Page 80 of Beautiful Collide

I gripthe edge of my seat, feigning interest in the game. If anyone were looking, they’d probably ask what’s wrong since my knuckles are white from the pressure.

Luckily for me, Josie and Cassidy are way too interested in watching what their men are doing to have any idea I’m currently in the middle of having an existential crisis.

I can’t even blame the game for my stress because, let’s be real, it has nothing to do with it. My tension has nothing to do with the scoreboard or how the guys play. It doesn’t even have to do with the fact that Dane just finally got out of the penalty box. Nope. Not at all.

“You okay over there?” Cassidy’s voice cuts through my thoughts.Damn.Now, I have to play it cool because I don’t want the girls to know what my problem is.

My problem is Hudson.Obviously.Or better yet, the fact that I can’t stop watching him.

He really is the bane of my existence and the reason for this ridiculous bet I’ve trapped myself in.

I grit my teeth together as my eyes track him on the ice. I tell myself it’s not because I want to. It’s just because I’m hoping for him to mess up. Like trip over his skate or send the puck sailing into his own goal.

Something I can mentally frame as proof he isn’t perfect.

I would live for the moment when he does.

But I’m full of shit.

Absolutely pathetically full of shit.

Because deep down, I know that’s not why I’m watching.

I can’t tear my eyes away from him because he is perfect.

Obnoxiously so.

The way he moves with such stupid, effortless grace. It’s infuriating.

How he commands the ice—like he belongs there and owns it—is annoying as hell.

A ridiculous thought flies through my head.How many women here are undressing him?Not me, of course. Never me.

Someone needs to put me out of my misery because I really shouldn’t be watching him like a pathetic schoolgirl with a crush on her bully . . . except for some reason, I feel like maybe I’m the bully in this situation.

He’s the good-natured, hot jock. I’m pretty sure I’ve seen this movie before. He ends up with the quirky artist with a heart of gold, which is not me.

Also, why am I thinking about this?

Oh, yeah, I know, because Hudson is the kind of guy who makes it impossible not to notice him, even when you really, really want to ignore him. So, yeah, now I’m sitting daydreaming about him. Great. Just great.

What. The. Fuck.

No.

He’s none of these things.

I hate him.

What is wrong with me? A lot, that’s what. Because even in my own inner monologue, the person who should be the villain—is the good one.

No. I need to snap out of this. He’s insufferable. Obnoxious. Infuriating.

Then why are you still staring at him?

Nope. I’m not gawking. I’m taunting. Yeah, that’s it.

The damn stupid bet.

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