Page 47 of Second-Rate Superstar

Chuckling, I mused, “How did I go from dipping my toes into the hockey pool to being thrown in head first by the coach’s daughter?”

Bristol’s blue eyes sparkled. “Whatever you’re doing, keep it up. An all-expenses paid spa day? Lucky bitch. Then throw in the messenger with a note saying she’s pre-booked and pre-paid your next six months of waxingmaintenance and a bag full of Arabella Reign lingerie? The panties alone are fifty bucks a pair!”

My cheeks heated. I was reminded with every step I took of what Hannah said about silk panties caressing between my thighs now that I was bare down there.

My best friend wasn’t done with her grumbling over my perceived good fortune. “You know I love you, Dakota, but what do I have to do to get the “it girl” in hockey to choose to be my fairy godmother?” She flopped backward onto the bed, letting out a whine.

The doorbell rang, indicating Braxton’s arrival.

Arm slung over her face, Bristol huffed. “Go. Live your best life. I’ll be here, lamenting that you hate the sport and have somehow found yourself fully entrenched with Comets royalty.”

I frowned. Bristol wasn’t usually so down on herself. I wondered if perhaps Nix had said or done something that upset her. Usually, when the team was home, she’d be over at his place, but it seemed like she would be staying in tonight.

Reminding myself that it never ended well when you stuck your nose in other people’s business, I squeezed her leg and told her I’d see her later. When she was ready to talk, I knew she’d spill whatever was bothering her.

Walking down the stairs, I opened the front door to reveal the charmingly boyish grin waiting on the other side. Today, Braxton was in dark gray joggers, a Comets hoodie similar to mine, and a backward-facing ballcap in the same navy color as his sweatshirt. I would lay bets that the Comets logo was on the other side.

We’d talked via text a few times while he was away, but seeing him in person for the first time in a couple of weeks, it hit me that I was happy that he was finally home. What did it say about me that I missed a guy I barely knew?

Alarm bells sounded in my head when he reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, but I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe.

Flashing me an endearingly crooked grin, he said, “Nice hoodie.”

A smile crept onto my own face, and I joked back with a shrug. “Some guy got it for me. Told me some story about being a hockey player? Not sure I believe it. He was probably exploiting my lack of knowledge about the sport.”

“Pretty girls get guys to do crazy things.” Braxton held up a finger and twirled it. “Turn around. Let me see who this hotshot thought he was.”

Spinning on my toes, I peeked over my shoulder as he read the name and number splayed across my back. I didn’t miss the way his eyes flared reading his own name.

“Slate, huh? Ballsy move. I’d have gone with someone less high-profile if it were me.”

Smirking, I turned to face him. “I think hereallywanted to impress me.”

“Can’t say I blame him. I’d do whatever it took to impress you, too.”

Leaning against the doorframe, a boldness I never knew I possessed took over, and I openly scanned Braxton from head to toe. “Is that so?” He nodded, a corner of his lips quirking up, his eyes never leaving mine. “Then, where do you plan on taking me this evening?”

Whiskey eyes sparkling, he replied, “The ice rink, where else? I’ve taken it as a personal mission to uncover the hockey fan I know is buried deep within that beautiful body.”

“Awfully confident, aren’t you?” I challenged.

“Occupational hazard, I’m afraid.” He held his hand out to me in invitation. “You ready?”

Nodding, I took his offered hand, the calloused pads of his fingertips rough against my softer skin. Closing the door behind me, I let Braxtonlead me to his car, and for the first time since I met him, I vowed to have an open mind.

Things went a lot smoother this time without me fighting Braxton every step of the way. This time, he’d brought a stick and puck onto the ice with us and made me wear a bulky helmet with a metal cage to protect my face. He explained that while players worked tirelessly to hone their precision, he wasn’t willing to risk an errant shot hitting one of the red posts of the net and careening back to hit me in the face. I was sure I looked ridiculous, but his care for my safety warmed me from the inside out.

Braxton took his time, showing me how to hold a stick and even letting me take a few pathetic shots at the net. Maybe if I hadn’t been using the stick as a crutch to remain upright, the puck would have skittered more than a few feet away upon my clumsy swipes.

Frustrated, I handed him back the stick. “I don’t know how you’re so good at this.”

He shrugged. “Lots and lots of practice. It feels like I’ve spent nearly every day of my life on the ice.”

Pieces of my earlier conversation with him and my one with Natalie came to mind. “But does it make you happy?”

Staring down at me, he sighed. “Some times more than others.”

“Like when?”

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