Total pages in book: 156
Estimated words: 155203 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 776(@200wpm)___ 621(@250wpm)___ 517(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 155203 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 776(@200wpm)___ 621(@250wpm)___ 517(@300wpm)
Eastwood College was our rival for decades. Last month, they went under. As in, the whole university shut down. Turns out, enrollment was down to the dregs, and basically the only thing keeping the school afloat was a few of its athletic programs, particularly men’s hockey. It was a sure thing Eastwood would close its doors, and all those athletes would be shit out of luck. And then Briar U came in clutch, swooping in to save the day and bailing them out like a boss. Which means Eastwood is now part of Briar, a development that brings more than a few changes.
Their campus in Eastwood, New Hampshire, an hour’s drive north of Boston, has officially been dubbed Briar’s Eastwood Campus. Full-time classes are still offered up there, but to streamline things, all the athletic facilities were shut down, those buildings scheduled to be repurposed.
And, of course, most importantly: Eastwood men’s hockey has been absorbed into Briar men’s hockey.
Coach Chad Jensen now has the very unenviable task of taking two huge rosters and condensing them into one. A lot of the guys who were starters at both schools are going to lose their slots.
Not to mention they all hate one another’s guts.
I’m not missing this for the world.
I finish my shower and then change into faded jeans and a tank top. I brush my wet hair into a ponytail and slather some moisturizer on my face because the air in the arena always dries out my skin.
My teammates wait for me in the stands. They wisely chose to avoid the benches, instead sitting to the left of the penalty boxes and several rows up. Close enough that we’ll be able to overhear any smack talk, but discreet enough that we can hopefully avoid Coach Jensen’s notice.
Whitney scoots over so I can sit beside her.
The muffled sounds of overgrown man-children in the tunnel trigger my excitement.
In front of me, Camila rubs her hands together and glances over with pure glee. “Here we go.”
They emerge in clumps of twos and threes. A couple sophomores here, a few seniors there. They’re wearing either black or gray practice jerseys. I notice some guys tugging on their sleeves uneasily, grimacing, as if it makes them physically ill to wear Briar’s colors.
“I sort of feel bad for the Eastwood guys,” I remark.
“I don’t feel bad at all,” Camila replies, smiling broadly. “They’re going to provide us with entertainment for at least a year.”
My gaze drifts to the ice. Not everyone has their helmets on yet, and a familiar face catches my eye. My heart stutters at the sight of him.
“Case is looking good,” Whitney says, a knowing lilt to her voice. It’s obnoxious.
“Yeah,” I answer noncommittally.
She’s not wrong, though. That’s what makes it obnoxious. My ex-boyfriend is stupidly good-looking. Tall and fair, with pale blue eyes that warm into the shade of a summer sky when he’s working the charm.
He’s talking with his friend Jordan Trager. He hasn’t noticed me and I’m glad for that. Last time we saw each other was back in June, although we texted a bit over the summer. He wanted to come see me. I said no. I don’t trust myself around Case. The mere fact that my heart did a foolish flip just now tells me I made the right call by denying him this summer.
“Oh my God, I’m in love.”
Camila pulls my attention away from Case and toward another new arrival.
Okay, wow. He’s undeniably hot. Dirty-blond hair, light gray eyes, and a face that could stop traffic. He must be an Eastwood guy because I’ve never seen him before.
Camila is practically drooling. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this turned on by a guy’s profile.”
A few of the guys are warming up now, sticks in hand, skating close to the boards. I scan the players, but don’t recognize any of them.
Camila leans forward and peers below. “Which one is Luke Ryder?” she asks curiously. “I heard Jensen didn’t even want him.”
“Uh-huh, yes, he didn’t want the number-one ranked forward in the country,” Whitney says dryly. “I highly doubt that.”
“Hey, boy comes with a reputation,” Cami counters. “I wouldn’t fault Jensen for wanting to keep his program pristine.”
She has a point. We all saw what happened in the World Juniors a couple years ago, when Luke Ryder and a teammate threw down in the locker room after the USA boys took home the gold. Ryder broke the guy’s jaw and landed him in the hospital. The whole incident was kept very hush-hush, or at least the motivations behind it were. It’s still never been confirmed who started the fight, but considering the other player suffered the brunt of the injuries, it seems like Ryder had a score to settle.
As far as I’ve heard, he’s kept his nose clean since, but beating the shit out of another player is something that follows you around. It’s a stain on your record, no matter what your scoring stats are.