Page 28 of Pucked Together

And a shower.

Chapter 9

Izzy

The pounding headache is the first indication that my night of revenge was an epic disaster.

I was supposed to get wildly drunk, dance the night away, and go home with some hot stranger who would help me get over Trevor 'cheatin’-ass' Sincaid. Instead, I'm blinking away the sleep in my eyes in... What is this? Ryker Balinger's bed?

What the hell?

The smell of bacon and coffee wafts into the large room, and I pull the covers off and realize I have slept totally naked.

Bringing them back up to cover myself, I search the room frantically for my clothes and shoes.

Nothing.

Did the clothes come off before or after Ryker brought me to the room?

Why is my memory such a blur?

How much did I drink?

I decide I need a shower before I can face Ryker again. Switching on the bathroom light, I stare at my disheveled reflection in the mirror.

"Oh, hell no," I whisper.

I rummage through the bottom cabinet and find a bottle of mouthwash. When I rinse the taste of alcohol and bad decisions from my mouth, I go to the oversized shower and turn it on to the highest heat setting. Steam rises and fills the room.

When it's to my liking, I step in. I try to recall what happened last night as the hot water pours over me.

Ok, what do I remember?

I was holding Trevor's old jersey and using it as a tissue when Keelan came banging on my bedroom door. He insisted we go out. I told him no at first. But then he pulled up a picture Trevor posted with some busty puck bunny, and I just about lost my sanity.

The same day he's trying to win me back, he goes and does that.

Keelan suggested we get drunk, so we drove to the Breakaway Bar downtown.

The guys were there. Hicks. Fergie. A few others.

Not Ryker, though. Not at first.

The guys and me—we talked. We danced. We had fun, and the next thing I knew, Ryker Balinger was carrying me into his bed.

OMG. Ryker Balinger brought me home.

Alone.

We must've...ho-ly shit.

I didn't feel like we had. But then again, everything about my body still felt tingly from the alcohol passing through my system.

He took advantage of me. He saw I was drunk, sad, and vulnerable, and just like every other player I know...he saw an opportunity.

I look at the reflection of his crumpled-up bed in the bathroom mirror. The fucking nerve of this guy.

I shut the faucet off violently and don't even bother grabbing a towel before storming into the living room to confront him.

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