Page 8 of Snap Shot

“The Regents' goalie is fine as hell, too. Have you seen his arms?” Gabe puffs up her cheeks and creates a bulky bicep with her hand in the air over her own. “Those bad boys should have their own post code.”

“Wow. Does Kurt know about this?”

Gabe scoffs. “I have eyes. I'm allowed to look!”

“Not the jealous type, eh?”

“Nope.” She shakes her head. “And I'd neverdreamof cheating on my baby.”

“Baby?” My mouth pulls into a frown. “That's disgusting.”

She sticks her tongue out at me.

“You know what? I hope you take him on,” Bea cuts in. “Maybe we'll get to meet the team and work them up with ourwomanly wiles.” She peers down and fluffs her ta-tas together. “I wouldn't mind getting pounded silly by one of thosebig, muscly athletes. Think of the stamina!”

“They've got egos to match.” I should know. Cocky hockey players have historically been my Kryptonite. But never again.

“I'll let you guess what else of theirs isbig.” Gabe pumps an imaginary dick in the air.

I am too drunk and horny for this conversation right now.

“Donovan is nice to look at,” Bea rants on. “I wonder if he's packing? Olsen isn't bad either.”

Gabe and I side-eye each other at her admission.

“What? He's got theroundestpeach ass.”

“He doesn't have any teeth!” Gabe cackles, clutching her stomach as Bea shoves her into the door. There's no space for that in this sardine can of a taxicab. “Lookin' like a fuckin' White Walker with his albino ass.”

“He hasteeth!” My petite friend throws her tiny fists around, measly punches doing nothing but make us howl louder.

We argue over who's the best-looking on the team until we get to the hotel and annoy some other guests in the elevator with our drunken antics. It turns into weepy drunk goodbyes to Sheena, all hugging before we part.

There's something so melancholy about growing up. We build friendships over the years, only to have adulthood test them by time and distance. These girls are it for me, though. Nothing changes between us no matter how much time passes, or physical distance grows. And I'm so fucking grateful for them.

We're not sharing rooms—thank God—because all the hockey butt-talk wakes the sleeping crickets in my abandoned vagina. Luckily, I'm a planner. I brought a little something-something to hold me over. My mighty bullet boyfriend Magic Mike usually puts me right to sleep. Not this time, though. Overthinking the whole conversation about my nonexistent crush on Landon ruins my o.

God damn it.Ihada crush. That's what pubescentsdo.

It's not like I followed his hockey career or something. Or watched his uni games at Michigan, or had his stats memorized when he got drafted and signed with Ottawa.

No, that wasn't me.

Nope. Idefinitelydon't have a crush on him anymore.

Why the hell would I—an accomplished, litigating, boss bitch, if I say so myself—be hung up on a glorified meathead who sided with my bullies?

Chapter 3: Smash or Pass

Landon

Fuck my life.

I hauled ass my whole career for this chance. Didn't screw around at university. Laid low as a rookie and kept my head down for the last five years while the team built up. Focused on the game and the game only.

One slip-up. Theonetime I think with my dick, and it all comes crashing down. And the dogshit-covered cherries on top are the rumors around why I yakked. Gossiping dirtbags. They throw around headlines like “Radek Addicted to Pills?”and “Regents Star on a Bender” like being dehydrated wasn't a possibility. Worse is when they claim it's an admission of Ann's false accusations.

Four fucking games in a row I choked. Missed goals. Stolen pucks. Eating shit on the ice. Fighting when it got too frustrating then shitting myself watching the team tank from the sin bin. And the Cup slipped through my goddamn hands.

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