Page 71 of Forbidden Puck
Slowly, I staggered to my feet, and started walking for the water taxi. I knew there was no point in calling a cab—they'd kick me out as soon as they smelled my fry oil stinkin' ass.
I felt disgusting, covered in that slimy grease. My jaw hurt like a bitch, and my eye was swelling shut. Without my suit jacket, I was cold as hell—especially once I got on the water taxi and had the harbor breeze blowing over me.
But as cold and dirty and miserable as I was? I actually felt better than I had before, now that I'd come come clean. Ella might hate me evenmorefor telling Lance the truth, but …
At least she wouldn't have to lie about it anymore.
Chapter 25
Nauseating
Ella
The rowdy athletes never stopped talking, sharing dirty jokes, or making fun of each other in that non-stop, rapid-fire way that hockey players do. Eventually, their raucous banter faded into a distant background noise that I was able to tune out. My mind was elsewhere, and I nervously fidgeted with my hands while Lance and Radar were having a chat outside.
Radar wouldn'treallytell Lance, would he? But what if he did? How would I feel? Would it change things?
I didn't know.
All I knew was that, when Lance returned ten minutes later, Radar wasn't with him. Lance was smiling, but I could tell he was straining to put that smile on for all of us.
“Hey, where'd Radar go?” one of his teammates shouted.
“Turns out, Radar really wasn't feeling well, guys. He went home.”
The room groaned.
Maybe Lance was telling the truth? I didn't know. But then I spotted Radar's jacket.
He would've taken it with him if he was planning on leaving, wouldn't he?
“I bet we got too close to the truth,” Ilya joked. “Heislove-struck, isn't he?”
“Who the hell knows with that guy?” Lance shrugged.
He grabbed his glass of ice water, took a sip, and then did something strange: he lowered the glass to his lap, out of sight, where he held the cold glass against his knuckles.
Oh my God, did they have a fight?
I slunk in my seat.
Now what?
The servers entered with our food. While all the starving athletes around me inhaled their meals, I stared at mine. I felt sick.
“What's wrong, Ella? Lose your appetite?” Lance asked.
***
After suffering through dinner, Lance suggested that the team go to Club Regret—then caught my eye to see my reaction.
Okay. He definitely knows. I'm screwed.
Outside, an armada of cabs was once again waiting for us. Lance and I grabbed a cab, but this time, he told Ilya to ride with someone else.
We climbed in.
“I think you'll like this Regret place,” Lance said. “Unless, of course, you're going to inform me that Regret isalsoa chain, and you conveniently have one of those in New York, too.”
