Page 7 of Ice Bet

“Oh, it’s fucking on.”

“Ice bet secured, baby.”

I pushed off the lockers and stormed out of the locker room.

Riley told me that she didn’t like hockey players, and unfortunately, my future was balancing on whether or not that would hold true.

4

RILEY

I was so close.

I had one foot in the locker room and one in my father’s office when the clanking of hockey skates against the floor filled the locker room.

After sitting in the stands and watching the hockey team skate along the ice with ease for ten minutes, I was more than ready to grab my purse that I hadregrettablyleft on the chair perched in front of my dad’s desk and head to my apartment.

It was dire that he gave me his office keys so I could rush to his office, snag my purse, and head to my car all before he dismissed his players. But here I was.Stuck.

Never mind the few seconds I had to take to gather my breath after almost stepping foot onto the ice. It was pathetic, yes, but my shaky hands and clammy palms reminded me that I hada lotto accomplish before tryouts.

Now I was trapped, waiting for the hockey team to stop messing around and leave so I could slip out. I was meeting Sutton at our apartment with all her stuff so I could help her move in.

I popped open my texts to message her. Sutton and I met last semester when I had to come take a final in person instead of online, and we hit it off immediately. She was the first friend I made at Bexley U, but since we both had an intense hatred for hockey players, we were instant besties—at least according to her.

It was girl math. We didn’t make the rules.

Plus, most of my previous friendships ended when I abruptly took my sabbatical from skating and transferred from Rosewood. It proved that the majority of them weren’t true friendships anyway.

Me: I’m going to be a little late. I’m stuck in my dad’s office because there is no way I’m walking through the locker room while the guys undress from practice.

My legs dangled off the edge of the desk as I waited for Sutton to text back. I ignored the photos of me in various figure skating poses from past routines hanging along the wall, because they only reminded me of what I’d lost.

Instead, my gaze traveled to the office door. I caught the loud “oohs” and “ahhs” floating in from the locker room, and I rolled my eyes.Why were they so loud?The men’s locker room was vastly different from the women’s. Or maybe it was just the difference in hockey players and figure skaters. We were poised and composed. There wasn’t much conversation that occurred between us, and there was certainly no yelling.

Sutton: Why refuse? Sneak a glimpse of those muscles. You and I both know those boys are ripped. That’s how they get away with being complete assholes.

I suppressed a laugh.It was true.I went to text her back but stopped mid-sentence when I heard my name.

“Sounds like some of you are trying to score with Riley. Who will be the first to make her fall?”

I popped up from the edge of my father’s desk and shoved my phone in my back pocket.Excuse me, what?

“Maybe you?”

I had no idea who was talking or who the person was directing their conversation to, but I suppressed the need to get closer to the door and find out. The mortification of them knowing I was in here while they walked around butt-ass naked would be enough to make me self-combust. I didn’t necessarily care what they thought about me, but the rumors would start immediately, and they’d think I was either a stalker or a puck bunny.

Not that there was much of a difference.

“Uptight and cold aren’t my type, even without the thought of Coach coming at me with a shotgun.”

My mouth fell open at the jab. I could fool anyone with my blasé front of hating hockey players, but I couldn’t pretend I didn’t feel the sting of that insult. I was too focused on ignoring the irrational hurt to continue listening to their conversation, only catching snippets here and there.

“So it’s settled. Whoever gets to her first, wins.”

They were assholes. Every one of them.

“Are we talkin’ sex or what?”

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