Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 108049 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 540(@200wpm)___ 432(@250wpm)___ 360(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108049 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 540(@200wpm)___ 432(@250wpm)___ 360(@300wpm)
“Taylor!” Matt Anderson exclaims happily. “Yo, when you coming over next? Foster found us a new movie to watch.”
“It’s got black holes and giant squids!” comes Foster’s faint shout.
“Soon, Matty,” I promise, then pray he doesn’t call me out for referring to him as Matty. But hell, if Conor’s allowed to lay it on thick, then so am I. “Anyway, I’m hanging up now. I’m busy.”
I disconnect the call, set down the phone, and find an entire room of wide-eyed girls staring at me with naked envy. Even Sasha seems impressed, and she’s in on the charade.
“I am so sorry,” I say awkwardly. “I’ll make sure he never interrupts during a meeting again.”
“All good,” Charlotte assures me. “We all know those hockey players are hard to say no to. Trust me, we know.”
The rest of the meeting continues without a hiccup, although it’s difficult to ignore the death stares coming from Abigail and Jules’s direction. Then Charlotte dismisses us with the clap of her manicured hands, chairs are scraped back, and everyone disperses. I bump into someone during the stampede, stepping away quickly when I realize it’s Rebecca Locke.
“Oh, sorry,” I tell the petite girl. “Didn’t see you there.”
“It’s fine,” she replies in a tight voice, and then darts off without another word.
As I watch her hurry upstairs, I sigh and wonder if things will ever get any less awkward between me and Rebecca. I was forced to kiss her during pledge week, and needless to say it was a mortifying experience for the both of us. We’ve spoken only a handful of times since and never been alone in the same room together.
“Wanna get some lunch?” Sasha links her arm through mine as we head for the front door.
“Sure,” I reply.
“Taylor, wait,” someone calls before we can leave the house.
I glance over my shoulder. Lisa Donaldson and Olivia Ling are sashaying toward us. “What’s up?” I say politely.
“You live in Hastings, right?” Lisa runs a hand through her glossy mane of hair.
“Yeah, why?” I ask, and then stand there trying to hide my shock as two chicks who’ve never given me the time of day explain how they’re in Hastings once or twice a week for their salon appointments and would love to grab a bite with me if I’m free Tuesday night.
“And you too, Sasha,” Olivia offers in what sounds like a genuine invitation. “Usually Beth and Robin and the boyfriends meet us at the diner too. It’s nice to leave campus and get a change of scenery sometimes, you know?”
“Even nicer to live off campus,” I say with a grin.
“I’d bet,” murmurs Lisa. Her gaze flicks toward Abigail, who’s whispering furiously with Jules in the far corner of the living room. Interesting. Maybe I’m not the only one considering voting for Dani.
After agreeing to meet the girls on Tuesday, Sasha and I exit the house. Outside, I breathe in the early spring air. Release a gust of it in a slow rush.
“Conor Fucking Edwards,” I mumble.
Sasha laughs softly. “The man’s good, I’ll give him that.”
“Too good. He even had me convinced he missed me, and I know that’s not true.” Hell, he had every Kappa in that room salivating over him. One FaceTime from him and suddenly they’re inviting me to dinner.
Conor had told me how much he loves games—well, today proved he’s highly skilled at them too. Problem is, I’m terrible at games. I always lose. And the longer this silly ruse with Conor goes on, the greater the danger of it all blowing up in my face.
9
Conor
There’s an eerie calm on the ice Tuesday morning as the team runs through drills. Hardly anyone says a word for two hours; only the sounds of our skates and Coach’s whistle echo through the empty arena.
The tournament brackets were announced yesterday. This weekend we face Minnesota Duluth in Buffalo, New York. No one wants to say it, but I think the matchup has everyone a bit spooked. The nerves are creeping in, and we’re all on edge and hyper-focused on our individual parts of the machine.
Hunter’s been staying late every day since we made the playoffs. He wants it bad. I think he sees it as a reflection on his success as captain, like it’s his job alone to win this for us and if he doesn’t, he’s a failure. Man, I could never do his job. I generally make it a rule to minimize expectations and not take on responsibility for anyone but myself.
After practice, we hit the showers. I stand under the spray and let the scalding water beat down on my aching shoulders. This tournament might just be the death of me.
My old team in LA sucked, which means we never had to worry about a post-season. Going this long at this high a competitive level is taking its toll on my body. Bruises, sore ribs, tired muscles. I honestly don’t know how professionals do it. If I’m even able to stand up on skates next season it’ll be a miracle. There are a lot of guys who think they want to go pro. Less than half have a legitimate shot. Me, I’ve never harbored any delusions that I’m NHL material. Nor do I want to be. Hockey has always just been a hobby, something to keep me out of trouble. Idle hands and all that. Soon, this part of my life will be over.