Page 378 of Breaking the Pucking Rules
“I didn’t have you down as a fairytale fan.”
I sneer at him.
“You’re even hotter when you’re drunk.”
“I’m done here,” I say, lifting my glass from the bar and walking away.
I make it four steps before everyone around me begins counting down.
Ten.
Nine.
Eight.
I look around the room, finding couples and groups of friends excited to welcome in a new year.
I understand why the Vipers are happy. They’re having their best season in years. There is a very good chance that the year we’re about to go into is going to be the first in almost a decade that they make it to the playoffs.
Seven.
Six.
Five.
Fletcher has his arms around Reese’s waist. Kodie is gazing into Casey’s eyes.
The other couples on the team are ready.
Four.
Three.
Two.
And I’m standing here with only my drink to celebrate with.
Fuck. I hope Casey is right. I hope next year is my year.
One.
Cheers erupt as kids pull party poppers shooting confetti everywhere. I’m about to lift my drink to my lips in a private celebration with myself when a hand wraps around the back of my neck.
Before I know what’s happening, a warm pair of lips press against mine.
It takes me a second for my brain to catch up, and the second it does, I raise my glass higher and dump the contents all over Lincoln Storm’s head.
“The fuck, Donnelly?” he barks as my Jack and Coke soaks his hair and runs down the sides of his face.
“Happy New Year, Storm. Let’s start as we mean to go on, yeah?”
