Page 7 of Second-Rate Superstar

“Oh, Lord,” I breathed out. “I’m almost afraid to ask.”

“So dramatic,” Bristol chided. “But I guess that comes with the territory when you have to plot ways to twist and turn relationships upside down before setting them to rights. I’m thankful every day that my writing comes from facts.”

Bristol and I had taken very different tracks regarding our writing careers. I veered away from college, throwing my focus into independently publishing romance novels while she was at the start of senior year, gaining a degree in journalism, hoping to someday report about the sport she loved so much.

We both had a long way to go before we became household names.

“And your idea . . .” I prompted.

Clapping her hands together, Bristol bounced on the balls of her feet. “Oh yes! Tonight, Nix is hosting a party at his house. It would be the perfect opportunity for you to research hockey players’ lives off the ice.”

Nix—known to most as Levi Nixon—was one of the star players of the Connecticut Comets.

It took every ounce of effort not to curl my lip at the mention of his name. I was not his biggest fan, and it had nothing to do with team loyalties.

Nix was a playboy, plain and simple. He lived up to the stereotype of professional athletes thinking they could have anyone they wanted and treating them poorly because they could. If a girl complained, they would simply threaten to move on to the next—if they hadn’t already.

Case in point: Bristol.

She was over the moon in love with the guy and knowingly put up with his bullshit. I hated it for her. But she was happy—or at least, she claimed tobe—and voicing my opinion would only drive a wedge between us. Bristol was all I had left in this world, without any remaining family, and I didn’t want to lose her from my life.

“House party full of hockey players? Sounds like my worst nightmare.”

“Oh, come on. We’re celebrating, and you can do some research while enjoying free drinks.” She brought her clasped hands to her chest in a pleading gesture.

Raising an eyebrow, I asked, “What are you celebrating?”

A smile lit up her face. “The championship, of course!”

I might not follow sports, but it was hard to ignore when one of the city’s teams won a league championship.

“That was in June. It’s September,” I pointed out the obvious.

Bristol rolled her eyes. “I know that. But they’re getting their rings tonight. Fancy ceremony downtown, then Nix is throwing an afterparty.”

Something wasn’t adding up. “Why can’t you two enjoy a nice night out? Sounds so grown up compared to a house party.”

Chewing her lower lip, she explained, “I’m not going to the ceremony.”

There it was.

“Bristol,” I sighed.

Bristol was pretty, intelligent, confident, and kind. I couldn’t understand why she was content to let Levi keep her hidden in the shadows. She deserved so much more than he had to offer.

“Dakota, don’t.” Her head dropped back so she was looking at the ceiling, knowing what I was about to say—or some version of it.

But I couldn’t help myself. I wanted better for her.

“Doesn’t it bother you that he isn’t taking you as his date to the ceremony?” I asked.

Blowing out a breath, she lowered her chin to meet my eye. “We have an . . . understanding. You know that.”

Oh, I knew aboutit, all right. Their arrangement was loosely termed an “open relationship,” but one in which Nix fucked around all he wanted while Bristol sat home by the phone, waiting for him to call. He was the only one benefiting by agreeing not to be exclusive.

When I looked at my best friend, I saw so much of my mom in her that it scared me—pining for a man who would never love her back, letting that love blind her to his faults.

Then, a thought struck me like lightning, piercing my heart with terror.

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