Page 22 of Falling for the Pucking Bad Boy

RORY: Really? I couldn’t tell.

WELLS: And I was hoping you could see me in Vegas.

RORY: Absolutely not.

WELLS: I'll fly you out if I win my next game.

RORY: You really want to destroy the Blizzard and give my father a stroke, don’t you?

RORY: We can’t do this.

WELLS: This has nothing to do with the Blizzard and everything to do with you.

WELLS: We’ll be discreet as fuck. No one is going to know.

I’m flattered that he came to see me; no matter how stupid, it meant something. Wells might not follow the rules—and I usually don’t either—but this is my dad’s career, and I don’t want to screw things up.

RORY: Someone will find out.

WELLS: How do you think I shop at Target? I wear a disguise.

RORY: And then what? How long do you expect us to do this?

WELLS: I’m only asking for two days.

On the outside, that doesn’t sound bad at all. But, again, we’ve already crossed several lines.

WELLS: I see you thinking about it.

I groan because he’s still here.

Weirdo.

RORY: Text me later. I need to focus on this game; they know I’m talking to you.

WELLS: Fair enough.

RORY: And leave.

WELLS: Only because you asked.

WELLS: Oh, and Rory?

RORY: What?

WELLS: You look really pretty.

Crap, I’m in trouble.

7

CHAPTER SEVEN

WELLS

Ilace up my skates, the familiar routine of getting ready for a game in full swing. The locker room buzzes with anticipation, my teammates exchanging nods and words of encouragement as we prepare to face off against the Thunderbolts in Vegas.

But amidst the chatter and the focus on the upcoming game, a persistent thought refuses to leave my mind—Rory. Her name dances at the edge of my thoughts, a distracting presence that I can't seem to shake.

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