Page 43 of Slap Shot Scandal
“Right. Har-bor.” He draws her name out, two long syllables. “You two looked pretty cozy in the elevator yesterday. Sorry I interrupted.”
Redemption time.
Eyes pinned on the goal, I fire off my shot. The water bottle flies up into the air as the puck slices into the corner of the net.
“There. Happy now?” I come to a hard stop, ice flying. “Goal. And we weren’t anything. Aren’t anything,” I correct myself, driving the point home.
“So you’d be cool with me making a move then?”
I grit my teeth, trying hard to tamp down the emotions flooding through me. Irritation, anger, jealousy, all swirling together.
Jealousy. What the fuck?
I have no right to be jealous of anything when it comes to Harbor. Yet the thought—the very idea—of my brother flirting with her, asking her out—grinds my gears.
Hard.
“No, I would not.” I spit out the words, knuckles flexing in my gloves.
“Because there’s nothing going on between you two, right?” Bennett tips his head, his blue eyes narrow as he goads me.
“For fuck’s sake, Bennett. Do you have to try to get with every female you come into contact with?”
Bennett shrugs. “I mean, I don’thaveto. But I do love a good challenge. And PR Barbie—sorry, Harbor—is pretty hot, in that uptight, corporate kinda way.”
Anger simmers low in my gut. “She’s not all that uptight.”
“Whoa—” Bennett holds his hands up. “Heard, loud and clear. You’re into her. I’ll consider her off-limits.”
He skates around me in a tight circle, stopping at my elbow. “I haven’t seen you this worked up over someone since Bee.”
I flinch at her name.
It’s been a long time since anyone’s brought Bee up around me. My one and only long-term girlfriend, the girl I cut loose after I got drafted. Instinctively, I knew I needed to focus on my hockey career.
So I unceremoniously broke up with her after three years of dating. Not because I didn’t care about her or love her. I did.
But not more than hockey.
I haven’t spoken to her since, and guilt still gnaws at me about that. I should have handled the entire situation better, more gracefully.
But I figure she’s better off without me. It’s not like she tried to connect. I haven’t either.
Best to leave the past in the past.
I’ve been single ever since, never wanting to choose between love or hockey again. Instinctively knowing there’s only room in my life for one of them.
Glancing over my shoulder at my brother, I lock a steely gaze with him. “I’m not worked up over Harbor. I just don’t think you—or anyone else—should be flirting with, dating, or otherwise engaging—with the PR consultant hired to rescue the team. It’s not a good look.”
Bennett snickers, and now I’m even more pissed off.
“What?”
“I’m gonna remind you of this conversation in a few weeks, Saint Weston.”
“Fuck off, Bennett.”
He lifts his helmet, shaking his shaggy hair loose. “Gladly. Thanks for the practice.”
