hockey players.”
“Cool, cool,” he says. “Then you’re our cameraman. And, Darcy? I need you to play ‘Wicked Game’ on your phone, loud enough that we can hear it.”
“All righty,” she says, leaping to her feet.
Oh God, what now? I watch warily as O’Connell arranges his troops on the airport carpeting with surprising authority. Then Darcy starts the music, and I hear the familiar ethereal guitar riff—the one that always threatens to rip out my beating heart.