Page 22 of The Obvious Check
“It’s not like that,” I mutter. It’s exactly like that, but I’d rather get cross-checked into the boards than admit it. “I told her to bring her boyfriend, but I’m hoping she shows up alone.”
“Her boyfriend?” Scotty looks at me like I’ve lost what’s left of my mind.
Erik lets out a low whistle. “I think I’m going to need to see this girl who has my friend pussy-whipped without even kissing him. Wait, you haven’t kissed, right? You’re not trying to be invited to their threesome, or something, are you?”
“You invited her boyfriend to watch you play?” Scotty asks, trying to bring some normalcy to the conversation.
“Not technically, but if she shows up tonight with him…” I trail off, not wanting to spell out how pathetically I’m clinging to the hope she’ll choose me. “I want her to see what she’s missing.”
“So your brilliant plan is to skate circles around everyone, score goals, and what? Make her boyfriend look like a limp-dicked loser by comparison?” Erik asks, shaking his head.
“Something like that,” I admit. “If she even bothers to show up at all, that is.”
When the five-minute warning buzzer for the second period goes off, we head back out to the rink. The second my skates touch the ice, I freeze.
I blink a couple of times to check I’m not hallucinating.
Luke.
I grip my hockey stick so hard, I’m sure it’s on the brink of snapping.
He’s sitting in Savannah’s seat.
Fucking hell.
I really am a desperate fool, aren’t I? She practically told me she was dating Luke, yet I still hoped with every fiber of my being that she’d show up here alone. At least I blew off the coffee invite yesterday, so I don’t have to suffer through an awkward chitchat with my old matchmaker in the ring.
Does she even realize I know she’s Scarlett Cherrywood? Was this her way of telling me she’s off-limits and to back off?
Oh, what a tangled, fucked-up web I wove myself.
“Shit,” I mutter under my breath when Luke looks up. She’s going to walk right in any moment, isn’t she? Just to crush my heart into a thousand pieces.
It’s only when I see Beardy McBearderson from the club that I realize she’s not here.
She’s not coming.
So she gave my tickets away.
TO HER BOYFRIEND.
Fuck. Me. Sideways.
This hurts worse than that time I got smacked in the face with a puck and my cheek blew up for a week.
As the ref blows the whistle to resume play, I force myself to focus. Savannah may not want to be here, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to lose this game.
We head into the second period with a two-goal lead, but Brighton U hasn’t given up. They come out harder, more physical, trying to slow us down. I take a couple of hard hits, but nothing rattles me. Every time they try to pin me against the boards, I find a way out, either with a quick pass or by muscling my way free.
Late in the second period, we’re on the power play. I take my spot on the left side with my stick ready. Scotty holds the puck at the point, then dishes it down to Erik near the goal line. Erik fakes a shot, drawing the goalie’s attention, then fires a no-look pass straight to me. I catch it clean and rip a one-timer into the back of the net before the goalie even has a chance to move.
Three points. Two goals and an assist. We’re supposed to be fucking celebrating how good we played this period, but all I can do is snarl at the four-hundred-dollar seats occupied by a guy I hate.
When Luke catches me looking, he waves, only serving to rile me up more.
He knows.
Hefuckingknows how much I like Savannah.
