Page 76 of The Heart Breaker

When she finished, she leaned back and looked at her work, then tipped her face up toward mine. Whatever she saw there—probably some mix of confusion and annoyance—made her laugh.

Actually laugh.

I didn’t even know she could sound like that around me, and it was scary what that did to my stomach. Made it jump and twist—it was awful. I want it to happen again.

Logan claps me on the back. “Don’t worry, man. Real men wear pink.”

I cut him a glare as he skates past, then drop into my stretch to loosen up before the game. But I can’t focus, because I know she’s here.

I haven’t seen her yet, but I don’t need to. Some part of me always knows when Aurora’s around. Even back when I couldn’t stand being in the same room as her, my body sensed her before my eyes did.

I drag in a breath through my nose, trying to force my head back onto the game. But the second I look up, every muscle in my body tightens all over again, because even from behind, I know whose Westbrook jersey it is.

Chase Johnson straightens, rolls his neck, and glances up toward the stands, scanning the crowd.

I know exactly who he’s looking for.

“It’s just another game, man,” Ryan says, ripping my gaze away from Chase.

I grunt. Maybe for him.

Austin drops into his stretch and nudges my shin with the toe of his skate. “Please don’t get yourself thrown in the box before I get a chance to score.”

I crack my neck. “Can’t promise that.”

Because Chase has always had a talent for pissing me off, and I’ve always taken a lot of satisfaction in putting him on his ass for it.

The ref blows his whistle and we line up for the faceoff.

Austin wins and knocks the puck toward Logan. I knock one of the Westbrook forwards off his path, steering him away from the puck just as Logan passes to Ryan. He catches it and knocks it toward Austin, who sends the puck flying toward the net, but it hits the crossbar.

“Fuck,” he bites out, skating backward.

Chase laughs as he coasts past with one of his linemates. “This is gonna be easy,” I hear him mutter, knocking his helmet against the other guy’s.

My teeth grind until my jaw starts to ache. I want to plant my fist in his mouth. Want to wipe that smug look off his face. But I promised Aurora—for some dumb reason—that I wouldn’t go looking for a fight tonight, so I drag in a breath and force myself to keep moving.

But then he comes down my side on the next rush, and that’s different.

That, I can do something about.

As soon as he crosses our blue line, I step into him and drive a hip check straight through his body. He lifts off the ice for half a second before slamming into the glass.

A grin pulls at my mouth before I can stop it.

God, I fucking love hockey.

He starts bitching to the ref, but we both know that hit was clean. I don’t need a cheap shot to lay him out. I might like a fighta little too much and spend most games one bad mood away from dropping my gloves, but I don’t play dirty.

Not like him.

He takes his sweet time getting up. Pushes himself off the ice, fixes his helmet, and rolls his neck. By the time the puck’s moved back up the other end, he’s drifted into my lane again, close enough that I can hear him over the crowd.

“No one hugging you at home, Ellis?” he says, his mouth twisting. “You seem real desperate for the contact.” He clips my shoulder on the way past, harder than he needs to.

I’ve been putting up with his shit since we were seventeen. Every chirp, every smug little look, every throwaway comment meant to remind me that he thinks he’s better than me just because his daddy’s got money and hands him whatever he wants.

I’ve heard it all before, and I didn’t give a fuck then and I don’t give a fuck now, because at the end of the day, we’re both still here. On the same ice. Playing the same game.