Page 24 of Don't Puck His Best Friend
I snort, taking a drink from my water bottle. “Just the game. Unlike some people, I can actually focus without my brain constantly going back to my latest hookup.”
“It wasn’t just a hookup,” Liam says, then immediately looks like he wishes he could take the words back.
I study his profile as he watches the ice crew fix a gouge near the blue line. “No?”
“I mean… it was. Obviously it was. Just a good one. She’s different.”
He’s deflecting. Liam’s never been shy about sharing details of his conquests before, but he’s been oddly protective of information about this girl.
The third period is a grind. We’re up by one, but the other team’s pressing hard, and every shift feels like it lasts twice as longas it should. I keep my mind on positioning, clean passes, and shutting down their top line when they’re on the ice.
With two minutes left, Liam takes a stupid penalty, cross-checking a guy who was getting under his skin all night, and we have to kill off a power play that feels like it goes on forever. But our penalty kill holds, and we manage to get an empty-netter with thirty seconds left.
The crowd roars as the final buzzer sounds, that satisfying wash of noise and energy that comes with a solid win. Players tap sticks and slap backs, the usual post-game ritual of exhausted celebration.
Back in the locker room, the mood is loose and happy. Guys are laughing, sharing highlights from the game, already looking ahead to the party that half the team will probably hit later tonight.
I’m pulling off my jersey when Sirus appears beside my stall, waiting until Liam heads toward the showers before leaning in close.
“Harper asked about you,” he says quietly.
I pause with my jersey halfway over my head. “Yeah?”
“Maddie mentioned it. Apparently Harper wanted to know if you had a good time last night.”
I finish pulling off my jersey, trying to keep my expression neutral. “What did you tell her?”
“That you’re not completely terrible when you want to be.” Sirus grins. “I may have also mentioned you were asking about her too.”
“I didn’t ask—”
“You asked about Maddie. Close enough.”
Across the room, Liam’s humming something under his breath, phone in hand again, thumb scrolling through what I assume are messages. He’s got that distracted look that means he’s mentally somewhere else, probably crafting the perfect response to whatever mystery girl finally texted him back.
I start unlacing my skates and focus on getting out of my gear. Whatever might or might not happen with Harper is something I can figure out later, when I’m not sweaty and exhausted and overthinking everything.
We just finished this game, and now to the party we go because I missed last weekends celebrations.
11
The DM
Harper
I’mdeepinthethrilling world of police officer agendas, highlighter poised over a particularly riveting paragraph about patterns in the justice system, when my phone buzzes against the dining table. Maddie’s across from me, legs tucked up in her chair, working through what looks like a statistics problem that’s causing her physical pain based on her expression.
The quiet of our Saturday study session is broken by that distinctive notification sound, and I glance at my phone screen without really thinking about it.
Then I freeze.
The Instagram notification preview makes my blood turn to ice water:Liam Murphy sent you a message.
“Liam DM’d me,” I mutter before I can stop myself.
Maddie’s head snaps up so fast I’m surprised she doesn’t get whiplash, her eyes immediately lighting with the kind of mischief that usually ends with me making terrible life choices.
“Open it!” she demands, abandoning her homework.
