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He moved to come after me again when Walker skated by, all diplomacy and dimples. "Soto, wish you tried that hard to hit people in games.”
Alright, this Walker guy wasn’t too bad.
Soto grimaced at Walker’s comment, but surprisingly, he didn’t say anything else. He just skated off in a huff.
I winked at Walker, and he rolled his eyes. We got back to practice, the drills blending into each other like a workout montage. The ice echoed with the slap of pucks and the scrape of skates, a soundtrack of effort and anticipation.
It felt all wrong.
After all these years, I could read Lincoln and my other Dallas teammates easily, predict what they were going to do before they did it.
The only thing I could predict with this team was that Soto would suck.
At least I could take solace in why I was doing all of this. What the end game would be.
When Walker asked if I wanted to hit happy hour afterwards, it was easy to say no. Because today…my plan for that endgame began.
CHAPTER3
BLAKE
I’d found myself in the whirlwind of Los Angeles, a city where the glitzy guise of stardom hid the darker stories of shattered dreams.
And I was on the verge of becoming one of those darker stories.
That job that was supposed to be the game changer? The one that promised to kickstart my career…it had crumbled like a sandcastle before the waves.
The magazine editor in charge of the huge photoshoot I was supposed to star in with Voyage magazine had gotten embroiled in a sexual harassment scandal that had canceled the whole project. There was now an investigation going on that was in the headlines of every news outlet as more and more Voyage staffers and models came forward with horror stories.
Maybe I’d dodged a bullet.
But I felt more like I’d become the epitome of a cautionary tale. Yet another girl relegated to waiting tables as I tried to make it big.
But at least…I could finally breathe.
The restaurant I now worked at had a reputation—it was the kind of place where celebrities went, where you could see the A-listers sipping their fancy cocktails at one table while aspiring actors and models balanced trays at another.
My agent had gotten me the job. Said it would be good for me to be hobnobbing with the stars.
Maybe it was.
But mostly it felt like I’d volunteered for sexual harassment instead of being paid for it.
There was a buzz against my thigh as a text came in, and I sighed, knowing exactly who it was.
Clark.
We were still together. Or at least I guess we were.
He’d been devastated about my rejection of his marriage proposal. And even more devastated when I told him I was moving.
But he’d told me he’d do anything to make it work.
That he loved me.
That I was it for him.
Much nicer things than the Shepfields had to say about me blowing up their carefully laid plans for me.
