Page 48 of Fool Me Once

I smash my shield against his, smacking him on the back before he moves on to someone else.

Tripp skates next to me, gripping my shoulder with his huge glove. “Good looking out, brother,” he says with a nod before he heads toward where Ryder and a few others are chanting something.

No team will ever play a flawless game, but I dare to say that tonight was damn close to it. Playing without Kolt is never easy, but we held Tampa down and can walk away with our heads high. I, for one, sure will. Especially compared to the last game that Gemma watched me play in. I’d started off sucking absolute ass, but thank fuck I got it together. I came out tonight, knowing there was no way I’d be embarrassing myself like that again.

I lift my eyes to where Gemma is sitting and hold my stick up. She beams back, almost bouncing up and down in excitement, setting my whole fucking soul on fire.

It’s been a long time since I’ve seen that girl smile so big.

Tonight, we’re going to stay together in a hotel room, and even though we live together back in Maine, it’s different here in Tampa.

I mean, fuck, she’s wearing my jersey right now. She’s got my last name stretched across her back for the world to see.

And I fucking love it.

In a new room, this one at the tip-top of an insanely tall resort, I paw through the luggage Smith bought for me, feeling more discouraged by the second.

“I have nothing to wear,” I mutter as Saylor applies some eyeliner in the bathroom with the door open.

“Lucky for you, I hand-selected some outfits to bring just for my main bitch.” She caps the eyeliner before applying some nude lipstick and smacking her lips together a few times. Tossing it into her purse, she heads toward the closet because, even though she isn’t even staying the night, she hung her clothes up like a lunatic.

She goes to work, grabbing a few things, and I feel my mouth water when I hear the shower running in the other master suite, knowing Smith is in there. I can’t stop the images of him, wet and naked, from assaulting my brain. He booked us a two-bedroom suite; even though we live in a house together in Maine, this feels different.

And it’s really going to feel different once his sister is gone.

Saylor was going to fly back right after the game, but she decided to catch a red-eye flight instead. Which means she’s going out with us for a few hours.

I’m worried she might give me something that makes me look like a hooker, but beggars can’t be choosers. Especially since I really don’t have anything to choose from for clothing, just the few things I’ve bought here and there that have been on sale basically. And most of it is comfy stuff, like leggings and crewnecks. I currently only have one pair of jeans.

One pair of jeans is enough though. I despise jeans.

A lot of the team and their significant others are going out to some exclusive club, and I guess that includes fake girlfriends, too, because I agreed to go. It’s not really my scene, but the Sharks had a big win,and my best friend is in town for a few more hours. So, as Saylor tells me to do, I’m putting on my party pants, and I’m going out.

Pulling out a dress, she holds it up, her eyes wide with pride. It’s exactly something she’d wear on a night out—not so much me. It’s black, short, strapless, and covered in sequins.

“So, whatcha think?” She starts toward me, pressing it in front of my body. “I think it’ll fit you like a glove. You’ll have every dude in that club staring at you.”

I look down, my mouth hanging open. “I think we might have to cut it off of me at the end of the night. Seriously, Sails, this looks like it could fit a toddler.”

“You’re a lot skinnier than me, and I wore it a few weeks ago,” she deadpans. “And let me tell you, I got some looks. And some numbers too.”

I roll my eyes at my friend, who is as extroverted as she is introverted. I’ve never seen a person who can blend into both worlds as effortlessly as she does.

I take the dress from her and sigh dramatically. “Fine, I’ll try it on.”

Shimmying out of my leggings, I pull Smith’s jersey off my head and toss it onto the bed. I felt kind of special, wearing it, until I saw about ten other people wearing one just like it.

Most of whom were beautiful women.

Tugging it on, I walk over to her and turn around. “Zip me, please.”

Dragging the zipper upward, she spins me around. “See, I told you it would fit. I just did that in, like, three seconds. It took me, like, ten minutes and a bunch of tears later to get it zipped on myself.”

Our whole lives, I’ve been a little taller than her, but we’ve always had a similar body build, but she’s got more junk in the trunk—seriously, she has the perfect butt. Now, I know I’m too thin. My weight began to drop about a month or two after Richie hurt me that first time, and then it went downhill from there.

When you’re living with a person you can’t stand deep down inside, it makes it hard to have an appetite. And now, my nerves get the best of me most days, and I’m never that hungry. But it’ll all get better, I’m sure.

“I’m parched. I need to go chug a water. BRB!” she chimes, walking out of our room, leaving the door cracked.

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