Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 105679 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105679 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Wait. Shit. Did I just post that? Stupid subconscious. I meant Henley of an unspecified color. I edit my faux pas quickly, then close out of the comments. No more flirting with anyone.
Speaking of flirts, I decide to follow up on the Stefan situation. I need to know if I should secretly loathe his philandering ass or not.
I look him up, poking around on his social, checking out his recent pics. There are some moody city shots of San Francisco. Some others of Copenhagen. He’s in one of those pics, a shot of him at a river, Scandinavian buildings in the backdrop, and Stefan, with his typical Nordic complexion, fitting in perfectly.
I jump to Annika’s social.
Oh. Ohhh.
They’re no longer following each other. She no longer lives here, having returned to Copenhagen. And she’s no longer wearing that gorgeous rock on her ring finger.
Then, I go back to Stefan’s bio and team photo, and I gasp.
Holy shit.
How did I miss it?
He’s Number Eighteen on the team. Did he wear that Henley…for me? Am I the certain someone he’s been hopeful about?
I fly back to the group chat in time to read Trina’s newest note.
Trina: His fiancée broke it off last season.
9
MY FAVORITE SPORT
Hayes
A month ago, I was strapping on skates for Los Angeles during training camp. Now, I’m grabbing a stick for San Francisco and jumping into the action in our first game of the season.
In the rink, I don’t dwell on existential shit like where I’ve been or where I’m going. I focus only on where I want to be on the ice—in sync with my teammates. We’re five minutes into the first period. My heart pounds as I dodge Arizona players in the line change, and then I’m moving toward the puck, picking up speed as Stefan races down the ice into their zone, shoulder to shoulder with the enemy. When the defender gets too close to him, the captain deftly passes the puck to me.
The prize is mine, and for a flash of a second, there’s a clear shot to the net. But their goalie’s a fast motherfucker. Just as quickly, there’s no wiggle room there. I dart around the defenseman, then spot another chance. Yes, fucking yes. This is it. With a swift flick of my wrist, I shoot forward, a powerful shot.
Right into the Arizona goalie’s outstretched leg pad.
There go my hopes of being a hero in my first play.
But games are long, and chances come around more than once. Near the end of the second period, adrenaline pumps through me as I fly down the ice, hunting for an opening, the crowd shouting for us to get going. They’re damn eager for something other than a cipher on the scoreboard from the home team.
They’re restless here in the Avengers arena, and I want us to give them something to shout about. But the Arizona goalie’s a ten-foot wall tonight, and no one’s been past him yet.
Stefan’s weaving through their D-line, passing to me, then all at once, everything comes into sharp focus. The noise quiets, my vision narrows, and there’s nothing but a straight shot to the goal.
I gear up to slap the puck in when an Arizona defender whips in front of me, but I eke out a pass to Stefan before the enemy can steal the puck. My teammate attacks in a flash, sending the little black disc on a one-way flight right through the five-hole.
The lamp lights, and so does my competitive heart. The score is tied now, and I get my first assist with my new team.
It feels like a massive victory even though it’s only one point. But it’s mine, and I’ll take it.
When I’m on the players’ bench during the face-off, I catch sight of a purple furball up in the stands. She’s shaking her gigantic furry ass, waving her fluffy arms above her head, hyping up the crowd.
Then, she cups a furry hand—or is that a paw?—to her ear, urging the fans to make some noise.
Sounds like they’re saying Armstrong.
A smile tugs at my lips.
But I don’t let the sound go to my head. I don’t let the smile finish forming. And I definitely don’t let my focus go to Ivy or to my father in the stands. I don’t look for the mascot or my dad for the rest of the game. I can’t afford a distraction.
We win, two to one. It’s a relief more than a thrill.
After a quick sesh with the press, where I sing the just happy to be here tune, I head down the corridor, headphones in, AC/DC cranked sky-high. I hope the head-banging music drowns out the emotions I don’t want to feel around my dad. By the time I round the corner, I’m ready to see the guy. He waits for me, a smile on his face, a full head of hair on his head, a Vacheron Constantin on his wrist, and a woman twenty years younger on his arm. He’s a smart guy, and his bank account would testify to his acumen when it comes to money management.