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Skating the Pucking Line

Page 20

by Tracy Lorraine

I think of the man I can’t get out of my head. He fits that description to a tee.

Maybe she’s right.

“I dunno,” I mutter, my eyes on his picture once again. It’s hot, there’s no denying that, but is it even real? I’ve met enough guys off this app to know just how many scam artists there are out there. Hell, I’m one of them, because even my profile isn’t exactly one hundred percent true.

“Just give it time. You moved states barely a week ago. There’s no rush.”

She’s right. Getting laid should be the last thing on my mind right now. I need a job, somewhere to live, and a car would also be nice, seeing as I sold mine before moving to New York. “But it’s Valentine’s Day soon,” I point out.

“And when exactly did you start caring about that?”

“I don’t. I just…It’s nice to have a hookup on the big day to remind myself why I don’t want a relationship.”

She sighs and shakes her head at me as the guys burst onto the ice for the second period.

I’m scrolling through the hook-up app again later that night as I lie in Sienna’s guest room under the sheets.

The game went into overtime, but thankfully, the Vipers managed to pull off the W, four to three. It was a good game, but I’d be lying if I said my attention strayed much from number forty-nine when he was on the ice.

The man is a fucking beast. But I already knew that. His stats speak for themselves.

He’s one of the best defensemen in the league, which is why it was such a shock when it was announced that Vancouver wanted to trade him.

He’s been a big part of their success in the last few years. If you had asked me a few months ago, I’d have said that he’d have been there for the entirety of his career. But it seems I would have been wrong.

I can’t help but wonder why, though. Sure, teams trade players all the time, but Nash…I dunno. Something just feels off about it.

I’m probably just reading too much into it because I’ve suddenly got a vested interest in our new enforcer.

Tonight was just another game for him. He threw a couple of punches, received a few of his own that had him spitting blood onto the ice, and spent more than a healthy amount of time in the penalty box because of it. While some people hate the violence that comes with hockey, I love it. I love the passion the guys show out there. The game is their life, and they leave everything they’ve got out on that ice. I’m here for every single bit of it. And I’d quite like a little bit more, if my reaction to getting up close and personal with Nash is anything to go by.

I’m absently swiping, rejecting guy after guy, waiting for one to talk to me—or should I say, waiting for a dick pic to interest me enough to keep them as a possibility—when a message pops up.

RoughingTheModel: Hey, sweet profile picture. You look like trouble

A smile twitches at my lips. I wasn’t expecting that. But I’ll take it.

Finishing my day off with a little flirting might be exactly what I need.

HotScore: How did you know trouble is my middle name

RoughingTheModel: Just what I like to hear. What are you up to tonight?

HotScore: In bed doom scrolling. You?

RoughingTheModel: Same, then I saw your profile pop up and I got a little distracted.

I bite down on my bottom lip as excitement flutters in my belly.

I might have a love–hate relationship with hooking up with the guys I find on this app, but I do get a kick out of the flirty banter of the messaging. Online, I can pretend they’re whoever I want them to be. It doesn’t matter if they’re lying or catfishing. For an hour or two, they’re just a bit of fun and, usually, a good ego boost.

HotScore: Like what you see, huh?

Just like a lot of other guys on this site, I don’t actually show my face—or at least, not enough of it to be recognized by anyone who doesn’t really know me. I’ve found it works better to keep a little mystery. And while I can admit that mine is one of my best features, the guys that are on this site often prefer evidence of other, more important things.

RoughingTheModel: You could say that.

I glance at the small thumbnail beside where I’m about to type and stare at my tiny profile picture that was taken at the gym about a year ago.