Page 31 of Wrong Score

"No, he doesn't know anything. But now that Keely's dad is trying to re-enter her life, Reeve keeps pulling me aside to ask if I can reassure Keely that it's all going to be okay. Bex keeps finding us together, and he thinks that I've got something on Reeve."

"So, he thinks you're going to run a nasty story on Reeve?" Tessa clarifies.

Ever since Keely and Reeve decided to be together, I've convinced Keely to let more of the girls know what's going on with her so she doesn't feel so alone, and just as I suspected, no one judged her for the sins of her father. She still hasn't been ready to tell Sam or Bex… or pretty much anyone else on the team, but I'm proud of her for starting to trust more. And all of the girls in our group are fiercely protective of her. Autumn, Tessa, and I even have a contingency plan ready in case the news ever breaks out, and we need to help bury the story, though I truly think that Keely's ex-boyfriend and the athletic director from her old team blew this whole thing out of proportion.

But colleges are weird about protecting their recruiting ability since it means money for their program, and her ex… well, that guy just seems like a selfish tool. I covered the Boeing Classic two years ago that's part of the PGA tour, and her ex threw his driving iron and kicked over his golf clubs when he made a shot that landed in the pond nearby. I'd say he's a bit of a drama queen.

"Yep. Basically, if you ask Bex, I'm the story-hungry enemy who has no soul." I say, rifling through a few more dresses that the saleswoman flung over the door for me to try on.

"Can you find another way to talk to him? Get him to see that you're not a threat to his team, while still keeping Keely's secret?" Tessa asks.

“I tried. I went to see him after practice. I thought we could clear the air, maybe find some common ground so we’re not constantly at each other’s throats. But then it didn't work. He told me we’re not enemies, but that he doesn’t trust me. Then he handed me his hockey stick and told me if I could make a shot, he’d call a truce—I missed," I say.

I pull on a third dress, this time a delicate blue beaded gown. A darker hue than the Hawkeyes' turquoise team color. The second it’s on, I know. This is the one. The way the beads shimmer in the light, the plunging neckline that flatters without being too much, the way it hugs my curves—everything about it is perfect.

I've worn beautiful dresses to events and galas before… but this dress—this is something else.

Tessa raises her voice in confusion. "He challenged you to ahockeyduel?”

“Yeah," I confirm.

"The man needs to find a better way to end a feud because that's just ridiculous. What if that's how he makes all of his life decisions?" Brynn asks.

Maybe she's right, but right now, I don't care about anything else except for this dress. It has me in a trance the way it accentuates every curve on my body. The beads glitter in the lighting like a blue waterfall and I'm almost tempted to ask if I can wear it out.

I check the price tags.

It's way more than I wanted to spend—double actually, but I have a feeling that this dress will be worth every penny, plus some.

"Ro? You still in there?" Tessa asks when I don't say anything.

I open the door instead, slowly making my way out to find Tessa and Brynn there; Brynn is in another dress.

Both of their jaws drop, shocked into silence.

Brynn’s mouth falls open. "Holy hell. You look incredible."

Before I can respond, the bell over the door jingles again, and Cammy walks in, eyes immediately locking onto me. She grins.

"Rowan, he's going to die when he sees you in that dress," she says.

I raise an eyebrow. "Drew?"

Cammy snorts. "Who gives a flying rat's ass about Drew Lansbury?"

"Then who is going to die seeing me in this dress?" I ask.

Cammy looks at Tessa and then Brynn who are all grinning back at her.

"Bexley Townsend. And it won't be a quick death either… that dress is going to torture him slowly," she chuckles. "And I can't wait to watch."

Chapter Eleven

Bex

The ballroom of the convention center downtown is filled with the sound of laughter, conversation, and the clinking of glasses from the open bar.I tug at the collar of my perfectly tailored jacket, the fabric feeling tighter than it should. Galas like this have never been my scene—too much small talk, too many forced smiles, and an overwhelming amount of posturing. If I had my way, I’d be back on the ice where things are simple, straightforward, and free of all this pretense.

But tonight is essential. Briggs and Autumn asked for support—even sent a limo to The Commons to pick me up tonight, though it was unnecessary, I could have taken a cab. They sent a limo for Sam and one for Phil and his wife as well.

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