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My teammates were pounding me on the back, the crowd's applause continuing to echo around us.
And I thought to myself…maybe the season wouldn’t be so bad after all.
* * *
Blake
Charlotte's voice was a constant stream of excitement, echoing off the dimly lit corridor that led to the locker rooms. Her fiery auburn hair bounced with each step, her hazel eyes glittering with glee. She couldn't stop talking about the game, about the celebs we’d seen…about what Ari Lancaster had done.
"I still can’t believe you’re trying to claim you don’t know him," she hissed, sounding a bit surly.
I shifted uncomfortably, attempting to downplay the situation. "Charlotte, you're making a big deal out of nothing. I served his table at Franco’s. That’s it. We barely talked."
I sounded nonchalant, but inside, I was a different story. I was replaying the moment when his eyes locked onto mine, the wink he'd given…the blown kiss.
And obsessing/freaking out over the fact that his name was Ari.
My first crush was a boy named Ari.
But there was no way this was the same guy.
Kids from a group home didn’t end up becoming star hockey players.
He’d been twelve when we’d met, and that Ari didn’t play hockey. It was a miracle that I’d been adopted at ten. Ari being adopted after I’d left would have even been rarer, not because he wasn’t incredible…but because people didn’t usually want older kids. Not unless they had a motive.
And there weren’t any kids at that place playing sports.
It was just a weird coincidence.
I’m sure there were a million Blakes out there with similar features.
An arena employee, clad in a sharp suit, met us at the end of the hallway and interrupted my inner freak out. His smile was almost as blinding as the arena lights had been as he guided us toward the locker room.
"You’re two lucky ladies, being invited into the locker room on opening night,” he smirked.
The way he said it made me feel dirty, like we were groupies expected to service the athletes once we got in there.
“Where did you say you got these tickets?” I murmured to Charlotte, realizing I’d never asked. For all I knew, itwasa player who had those kinds of expectations that had given her them in the first place.
Charlotte either didn’t hear me, or didn’t want to answer, because she didn’t acknowledge my question as the door leading to the locker room was opened.
I should just leave. Yep, that’s what I needed to do. What was I thinking? I should go home, cuddle with Waldo, and call Clark, figure out why he’d gone quiet.
That’s what a good girlfriend would do. Someone who owed Clark as much as I did…
But my feet didn’t seem to be in agreement with my head because I followed Charlotte through the door, my heart threatening to burst out of my chest.
The sound of laughter spilled from behind a door at the end of the hallway in front of us. We started forward, but Charlotte stopped halfway down and turned toward me. "Blake, don’t fuck this up for me,” she said seriously.
My eyes widened, hurt flooding through me at the unfriendly tone of her words.
“Of course,” I finally monotoned back after I got over the sudden switch in my roommate’s personality.
The door at the end of the hallway swung open before she could say anything else, and we were instantly enveloped in a whirlwind of sensations. The air was thick with the potent blend of cologne, sweat, and adrenaline—a heady cocktail that made my head swim and my nerves ramp up even more. I’d grown up around rich people, world leaders, socialites…but hot as fuck professional athletes had not been in the Shepfields’ crowd.
This was a first for me.
As I ventured deeper into the locker room, a warm blush hit my cheeks. The players weren’t covering up on our behalf.
