Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 100612 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100612 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
This isn’t normal.
She’s just a girl. Her locker has been next to mine forever.
She’s my friend.
I glide over, abruptly stopping so ice sprays in their direction. The flurry hits the plexiglass in a satisfying burst of white mist and ice chunks.
Harper flinches at the surprise, taking a step back, eyes narrowing suspiciously as a rueful grin tugs at her lips.
“Really?” I see her mouth, her hands rising into the air to punctuate her mock displeasure.
I shrug innocently as I skate back into position. She might look unmoved, but I catch the way her eyes follow me, lingering appreciatively as I peacock around like a dipshit.
She’s into it.
I can tell.
Grabbing a puck from the pile at center ice, I start handling it, showing off with a toe drag and a spin. Ta-da!
Look at me!
The puck sticks to my blade like glue as I weave through an invisible force field of defense. Quick left, quick right, back to the left, quick right.
Gotta be quick—gotta be quick to catch me.
Obviously, when I glance up, Harper is riveted, as if I’m the most fascinating thing she’s ever seen, and swiftly—as I’ve done hundreds of times before—I take my shot, aiming glove side, high. The puck sails cleanly into the net with a thunk.
He shoots, he scores! The crowd goes wild!
My arms are above my head when I turn back toward the girls, coasting toward Harper’s side of the rink with my hands and stick held high above my head like I’ve just won the Stanley Cup. My skates cut smoothly across the ice, and I can’t help the satisfied grin stretching across my face.
“What’d you think of that?” I call out, my breath leaving my lips in a puff of fog as I come to a full stop in front of her. “Pretty good, eh?”
She tilts her head, raising an eyebrow. “You had no one defending the goal.”
“That’s not the point,” I counter, tapping my stick against the boards for emphasis. “The point is my sweet skills.”
“Fine.” She drags the word out reluctantly. “You’re pretty good—show-off.”
I press a hand to my chest like she’s wounded me, skating backward past her and Macy, who continues actively ignoring me.
“You think this is me showing off?”
“What else are we calling it?” Harper teases, leaning a little farther over the wall, tempting me to skate over and kiss her. Why did I just think that?
“Effortless talent.” I wink.
Macy’s dramatic groan carries as she taps away at her phone without looking up. “Please don’t feed his ego. It’s already out of control.”
Out of control? Me? Considering how fucking talented I am, I’m the most modest dude I know, and that’s the truth.
“My ego is fine, thankyouverymuch,” I reply, slowing my stride. Stop to glide backward. “Stick around. You might learn something.”
I like that Harper is here.
I love that she’s watching me.
She saw me skate the last time she came here, obviously. But now I’m not surrounded by teammates. There’s no whistle, no shouting, no coaches.
Just me.
With a smooth, powerful motion, I load my stick, bringing it back as far as it’ll go before swinging forward with maximum force.
The blade connects with the puck with a satisfying crack, and it rockets across the ice, a blur of black slicing through the air.
It slams into the back of the net with such intensity that the entire goal shakes, the sound echoing through the empty rink like a gunshot.
Yes!
When I glance back at her (to make sure she’s watching), her brows are raised, her lips parted in genuine delight.
“Okay,” she calls. “That was kind of cool.”
“Kind of cool?” I skate back over to the bench, stopping short of the wall. “I think you meant unbelievable.”
“Don’t push it, Westermann,” she fires back—but the way her eyes sparkle makes it clear she’s enjoying being here as much as I’m enjoying having her watch.
I lean lazily against my stick.
“You know,” I say, my smile widening. “If you’re lucky, I might even let you try next time.”
Harper rolls her eyes, but her smile doesn’t fade. “Oh, I’d totally embarrass you out here.”
Bold words, considering they’re probably not true. Does she even skate? It’s cute, though, that she’s boastful about it—like she thinks she could hold her own out here.
“Have you ever held a hockey stick?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
“Maybe,” she says with a shrug, the playful edge to her voice making my heart beat faster.
“She’s never held any kind of stick,” Macy snorts, tugging on Harper’s arm like she’s trying to physically drag her away. “Can we leave before this flirting turns into foreplay? It’s freezing.”
Foreplay?
“Flirting?” I echo, arching a brow at the accusation. The word hangs there for a moment, the air thick with tension. “Harper and I decided that’s something we’re not good at.”
Her lips part to argue.
The pause stretches long enough to make me fidget. Needing to avoid this conversation—and Harper’s intense gaze—I grab another puck from the ledge, drop it on the ice, and skate off toward center, putting a little extra speed into my stride.