Page 78 of In My Hockey Era
She’s seen how I operate with guys—casual flings are my norm.Nothing too heavy.Nothing too serious.Most times, it’s over before it really starts.She knows this is different.
“Luce.”She gives me a stern look.“You’re normally emotionallyveryguarded—and I get it.Because of your job, you’ve seen how fragile life is, and you’re afraid of getting attached only to lose someone.”
Wait, what?
Isthatthe reason I’m like this?
Holy epiphany.
I figured I’m just more of a casual fling kind of girl.Never getting emotionally invested means never getting hurt.
“Go on,” I say, carefully.
“And then when your mom died two years ago, you also hated what it did to your dad.He’s like a shell of a person.”
I can’t argue with that.I hate how my dad never seemed to really bounce back.Mom wouldwanthim to keep living life.He sorta…hasn’t.
“Why not let yourself enjoy whatever this is?”Mia adds.
“I am,” I protest.
“Then stop downplaying it.Be open to falling in love.”
I open my mouth to dispute every nonsensical thing she just said, but I don’t.Can’t.Because the words won’t come.Dear God, is that what’s happening here?
Am I falling in love with Ben Wilder?
It’s like a slap to my face.How did I not see this?I thought I was just in my hockey era—having fun and being young and carefree with a certain annoying star center.
The truth is, it’s gotten so much deeper than that.
Game Misconduct: Falling for number 88.
He’s not just ridiculously good-looking, he’s actually fun, smart, and sweet.
I’m so screwed.
“Luce?”she says carefully.“Don’t freak out, okay?”
I nod, suddenly weary.
“I think I’m going to go ahead and pee,” I announce, rising from the bed.
She holds my glass of champagne, and watches me with a look of worry.
I close the bathroom door and sink down on the toilet, unsure of what to feel.
Falling for Bennett is probably a really bad idea.
But I don’t have time to really process things, because the stylist is soon knocking on the door, telling me it’s time.
I do my best to compartmentalize, and finish getting ready.The stylist helps me step into the gown.The second the gold sequined fabric slides up my body and is zipped into place, ithugsme in all the right places.
It’s long, elegant, and clings like it was made just for me.
I slip on the heels, stand carefully, and the stylist hands me two final accessories—giant earrings that just work, and a delicate tennis bracelet that sparkles like actual stardust.
I fasten the bracelet around my wrist, my heart skipping.“It’s so pretty… I never want to take it off.”
