Page 18 of Second-Rate Superstar

Bracing myself for her to invite me to another hockey event, I sighed. “What’s up?”

A grin split her face. “You have a visitor.”

I sat up on my bed. “What? Who would visit me?” Bristol was my only friend. Growing up, I’d preferred fictional characters to living people.

There was a mischievous twinkle in her blue eyes, and I knew I wouldn’t like the answer.

“Braxton.”

“Braxton?” My brows drew down. “I don’t know a Braxton.”

Leaning against my desk, she smirked. “Oh yes, you do. Tall, dark, handsome. You two were quite cozy over at Nix’s place. Or rather,theirplace.”

My jaw dropped. The man whose words echoed in my brain, whose voice now narrated every male character I read, was here? In our house?

Realization hit, and I narrowed my eyes at my best friend. “And exactlyhowdid he find out where I lived?”

Batting her eyes at me innocently, she replied, “Beats me. Nix said he wanted to send me flowers, so I left my address on the fridge.”

I wasn’t buying that story for a minute. Nix wasn’t a romantic. He was down to fuck, nothing more.

“That’s funny,” I remarked. “I don’t recall a flower delivery.”

Bristol’s gaze dropped to the floor, and I felt bad for pointing out that Nix wasn’t the doting boyfriend she hoped he would one day become.

Snapping out of it quickly, her head snapped up as she clapped her hands in excitement. “Well, either way, Braxton must have seen it. Maybe Nix mentioned we were roommates.” She shrugged.

I waved my hand in the direction of the door. “Send him away. I said all I had to say to him at the party.”

Arching an eyebrow, Bristol challenged, “You mean when you ran away?”

Glaring at her, I shot back, “Well, if he had been upfront about who he was, then I would have never given him the time of day.”

She scoffed. “Girl, you might be the only person in this city who doesn’t know who he is. He won a championship at Hartford State, and his brother just so happens to be the biggest hockey legend we’ve seen in a generation. The Slates are quickly becoming American hockey royalty.”

“Royalty or not, I’m not interested in whatever he came here to say.” I crossed my arms so she’d know I meant business.

Undeterred, she countered, “I know you have hangups because of your dad, but I think you’re missing out on an opportunity here.”

I snorted. “And what opportunity is that? Am I supposed to get down on my knees and thank him for the pleasure of his attention?”

Bristol giggled. “I mean . . . If the mood strikes. You could do worse.”

“Not funny.”

“I’m just saying . . . If you’re in desperate need of research to get the book off and running, he might be the key.”

Placing a pillow over my face, I let out a frustrated scream. Taking a few calming breaths, I set it down before saying to my best friend, “Anyone but him.”

She gazed at me with a confused expression on her face. “Why? He’s nice.”

I bit my lip, unsure whether to share with Bristol what had happened in that basement.

Rolling her eyes, she huffed. “Oh, come on. Just spill.”

“He . . .” I paused. “He said something to me that night.”

Pushing off the desk, she sat on my bed, her face transforming from playful annoyance to concern. “What did he say?”

---