Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 95107 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95107 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
There’s two grainy shots of Logan and Garrett in an elevator, standing about three feet apart. And a few shots of them in a lobby bar—clinking beer bottles in a toast. Sipping their drinks. Brows furrowed as they discuss something. Garrett grinning at whatever Logan just said.
In other words, not at all scandalous.
Meanwhile, on the huge flat screen in our living room, the Boston-New York game is in progress. I glance up from my phone to see my boyfriend skate across the screen. As always, he looks sexy as hell in his uniform.
My phone beeps with another incoming message. Our girls’ group chat has been lighting up ever since Hannah texted me a link to that hilarious article.
ALLIE: Why does this writer use so many question and exclamation marks? It’s!! So!? Annoying!!!?? And this is coming from a girl who loves exclamation marks.
I laugh at that. Allie is dating Logan’s former teammate Dean, and as a tiny, blonde tornado of energy, she does tend to use a lot of exclamation marks in her texts.
SABRINA: I think the more important question is—what are Hannah and Grace gonna do now that we know their boyfriends are secretly banging in elevators?
HANNAH: I feel so betrayed.
ME: For real. They’ve been sleeping together this whole time and haven’t even let us watch??!?
HANNAH: !!!
SABRINA: !!?!!
ALLIE: !!!??
My gaze strays back to the TV. It’s still so surreal seeing Logan on television. Like, that’s the man I love, right there on the big screen for everyone to see. A few more games like tonight, and it’ll be Logan’s name on the signs all those women are holding up. GARRETT I’M YOURS! is the one currently being showcased by the crowd camera.
Logan scored his third goal of the season during the team’s last power play. Now he’s once again on the ice, charging the net. My heart jumps to my throat as I watch his stick slap the puck at the net. The goalie makes the save. Ugh. New York then secures the rebound and zips off with it.
HANNAH: All seriousness, G told me about the girl who snuck into Logan’s room. That shit is the worst. Last time it happened to us, I was actually IN THE ROOM when the hockey stalker snuck in. It was that weekend in NYC—remember, Allie? We went to that restaurant with your dad.
SABRINA: “Last time”? How many times have random crazies broken into Garrett’s hotel rooms?
HANNAH: We’re on #3. Which isn’t terrible. Shane Lukov’s wife said they’re almost at a baker’s dozen.
ALLIE: Holy shit. Bitches be cray.
I have to admit, when Logan called me the morning after the San Jose game to give me the heads-up about his intruder, I wasn’t thrilled to hear it. I’m not typically a jealous person, but the thought of some other woman naked in my boyfriend’s bed makes me a bit…homicidal. Hearing from Hannah that it’s not an uncommon occurrence does bring some comfort, I suppose.
ME: I don’t know… Can we even be sure there WAS a hotel stalker? I mean, according to HockeyHotties.com, it’s a cover for G&L’s sordid affair.
HANNAH: Good point.
ALLIE: !!?!!!!
I tap out a quick goodbye to the group chat before tucking my phone away and reaching for my laptop. My psych professor sent us a list of the readings for next semester, so I figured I’d get a head start over the holiday break. It’s been getting harder and harder to juggle my course load and work responsibilities this year. I can’t wait until graduation.
I glance at the TV to check the score, but the rest of the game isn’t very competitive. Boston is kicking ass. Logan takes a scary-looking hit in the third period, but he hops right back up and skates away, which tells me he’s all right.
As the post-game interviews waft out of the surround sound, I alternate between staring at my laptop and absently scrolling through my Insta feed to see what my mother is up to. Mom spends her days painting in her studio, traveling when she’s not feeling creative, and constantly posting photos of her adventures. I really hoped she’d be able to come home for Christmas, but she had a gallery opening scheduled that week. So now I won’t be seeing her until after graduation, when I visit her in Paris for a couple of months.
How sad is it that my life is so hectic I need to learn about my mother’s escapades via social media? I make a mental note to give her a call tomorrow. With the time difference, it’s too late to call now.
Just after midnight, Logan stumbles through the door. My favorite part about home games is seeing him return at a semi-normal hour.
“Hey, gorgeous,” he says when he spots me on the couch. He went out for drinks with some teammates after the game and his hazy expression tells me he’s buzzed.