Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 97767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
I shake my head, still staring at the ice like it’s going to give me answers.
“I have no idea.” Actually, that is not true. “That’s the guy who gave me the tickets.”
“Him?” Dolly’s brow is furrowed, confused. I’d told her about our exchange at the bar but clearly there are details neither of us could have predicted.
“Dolly.” I put my hand on her arm. “The horrible things I said to that man. What’s the protocol for apologizing to the professional athlete you were talking shit about?” My groan is loud enough for her to hear. “Look at him! He’s down there skating laps like it’s no big deal, and I’m over here contemplating faking my own death.”
“Don’t you dare.” Dolly laughs. “This is amazing. You insulted the star goalie of the Baddies and not only does he not hate you, but he’s out here putting on a show for you. It’s like—foreplay.”
Foreplay.
Sounds fucked up.
“Do not call it that.”
She grins, unbothered. “What else would you call it? That man is flirting, and you’re sitting here having a crisis.”
“I am having a crisis!” I hiss, gesturing toward the ice. “I can’t handle this! It’s too much! I’m so embarrassed, Dolly. I roasted the man—like, I was so freaking rude—and instead of being offended like a normal human he’s out here acting like I’m the most fascinating person in the room!”
Who does that!?
Is this his sick way of getting revenge?
“Guys eat that up,” she says matter-of-factly. “Maybe he’s into bitchy women.”
“I didn’t say I was being a bitch,” I protest. “I was merely lobbing insults at him.”
“Oh, is that different?” She smirks, motioning to the concession guy with the oversized tote of beers. “You clearly need a drink.”
“I don’t want a beer! I’m too mortified,” I counter, burying my face in my hands. “I’m going to crawl under these seats and live there forever. Tell my family I love them.”
“Stop being so dramatic.” Dolly rolls her eyes and grabs my wrists, pulling my hands away from my face. “You’re going to sit right here, enjoy this game, and figure out what you’re going to say to him after.”
I blink at her, panic rising in my chest. “After?”
“Yes, after,” she says firmly. “You think he’s not going to find you?”
God, I hope not.
“Please.” Dolly snorts, taking two beers from the concession guy, handing me one despite my protests. “You’re so hopeless. The man kissed you in front of an entire arena.”
“He did not kiss me,” I mutter, clutching the beer in my lap. “He kissed the glass.”
“Same thing,” she says, sipping the foam from the blue cup. “You’re the one he was looking at. Everyone saw it. He’s putting on a show. So cute.”
The puck drops, and the game begins in a blur of movement and sound. The Baddies are fast, aggressive, and relentless, immediately taking control of the puck and charging down the ice. The crowd erupts as one of their forwards sends a slapshot flying toward the net, only to be deflected by the opposing goalie.
I clutch the edge of my seat, my eyes darting to Gio as he skates to his crease, effortlessly blocking a shot from the blue line. The sound of the puck ricocheting off his pads echoes through the arena, and I can’t help the way my stomach flips.
He’s completely in his element, sharp and focused, moving like he’s choreographed every second of this game.
“You should see your face right now.” My friend chuckles, nudging me.
“Please stop talking.”
But she’s not wrong.
My eyes are glued to him, drawn to the way he moves with such precision, the way he commands his space on the ice. It’s infuriating how good he is—at hockey, at smirking, at making me question every life choice that brought me here tonight.
Houston scores halfway through the first period, and the arena erupts in cheers. Dolly jumps to her feet, screaming, while I clap politely, my heart racing for an entirely different reason. Gio skates toward the bench for the line change, but not before glancing toward our section.
It’s brief, almost imperceptible—but enough to make me grip my beer tighter and my lower parts tingle.
“Did you see that?” Dolly announces to everyone sitting around us. “He’s looking at you!”
“You’re imagining things,” I mumble, taking a sip of my beer to hide my face.
Shit.
I’m smiling—like a damn fool, too!
Ugh!
“Imagining it my ass—he’s not even being subtle about it.”
I roll my eyes, desperate to hide the blush creeping up my neck. “He’s scanning the crowd. They always do that; it doesn’t mean anything.”
“Gio freaking Montagalo,” Dolly repeats, shaking her head like she’s witnessing a miracle. “Goddamn, I’m jealous. If a man like that looked at me the way he’s looking at you, I’d be planning the wedding.”
Before I can reply, the Baddies light up the scoreboard again and the arena explodes with noise.