Page 82 of Hat Trick

“Should we burn it?” Bordeaux asks from beside me. “I’ve got alighter.”

“Christ,” Harrison mutters from on the other side of Beaumont, “no one is lighting Beaumont’s dick on fire. You all want to see Zoe pissedoff?”

Everyone shakes their heads—no one even bringing up the fact that a lighter on a plane is a bad idea—and the game plan ensues as to how to steal back our only form ofentertainment.

Everyone, that is, aside from AndreBeaumont.

His black eyes track me, and I know he’s trying to pick up my thoughts like some sort of Jedi master. Good luck to him. The last two weeks have been filled with only one thought—how the hell do you convince someone that they are worth everything in the world andmore?

“You’re amoron.”

I glance up at my best friend. “Tell me something I don’tknow.”

“You’re a moron for even agreeing to that bet, and you’re even more of a moron now for letting Gwen walkaway.”

“Newsflash,” I snap, “I’m aware that I fucked up.” Because I did fuck up—Ishouldhave told Gwen about the bet long ago. That goes withoutsaying.

Bordeaux elbows me in the side. “Women say that: it’s fine, it’s okay.” He waves a hand in the air. “They get over it, if they loveyou.”

If they loveyou.

The words cut deep, nearly as deep as the memory of Gwen admitting that she had given me her heart before realizing she couldn’t commit. As for the bet . . . I shove my fingers through my hair, tugging at thestrands.

I was there when that asshole, Adam, told her that she’d been nothing but an easy lay. Although it hadn’t been easy for him—Gwen didn’t jump into bed with him for months. Then, when she finally had, Adam had informed the entire team of the “news.” By that point, no one hadcared.

The bet had started on a drunken lark at summer hockeycamp.

By the end of fall semester, the only two people who gave a shit were Adam . . . and me. Not because I wanted to win the bet, but because I’d grown to consider Gwen a friend. A friend who I wanted to date, sure, and definitely a friend I wanted to seenaked.

Witnessing the moment when Gwensaw Adam kissing another girl had been gut-wrenching. Witnessing the way Adam turned to her and spouted out hurtful words about never wanting to date her, and how she’d only been good for “popping her cherry,” had incited a rage in me that I hadn’t felt inyears.

The very next day, Adam walked into the locker-room with two black eyes, a cut lip, and the promise to never utter Gwen’s nameagain.

All of that, none of that, would make things right with Gwennow.

I never told her any of it, not once in six years, and that’s theproblem.

I asked her for honesty; I didn’t give it to her inreturn.

And on top of all that, she couldn’t find it in herself to stick it out with me. It’s like something out of a soap opera—except that it’s mylife.

Beaumont kicks me in the shin to gather my attention. “Go to her, man. Get on your knees if you have to. Beg. Do whatever you have to do to prove that you loveher.”

I don’t have the chance to say anything before Harrison is piping in. “You love her. Don’t even deny it. You’ve loved her for years. You going to be happy when she permanently leaves your sorry ass and finds love with someone that’s notyou?”

It sounds like my new version of hell—a special concoction whipped up just forme.

And even though I know that I should wait for her to make a move, if she ever does, sometimes the only person you can rely on to be bold isyou.

I eye my friends. “Tell me what I need todo.”

34

Gwen

Christmas endedwith me and Holly needing an Uber to take our sorry buttshome.

The good news? I think I have a newfriend.

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