Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 86878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
No. It can’t be.
I rise, trying to get a better look as the visiting team’s fans jump to their feet when a turnover is made. Panic flares to life inside me, spreading through my veins like ice, as I search the crowd again, scanning faces, trying to convince myself it was nothing more than a trick of the light.
That Nathan isn’t here.
He has no idea where I am.
“Ava?” The worry woven through Britt’s voice is what pulls me back. “Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
I swallow hard and force a shaky smile, wanting to alleviate her concern. “I’m fine. Just a little lightheaded. I didn’t eat much today.”
Britt frowns. “Why don’t we grab something from the concession stand? You don’t want to pass out.”
My heart continues to race as I shake my head. Even as I force the words through stiff lips, fear slithers through me, wrapping icy fingers around my heart before squeezing. It takes effort to keep the tremble from my voice. “I hate to bail, but I’m going to head out.”
“Are you sure? We’re not even halfway through the game.”
“Yeah, I still have some work to finish up.”
Her brow furrows. “You’re really pale. Want me to come with you?”
The offer is tempting, but I can’t drag Britt into this. More than likely, it was just my imagination playing tricks on me. “No, I’m good. I’ll text you when I get home.”
She gives me a hug before I say goodbye to the rest of the girls and then slip from the arena.
With my shoulders hunched, I weave through the crowd. My senses are on high alert as I scan the corridor for a familiar face—one I never thought I’d see again. The chilly night air hits me as soon as I step outside, but it does nothing to calm the gnawing fear in the pit of my belly.
Even though the parking lot is well lit, I can’t shake the ominous feeling that settles inside me. The one that whispers someone is looming in the shadows, watching me.
Waiting for the perfect time to strike.
8
Hayes
The bar is packed, loud, and buzzing with energy as we walk into Slap Shotz. The vibe is electric with people still riding high from our win tonight. We fought hard, making sure every play counted. The thought of not making it to the playoffs had all of us on edge. It’s starting to hit me that every game could be the last one we have as a team.
A unit.
I scan the dark room, searching the sea of faces. It takes a moment to realize I’m looking for someone specific.
Someone petite and pixieish, who reminds me of a prickly little Tinkerbell.
My feet stutter to a stop.
What the hell am I doing?
I’ve never fixated on a girl like this before. Usually, they’re all interchangeable. A pretty face and a body to warm my bed for a couple hours. That’s all it’s ever been. But the blonde figure skater has wormed her way into my head and refuses to be evicted.
I don’t like it.
I don’t like the way she knocks me off balance.
Especially when I know she’ll cut me to ribbons with her sharp tongue if I step too close.
Not only that, but she’s also Coach’s daughter.
His only daughter.
The fastest way to get benched would be to screw around with Ava.
Besides, she’s made it clear that she’s not interested.
If I were smart, I’d let it go.
And yet… I can’t stop thinking about her.
I try to shake off the strange sensations that have taken root inside me, but they refuse to be dismissed.
There are plenty of girls here tonight to lose myself in.
What I need to find is someone uncomplicated.
I glance around, the flashing lights and dark corners of the bar offering more than enough options.
All I need to do is smile, and the groupies will be lining up, vying to spend a little time with me.
Even as I tell myself that, deep down, I know it’s not what I want.
I’m not looking for a tall brunette or a fiery redhead. I’m not interested in anyone else except a snarky blonde with sharp blue eyes.
And an even sharper tongue.
And that’s a problem.
I release an irritated breath and spot my teammates already heading toward our usual table in the back that’s reserved just for us.
“Shut the fuck up before I do it for you,” Bridger snaps, his voice strung tight.
Even though Garret smirks, a mean look flashes in his eyes. “I’m just asking a question, man.”
“Well, don’t.”
“When you can’t make a clean pass, it becomes my business,” Garret shoots back. “That last goal? It was totally on you.”
Bridger swings toward him with his hands clenched at his sides. Only a couple of inches separate them. I’ve never known Bridger to have a short fuse, but the pressure inside him has been building over the last couple months. He’s become a ticking time bomb. Garret’s an idiot for pushing him. The last thing we need is a full-on brawl in the middle of Slap Shotz. It’s one thing to get into it with your opponents and quite another to start with your own teammates.