Page 14 of Home for the Hockey-Days

My gaze lingers on her feet. Visions of those sparkly black heels carving tracks into my ass cheeks as I relentlessly fuck her assault my mind. Italmostdistracts me from the fact her dress probably cost as much as a year’s worth of food. Italmostdistracts me from the fact I’m not good enough for her.

Almost.

I should have known better than to think she was just another struggling college kid like me.

“Flirting with the enemy?” Justin Ashe’s amused voice is too close. I didn’t see him approach, which is already unusual for me. When I damn near jump out of my skin, he chuckles. “That answers my question.”

My mouth is dry despite drinking my glass of water, so when I go to speak, nothing comes out. Clearing my throat, I breathe in and try again. “Enemy?”

“She’s Johnny White’s girl, man.”

The final nail is driven into Rowan Armistead’s coffin with gusto.

Privileged, above my station, and my mortal enemy’s girl. As if she can feel me staring at her, she skims the crowd before her eyes land on me, stopping my breath in its tracks. Her face breaks into a wide, beaming smile, but I school my features, barely tipping my head in acknowledgement of her existence.

Johnny White’s girl. Fuck my life. That’s drama I don’t need right now.

I honestly have no idea how our rivalry started back in high school. When it comes to JW, I don’t think thereneedsto be a reason, he was born an absolute asshole, he hates everyone, he thrives on making people miserable. He’s a jackass.

I’ve stood up to him since we were teenagers, and I think that added fuel to the fire. Most people back down and let him win. Not me.

At some point, the local fans started to hype our rivalry, often comparing our stats and performances. Then the local hockey blogs and sports reporter caught wind and jumped on the bandwagon, which led to JW throwing me shade on his socials, chirping shit at me in comments after games. And when the two of us are on the ice together, our subtle, virtual jabs are transferred intoactualface-punching jabs.

The crowds love it. They probably think it’s staged, but when you peel back all the layers, Johnny White isn’t a nice guy, and he’s a dirty fucker on the ice.

If she’s with him, that says it all about her. I’ll use her for her math brain to help me keep my place on the team, but beyond that, I need to stay away from her. All I need is to give Johnnyanotherreason to drop the mitts on the ice. I can’t help my team to victory if I spend all my time in the penalty box.

I turn my attention back to Justin, who watches the non-verbal exchange with thinly veiled curiosity. He looks like he’s about to say something, but seems to decide it’s best not to open his goddamn mouth.

Right choice.

I’m not known for fighting my own teammates, but right now, I’d be happy to make an exception.

I’m inexplicably pissed at myself. And at her. I don’t even know why. She doesn’t owe me any information about her life, we aren’t dating, she’s not cheating. Guess my imagination got the better of me, and I expected...

I don’t know what I expected.

It’s not like she was going to sit down and go, “Hi, I’m Rowan, I’m rich and in a relationship with your childhoodenemy.” Of course she doesn’t know who I am. I’m no one. It makes sense. But it still stings just a little.

I thought she was different, or at least different enough. Different enough that being the poor kid wouldn’t matter for once.

Maybe I even thoughtIcould be different.

Echoes of high school come back to me, the sneering laughter of Johnny White and his friends as they mocked my hand-me-down sneakers, hockey pads, and the same paper bag lunch every single day because it was all Mom could afford.

My stomach lurches.

Money can’t buy happiness, but it sure as hell makes life a shit-ton easier.

A sickening thought tickles the edges of my mind. What if Rowandoesknow who I am, and is fucking with me to sabotage any chance I have of getting to the NHL? I wouldn’t put it past Johnny to sink that low to recruit other people to his fucked-up plans.

Is she lacking moral scruples just like him? She’d have to be to date him, right?

I shake my head. No. He’s a master manipulator. There’s every chance he’s recruited her without her even realizing he’s a complete piece of shit. A bully at best.

A bell chimes, and we’re called to dinner.

“Sit with me, cap.” Justin tugs my arm. I’m pretty sure these tables are all set out with a very specific seating plan, but he doesn’t seem to give a shit. Basically the twins planned a wedding without a bride and groom. There are fresh poinsettias adorning the space, lights, coordinated linens, huge centerpieces blocking people who sit on one side of the table from talking to people sitting across from them unless they contort themselves around the vases.

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