“Alright, now you have to tell me.”
“Tell you what?”
He sits back down on his stool, putting just enough distance between us that I feel like I can maybe start to think clearly again. “What it is that you have against hockey players.”
I drag my tongue along my teeth, contemplating if I want to explain myself to him. I could easily get myself off the hook here by just telling him my dad is his coach. Not that that has anything to do with my active avoidance of hockey players.
When I look at Noah and see his face studying mine, I feel like I’m teetering some line. I want to tell him I’ve never met a hockey player that didn’t just absolutely suck. That I’ve had the displeasure of being let down by every one of them—my brother withstanding. I briefly play with the idea that this situation is different, and just maybe he could be different. The exception.
Just as quickly as the thought comes, I brush it off. Getting screwed over once could be considered a mistake. Most people would argue twice to be a coincidence, which is exactly why I no longer give second chances. But a third time? At some point, it’s a pattern, and I will not be made the fool who keeps going back for more.
I square my shoulders and lift my chin a little higher. “You’re all the same. You only care about hockey and you’ll do whatever it takes to be the best.”
“Well, first of all, I don’t think we’reallthe same.But second, is that a bad thing? Doing what it takes to be the best?”
“It is when you don’t care about who you hurt to get there.”
It’s subtle, but his head rears back and a strand of hair falls over his eyebrow when he cocks his head slightly. He doesn’t respond, and something about the way his eyes areanalyzing me tells me it isn’t because he couldn’t come up with a snappy comeback if he wanted to, but rather that he’s waiting for me to elaborate. I don’t.
Noah opens his mouth but is interrupted by acrazy little blonde.
“Here you are, Luna Nightingale!” Chloe sets her handful of drinks down on the table between us.
“Who’s Luna Nightingale?” Noah looks at me, amused.
Picking up one of the glasses, I raise it to him. “Luna N. Twenty-one, Scorpio, scrappy, and severely sarcastic. Nice to meet you.” I glare at him with a snarky smirk that’s all mischief and no apology, before taking a sip of my drink.
He’s not put off by me in the slightest. In fact, he laughs, and I hate him for making me want to do the same.
“And how do you remember all those traits,Savannah?” He says my name like he’s reminding me he knows my true identity.
“Because the scrappy and sarcastic parts are true,Noah.”
“Honestly? That doesn’t surprise me in the least.”
I’m about to tell him that he doesn’t know me, and whatever he thinks he knows—he’s wrong, but two of his teammates bombard our table. The big one with the buzz cut—I’ve already forgotten his name—grabs Noah’s shoulders.
“Kingy boy!”
“Mav,” he says, shoving his friend off.
“Hello, ladies.” Maverick beams at us, waving a hand at me. “I’m Maverick. This is Milly.” He taps his friend's chest with the back of his hand.
“Silas.” He corrects and dips his chin in greeting.
“Chloe Cooper.” She extends her hand across the table to Maverick.
“Sexy alliteration.” He smiles before taking her hand.
“Wait. Where’s Gabe?” Noah looks back toward the bar.
“He dipped.” Silas replies.
Noah looks at me like I sabotaged him and his friendleaving was somehow my fault. “What do you mean he dipped?”
“He found a—” Maverick looks over at Chloe and me before turning back to Noah. “Friend.” He concludes.
I bite down on my smile and look away from Noah.
