Page 69 of Faking It with the Forward

I’m on my way to meet Twyler when he stops me near the bar.

“Pete thinks that McDavid is going to pass Gretzky, but I think it’ll be Ovechkin. He already passed Gordie Howe—”

Peering over Axel’s shoulder, I see Twyler waiting for me. She’s not alone though. My eyes narrow to get a better look down the poorly lit hall. She’s talking to some guy.

“McDavid is the better skater,” Pete argues. “Everyone knows that.”

“Yeah, but without a solid line to back him up, he can’t fulfill his potential. Ovechkin on the other hand…”

Half listening, I try to get a better look down the hall. I’ve never seen this guy before. He’s not a regular at the bar—definitely not the athletic type. He has piercings on his eyebrow and lip, and dark, shaggy hair. It’s not that kid Logan that she’s become friendly with, but he’s got the same vibe.

I know one thing; I don’t like the way he’s smiling at her.

I start to move around Axel, but his hand clamps around my forearm, trying to get me to settle the bet. “Dude,” I tell them, “no one knows if it’ll be Ovechkin or McDavid, or some unknown that hasn’t made it up the ranks, but we’ll probably find out in the next two seasons if they pass Gretzky’s high score.”

Down the hall, this guy has moved closer to Twyler. His fingers graze her throat and I see the panic in her eyes.

I jerk my arm free. “Oh, hell no.”

Pushing past Axel, I charge down the hallway. Twyler is gone, but the guy that was talking to her isn’t.

“Where is she?” I ask, pushing open the bathroom door. It’s empty.

“Who?”

“Don’t fuck around, man.” I square up to him. “Where’s Twyler? I saw you talking to her just a second ago.”

“She left,” he jerks his thumb at the backdoor.

“She left,” I repeat, then tilt my head. “What did you say to her?”

He shrugs. Fuck he’s cocky for a skinny guy. “Nothing that wasn’t the truth, but typically, Twy can’t handle the facts.”

He starts to pass me as though the conversation is over, but I clamp a hand over his shoulder, dragging him to a stop.

“Hands off me, asshole.”

I drop my hand, but we’re not finished. “Why did she leave?” Because there’s no way she’d take off without telling me or Nadia. “Tell me what you said to her.”

“You know,” he says, raking his hand through his hair, “you should be thanking me.”

“For what?”

“For getting her ready for you. She’d never be able to handle a bunch of jocks if I hadn’t broken her in first.” He smirks. “You’re welcome.”

White hot rage licks at my spine, but it doesn’t cloud my mind enough to not spit out, “You must be Ethan.”

“She talks about me? Not a surprise really. Girls never forget their firsts, right?”

“You little fuck.” My arm snaps out, grabbing him by the shirt. He’s so skinny I could snap him in two without breaking a sweat. My elbow snaps back, swinging into a punch, and I’m glad when I see the panic fill his eyes. My swing misses–not because of my aim. No, someone’s got a grip on the crook of my elbow and drags me back.

“Hey! Cap! Cool it, shit.” Reid’s got a tight hold of my shoulders. I fight against him, but he’s strong.

Ethan puts some distance between us, brushing down his shirt. “I always knew you guys were just a bunch of psycho roid-ragers covering up your violent tendencies under the guise of athletics.” He eyes me with superiority. “Thanks for proving it, asshole.”

“Let me go,” I say to Reid. “I’m not finished.”

“Can’t do it,” Reid says, voice tight. “Even if he deserves it. Coach’ll flip if you go down for fighting.”

---