Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 94300 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94300 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Loud and happy cheers roar through the small space, and it’s all coming from the back where the team is. Half of them already have their ties either loosened or off, post-game suit jackets are hanging over chairs or on the floor, and they’re rowdier than your average sober man.
My gaze spots Ollie as soon as we get closer, and I can’t help wondering if it’s the win or the alcohol that’s lighting up his face like that. Or maybe it’s that he’s not looking at me.
While the suit he wears is no tux like the night of the benefit, he looks just as hot. Fuck it, he looks hot in everything, even the casual jeans and T-shirt he wore the first night I met him.
He’s still mad at you, I remind myself.
Ollie’s teammates surround him, handing him a fresh drink as soon as he’s finished with the one in his hand.
Before we can reach the players, we hit a wall of women hoping to vie for a hockey player’s attention. We can’t seem to get around them, so we stand awkwardly waiting for them to move.
Jet leans into me. “I feel like my eyes are too young to see this much skin. I’m impressionable, damn it.”
“If they were guys, you wouldn’t be complaining.”
“Fucking duh.”
We push our way through, still holding hands so we don’t lose each other, and we finally make it to where the rest of the Dragons’ staff and team are.
Ollie catches sight of me, and he immediately frowns. Then he glances at Jet’s and my hands together, and the glare deepens.
I use my free hand to give him a casual two-finger salute, and he cocks his head as if he can’t tell if I’m genuinely waving hello or mocking him. It’s hard for me to tell, so he has no hope.
Jet leads me in the opposite direction than Ollie, to two women sitting on couches along the back wall. I recognize one as the team’s PR and media person.
“Ava, right?” I say loudly and shake her hand when she offers it.
“Lennon Hawkins. Sporting Health Magazine,” she says.
“Impressive.”
“I read your articles about one of my players.”
I try not to roll my eyes. “I think my reputation is getting blown way out of proportion. Let me guess. That player would be Ollie Strömberg.”
“Ollie and Lennon have Taylor Swift levels of bad blood,” Jet says.
“What would you know about it?” I ask.
“Noah told me. And you’re both idiots.”
“Most men are,” the other woman says and introduces herself as Camille—the GM’s assistant. After we shake hands, I turn back to Jet.
“What do you mean, we’re both idiots? Ollie’s the one who’s mad at me because he can’t handle criticism.”
Before he can answer, a loud crash of glass hitting the floor sounds from the players’ table, and there are screams from some girls and laughter from the guys.
“You’re not going to report on all this, are you?” Ava gestures to the messy state the team is already in.
I throw my hands up in defeat. “Off the record. Promise. I’m only here because of my roommate.”
Jet raises his hand. “That would be me. He wanted to go home, but I convinced him to stay for at least five drinks.”
“Two.”
“Okay, seven.”
I’m learning really fast that negotiating with Jet is pointless. “Guess we better get started on them then.”
The burn of staring follows me to the line at the bar, and I know exactly where it’s coming from. Ollie’s gaze is locked on me, as if trying to kill me with the Force. I’m tempted to fake choke, but I don’t want to make a fool of myself when no one will understand what I’m doing. This crowd doesn’t seem like the Star Wars type.
A teammate gives him another drink, but he still doesn’t take his eyes off me even as he sips the dark liquid. The man of the hour, the hero of the night, doesn’t have to wait in line for drinks like us nerds.
He finally breaks our stare off when a girl in a short tank top and even shorter skirt approaches him. The smile that finds his face makes me hate her. He smiled like that at me only a few nights ago, before he knew who I was, and now I’ve never hated being Lennon Hawkins more. Which is saying something considering it sucked being me as a teenager.
Why does this guy get to me? Because he reminds me of all those asshole jocks who I couldn’t help but want in high school and college? Because for a split second, I thought I had a chance?
He puts his arm around the puck bunny, and her face glows as if she won the freaking lottery.
Wrong tree, precious.
The girl on Ollie’s arm steps even closer to him, and I grit my teeth. Someone pushes me from behind, and I realize there’s a gap at the bar in front of me.