Page 115 of Pucking Rebound

Can’t.

Tamara exhales slowly. “You have my word. I won’t interfere anymore.”

“Deal?” Jordy asks for confirmation.

“Yes.” His mom sounds exasperated.

There’s a massive space of silence, and I do my best to avoid eye contact with all three of them.

“I should leave,” I say eventually, overly smiling wide. “It was lovely to meet you.” I wave awkwardly and go in search of Piper.

“She looks familiar. What did you say her name was again?” I hear Ben ask Jordy as I walk away.

“Lola. Lola Ramsay.”

I slow my steps so I can eavesdrop.

“Ritchie’s daughter?” Ben asks, my body going rigid.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

I knew he would figure out who I am.

“Who’s Ritchie?”

“An old friend of mine. Why the hell is she working for the Eagles? She inherited everything when he died.”

“I don’t know. I would like to know that too,” Jordy mutters before I move out of earshot.

The off season needs to come sooner.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Jordy

Rushing out of the elevator and into my penthouse, I throw my suit jacket over the back of the sofa and slacken off my tie, happy that Lola is already here.

I’m buzzing after the game.

We smashed it tonight. Every pass, every goal, every player on the ice killed it out there. We skated hard and played harder.

It’s been the most satisfying win this season and we might have a chance of taking the Stanley Cup again.

Fuck, what a thrill.

I’m amped up and ready to spend the night with my girl…nope, not my girl.Lola.

Fuck.

I genuinely thought I could put my feelings aside and simply be happy spending time with her. Maybe part of me secretly hoped it would develop into something, even when I knew it couldn’t.

I take a moment to take Lola’s silhouette in. The way she’s leaning against the window accentuates the curve of her hips and the slight swell of her boobs. She looks good enough to eat. Which I plan on doing.

She’s sipping what looks like champagne from a glass flute and is still wearing my jersey. I make my way to her across the vast room. An image of me fucking her while she’s wearing my jersey plays out in my head.

“Hey.”

“Hi,” she replies, her voice tinged with sadness.

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