Page 63 of Bleacher Report
And the longer I keep playing this game, the harder it’s going to be to remember it’s not real.
I’m halfway through unwrapping the tape from my wrist when I spot her.
Bethany.
Leaning casually against the wall outside the locker room exit, like she’s got every right to be here. Like she isn’t the reason I’mtechnically a rookie in the NHL since I never finished a full year with New Jersey before they shipped me off to the farm team.
She’s dressed in black, understated but expensive. Hair curled perfectly. Lips painted red like a damn stop sign.
The second she sees me, her smile curves upward like she knows a secret.
I should keep walking. I should ignore her completely. But I already know she’ll find another way to corner me if I don’t get this over with now.
“Beth,” I greet flatly, coming to a stop a few feet away.
Her smile deepens, like we’re old friends catching up instead of…whatever the hell we are.
“You looked good out there tonight,” she says, her voice all sweet edges. “You always did play better when you had something to prove.”
“What do you want?”
She tilts her head, eyes sweeping over me like she’s taking inventory. “Dinner.”
I blink. “You’re kidding.”
She steps in closer, lowering her voice. “Just dinner, Hunter. We used to have fun, remember? It doesn’t have to be complicated.”
“I have someone at home waiting for me. And unlike you, I’m not the cheating type,” I remind her.
She reaches into her clutch and slips something into my hand.
A hotel key card.
“She doesn’t have to know,” she says, like she’s the one doing me a favor. “Skip dinner. Just dessert. You’ve always needed a release after a game. I remember how worked up you used to get, and Peyton’s not here to take care of your needs. But I am.”
Then, without waiting for an answer, she brushes past me like she’s already won.
Aleksi rounds the corner just as she disappears down the hall. His brow lifts at the sight of me still holding the key card.
“What the hell was that?”
I shake my head, and walk over to the trash can nearby, dropping the key into it. “A reminder of all the reasons I don’t trust anyone.”
His gaze sharpens. “She’s persistent, isn’t she?”
“Yeah,” I mutter. “Something like that.”
Aleksi doesn’t say anything, but I can feel his eyes on me the entire way back to the locker room, like he’s trying to figure out what kind of mess I’ve signed up for.
And if I’m being honest…
I’m wondering the same damn thing.
By the time I make it back to the team hotel, the weight of the game, the interviews, and Bethany’s lingering shadow feels heavier than it should.
I toss my gear bag onto the hotel room chair and sink onto the edge of the bed, scrubbing a hand over my face.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand.
