Page 125 of Scoring Lessons

I rolled my eyes. “How could they possibly know?”

“Because right before you walked in and said I looked beautiful”—she jabbed a finger into my chest—“they asked me why I had a sex glow!”

I bit down hard on the inside of my cheek.

“That’s not funny, Wesley.”

“I know,” I said—and absolutely failed to keep a straight face.

“Kennedy could tell my brother.” The humor dropped out of her voice on that one. “What are we going to do then?”

I caught her forearms and held on. “There’s no proof of anything.” I kept my voice easy. “Relax, Livvie girl.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You are oddly calm about this.”

I gave her a casual shrug.

I meant what I’d said in that kitchen, and I was far from sorry. I was tired of pretending I hadn’t noticed her since the moment she walked back into my life.

But my heart was sitting somewhere around my stomach, because Olivia thought this was casual, and I had long since stopped being able to pretend it was. I knew needed to tell Anderson. But I also needed her to know how serious I was first.

I just hadn’t figured out how to do either one yet.

THIRTY-FOUR

WESLEY

FUCK BEING THE NICE GUY.

A week later, we were in the locker room of the United Center getting ready to play against the New York Jaguars.

And all I had to say was—Jesus take the fucking wheel. Knowing I was about to play against Olivia’s piece of shit ex had me on edge, to say the least.

I was antsy and having trouble remembering why I’d promised her I’d mind my business in the first place.

“You okay?” Donovan asked as he towered over me. I didn’t need to look up to know there was concern all over his face. His tone gave him away.

“Yup.” I continued to tape my stick, refusing to meet his stare.

But leave it up to our Captain to not let things go. That was who Donovan was to his core. He was like a big brother, always watching over us.

He sat next to me and started tying his skates. “Are you happy to be back on the first line with us?”

Coach Sloane had officially benched Sullivan until further notice. Which, in hindsight, should have given me hope that the whole contract extension fiasco was going to be resolved soon, but being a hopeful man could only get me so far.

I nodded without a word as I did the finishing touches on my stick then placed the grip tape on my upper stall. “Yeah, sure,” I mumbled, still distracted.

Before Donovan could get another word in, the door swung open.

“All right, listen up.” Coach Sloane strode into the room with that authoritative personality of his, and the chatter around the room quickly died off. “I know this season has been rough, and I know the rivalry with the Jaguars has always been”—he sighed, running a hand through his beard—“lively, to say the least. But it’s important we keep our heads in the game. Got it?”

My teammates murmured their agreement as they slammed their sticks against the rubber floor. I did the same, but I wasn’t fully there.

Their voices were like echoes. My anxiety was heavy on my chest as I tried to figure out how to survive this game without getting kicked out for putting my hands on Jack fucking Holt.

There were less than ten minutes left in the third period, and we were down one when I jumped over the boards to complete another shift.

My skates carved hard against the ice, like I could grind the anger straight into it and come out clean on the other side. But every time my eyes settled on Holt, my simmering rage turned bigger and scarier.