Instead of cheering and roaring with his teammates, he snapped out of his daze and started to practically shake.
What on earth?
Either Troy Hartman was too cool to be fist bumped, or that hit against the glass, where I’d flinched and gasped to my infinite surprise, affected his head too.
I chalked it up to the effects of being this close—and in person. When I’d seen Troy get hit hard on television, it didn’t bother me one bit.
He was taking off now. Practically the first one off the ice.
Where do you think you’re going?
The guy was my only access to my car keys and whatever this diva moment he was having, was going to have to wait until I got them back.
I pushed past the crowd going down toward the exit and raced until I bumped into someone.
“Frankie?” He was holding an oversized soda cup.
“How’d you get to sit up here?” Was all he asked when he saw me.
I shook my head. “Don’t ask. I need to go find my car.”
“See you tomorrow.”
I hit a roadblock I couldn’t get past and wanted to scream. The time I spent inching my way toward the exit made me wonder how and why on this earth I’d been plagued with countless encounters with Troy Hartman over the last week.
And it all started with me stalking him.
Stupid.
Settling the score with Troy was the first and only thing on my list that was about hurting someone. And it completely backfired.
Over and over again.
I finally made my way out of the endless rush of the crowd and found what I thought was the way I entered.
“Wrong way,” someone called behind me.
I ignored the drunk guy and carried on until I found a familiar pathway to the locker room.
I caught a glimpse of the pile of players heading toward the end of the long hallway and slowed down, breathless and annoyed.
I hate hockey players.
Scrap that. I hated just the one.
I couldn’t believe I let myself be charmed by his flirtatious comments and arrogant smirks. I was completely falling for it, like the idiot I was five years ago.
Troy hadn’t even looked my way after he’d won the game. Not even a glance to let me know to meet him back in the hall where he’d left me so he can make sure I got my keys back.
Cool it, Harp, you and your keys are the last thing on his mind, he’d just won the game for his whole team.
Okay, but…didheknow that?
Because it sure as hell didn’t look like it by the steeled expression he carried all the way across the ice, until he was out of sight.
I must have looked like a bobblehead the way I kept shaking my head as I walked to the other side of the arena to get to the locker room. Because this—all of this was my fault. If I hadn’t lost my senses that night at the bar, I probably wouldn’t have been stuck here tonight, trying to track down the infamous Troy Hartman as if we were in high school ag—
The tip of my shoe screeched as I reached an empty quiet tiled hallway. It was narrower, and the tiles were gray rather than faded yellow, but the twisting in my stomach all the same. Raging heat flooded my veins at a memory I was still trying to forget.
