Page 52 of See You at the Finish Line

Better start lacing up your shoes.

Sincerely,

Adam Bet-I-Can-Beat-You Ashford

I smile at my phone and press send, rereading her email and her sister’s note again before checking the other notifications. There are a few work emails I’ll get to on Monday. I’m at my car, standing at the driver’s side door, hand on the handle, when I get a series of texts from Mateo.

Mateo Ruiz

Saturday 9:45 p.m.

Dude

Be sitting down

Are you sitting?

Oh right, you’re out with Julien

When you get this, make sure you’re sitting, preferably not in a public place

I’ll give youa minute

I sigh and get into my car but wait to put my keys in the ignition. If it was something serious, he would have called, so I know no one died.

Okay, DON’T freak out

Who am I kidding? DON’T freak out too badly

Click this link (no it’s not spam)

I click on the link in his next text and my whole body seizes. The title reads, “NHL Season Kicks off with Nate Leverre’s Newest Lay.”

A clickbait headline if there ever was one. My stomach plummets when I scroll and see the series of pictures of Nate and Paige out on a date. Last night. She was withNatelast night.

There’s a picture of them cozy at a restaurant. First, they look serious, lost in conversation and absorbed in each other.

He’s laughing, then she’s laughing with him and he’s holding her hands. She’s still laughing and he’s looking at her like the sun shines out of her ass.

Who am I to judge? I totally believe it does. The last series of pictures shows them leaving. He has his hand possessively placed on her back, his pinky finger brushing the upper curve of her ass. The last picture shows them getting into a car together.

Fuck.

Nate Leverre is a total slimeball. His family is wealthy, so there isn’t news like this about him often. The general public doesn’t know he’s a douchebag because he’s perfected his boy-next-door persona. But in the hockey community, he has a reputation, hence the title.

The article won’t be up for long—daddy dearest will likely pay a huge sum to the editor of the gossip site to take it down, adding it to the family tab. To torture myself, I screenshot the images like the stalker I am.

Should I warn her? She probably went home with him last night and I try not to let that eat at me. Who am I to be jealous? She’s not mine.

It’s impossible to block the images invading my brain—his hands on her skin, his mouth on hers. While I’ve only kissed Paige once, I don’t think anything on this planet could rival how amazing it was. How amazing she was.

Since she’s been back, it’s all I’ve been able to think about.

I take some deep breaths and head for home, attempting to use the thirty-minute drive to clear my head. It doesn’t work.

I unlock my door and step through, still not used to the absence of little pitter-pattering feet coming to greet me. My ex took full custody of our cat when she moved to Ontario with her new boyfriend.

It was the right call. I’m hardly ever home, and Inca deserved better, though what she did to deserve living in Ontario, I’ll never know.

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