Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 84294 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84294 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
My eyes immediately lift to the grandstand and fall upon Cassie, who still wears an annoyed scowl. She narrows her gaze at me before turning away, no doubt still pissed about the whole pole dancing thing. But honestly, what did she expect me to do?
A strange, familiar feeling settles within me, and I realize it’s the same feeling I used to get when Cass would come and watch my high school games, being my own personal cheerleader. It occurs to me that even though she may have caught some of our games on ESPN, this is the first time she’s seeing me play in three years, and something inside of me really wants to impress her. I want to let her know exactly the kind of man she tossed away.
The referee takes to the ice and we fall into our positions. I look up at Cass one last time to see her attention is now solely focused on me. She has always been a sucker for hockey, no matter how angry she is with me. She will always remain glued to the game until the final second.
The whistle blows, and our first game of the season is underway.
Chapter 9
CASSIE
The blood courses through my veins as I sit in the grandstand and wait for the referee to drop the puck. I’m already on the edge of my seat, and I hate myself for being so excited. I’d rather sit here and sulk about what a jerk Jax has been rather than drool at the thought of getting to watch him play again. Well, in person, at least. I’ve stalked a few of his games online and kept up with the headlines.
Jax looks up at me just moments before the whistle blows, the same way he used to when we were kids. But instead of a loving smile, I get a smirk, and I know without a doubt that he can see the excitement in my eyes.
That asshole.
If ever there were a time when I wasn’t so obvious, now would be great. The smirk is mostly hidden by his helmet, making it too hard to tell what he means by it, but my guess would be it’s a big fuck you, taking enjoyment in my misery.
I desperately want to look away, but I can’t. I’m too intrigued by the game, or maybe it’s Jax that has my attention. Either way, I’m screwed.
His eyes lock on mine for an impossibly slow and agonizing moment before he snaps his attention back to the game.
Relief rushes through me, and I hate that I feel this way. I should be stronger. I’ve been away from him for three years, yet he still has this ability to pull me in. I’m the moth and he’s the flame. He hasn’t spoken to me all week, and suddenly he thinks he has the right to manhandle me and remove me from my dance class? I should be fuming. I get why he wouldn’t want me to be seen in a skimpy outfit and dancing on a pole, but he doesn’t want me, so why is it his business?
But instead of raging and storming out of here, I sit like a good little girl, excited to see him play. What the fuck is wrong with me? I desperately want to go along with Brianna’s fight for Jax plan, but I feel he’s too far gone. I ruined my chances when I left, and now I have to deal with it.
Bri is so damn confident that I’m going to win him back, but I know the real Jax. When I left, I broke him, and I don’t know if he will ever come back from that. Don’t get me wrong, I’m going to try with everything I have, but I’m terrified that it won’t be enough. On the other hand, after his little stunt today, I might wait a week or two before I really start to try.
The whistle sounds and the game is on, taking my inner thoughts and anger away.
It’s not even thirty seconds into the game and my jaw is already on the floor. Jax is amazing, and I mean a-freaking-mazing. I’ve watched as many games as I could over the last few years, but they don’t do him justice. Last season was all about the Dream Team, but here, seeing him in the flesh and witnessing for myself just how much he has improved, is incredible.
Jax effortlessly steals the puck from the opposition, and I’m reminded of the time he played that same trick on me. It was deathly cold and he’d convinced me to go for a skate on the lake that ran behind our houses. Just like all the times before, he had let me think I was winning before swooping in and stealing the puck away. And just like all those times, I can imagine him underneath that helmet, laughing and taunting the other player about how simple it had been.