Page 100 of In My Hockey Era
I freeze.“I’m not—”
“Oh, please.I saw your account.Radio silence all week?You never do that.”She plants a hand on her hip.“And I get it, Luce.I do.But at some point, you have to decide whether you’re going to let this wreck you, or if you’re going to get off your rump and live your damn life.”
I look away, my jaw tight.
“Now,” she continues, unzipping the garment bag with a flourish, “this little number is going to do wonders for your confidence.”
The fabric inside shimmers under the light, a sleek black dress with a plunging neckline and a hemline that screamsbad decisions will be made tonight.
I groan.“Mia—”
“No arguments.”She tosses it at me.“Get dressed, do your makeup, and let me handle the Uber.You, my dear, are getting absolutelyobliteratedtonight.”
I chew my lip, hesitating.
Then I think about my phone, about the empty screen, about the ache in my chest I haven’t been able to shake for days.
And finally, I nod.
Maybe alcohol is the solution.
“Fine,” I mutter, grabbing the dress.“But if I wake up with regrets—”
Mia grins, already shoving me toward my bedroom.“Honey, regrets are tomorrow’s problem.”
The bass thrums through my body as we step into the club, the pulse of flashing neon lights cutting through the dim, hazy air.The place is packed, bodies moving in sync with the heavy beat of whatever EDM song is vibrating through the speakers.The air smells like liquor and sweat and expensive perfume, and honestly?It’sexactlythe kind of distraction I need.
Mia leads the way, weaving through the crowd toward the bar with the confidence of someone who has zero doubt she’s the hottest woman in the room.I follow, slightly less assured but determined to at leasttryto have fun tonight.
“Two tequila shots and a round of whatever’s good,” Mia tells the bartender, flashing him a flirty grin.
I sigh.“Mia—”
“Nope,” she cuts in, handing me a shot glass the second they hit the counter.“No thinking.No hesitating.Just drink.”
Tequila, really?
I eye the amber liquid with a fair amount of skepticism, but then I think about my week, about the way I’ve been spiraling, about the wayBennetthas been living rent-free in my damn head.
Screw it.
I toss it back in one go, the burn scorching down my throat, sending a shiver through my body.
Mia cheers like I just scored the game-winning goal.
The drinks keep coming, and before long, the stress I walked in with starts to melt away.The edges of my brain feel a little softer, the ache in my chest a little duller.I let Mia drag me toward the dance floor, the tequila warming my veins, the bass sinking into my bones.
It’s beenforeversince I’ve been out like this—since I let myself have fun without overthinking, without worrying about my job or my podcast or… well,him.
I close my eyes and justmove, arms up, hips swaying, and let the music take over.
And then, suddenly, there’s a presence behind me.
Not Mia.
I blink, looking over my shoulder.A guy—tall, good-looking in that effortless, I-know-I’m-hot way, his eyes dark and full of heat.
He smiles and shouts over the music, “You good?”
