Page 39 of Broken As Puck

Back home, I let him out and then lay on the floor, scratching behind his ear when he climbed onto my chest and started purring. My phone buzzed where it sat on the carpet near my head, and I grabbed it and opened the message.

Cory: Hey, man. I’m in town for the night. Want to gather some of the old crew and some of your teammates and hit the clubs together?

I pulled a face. No, I didn’t want that. I couldn’t think of much worse. I hadn’t spoken to Cory in person since college, and I was more than happy to keep it that way. He’d insulted Chelsey, which meant he was no friend of mine.

Not anymore, at least.

Too bad he still liked to hit me up whenever he came to town, in an attempt to use our old friendship to get a taste of fame—even if it was from a distance.

Matt: No.

Cory: Come on, it’ll be fun.

Matt: Not interested.

Cory: Are you seriously still mad at me about that fat girl who used to follow you around in college?

My body tensed, and I pounded my fist against the floor. Wasabi bolted upright, his fur standing on end.

“Sorry, buddy,” I ground out between clenched teeth.

Seriously, how had I ever been friends with this tool? Had I been so starved for friendship after being lonely in high school that I’d reveled in whatever companions I could find?

It was pathetic.

My gut simmered, shame and embarrassment tangling within as I typed my reply.

Matt: She was my girlfriend, she was beautiful, and I loved her. Don’t message me again.

I clicked the three dots beside his contact name and did something I should have done a long time ago: I blocked him.

Then I pushed my phone away and closed my eyes. I jolted, startled, when a pair of paws landed on my stomach. Wasabi climbed onto my chest and settled there, tucking his paws beneath himself and purring like an engine in need of a visit to the mechanic.

“Why the hell did I ever care what assholes like him thought?” I asked the cat. “And how am I supposed to win Chelsey back after she’s had so long to learn to hate me?”

Chapter Thirteen

CHELSEY

“Remind me what your mantra is,” Layla said as we left the apartment building on Monday morning.

“I’m not interested in heartbreaking hockey players, no matter how cute they are with their ugly cat.”

Layla cheered. “You’ve got this. Be strong.”

“I will not waver,” I said with more confidence than I felt.

The truth was, I’d already spent far too much time poring over photographs of Matt with that damn cat. They were just so adorable together. It was ridiculous. Like, how was it fair that he looked even sweeter cuddling the scruffiest cat at the shelter than he had been with the cutest? It was as if the cat’s resting bitch face made his obvious adoration even more charming.

I groaned, horrified by my thought process, but kept my lips pressed firmly together so I wouldn’t give away any of it to Layla. We stepped out the back door and I opened my umbrella, ready for our short walk to the car.

“I have faith in you.” Layla waved and disappeared around the corner of the building, starting her own commute to work.

“Well, that makes one of us,” I mumbled.

I hurried to my old SUV, stuck the key in the lock, and turned it, grimacing at the rough scrape of metal. It wouldn’t surprise me if something in the lock mechanism was rusting. I yanked the door open, ducked inside, and closed the umbrella before shaking it off and dropping it on the passenger side floor.

As I drove to the stadium, the window wipers could hardly keep up with the water streaming down the windshield.