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“Are you fucking kidding me?” Patrick Armstrong blurts out. Coach glares at him. “Oh, sorry,” Patrick says hastily. “I mean, are you kidding me? No f-bomb.”
“Is that what you need from people? To be told what a good girl you are?”
I don’t know what it is about hockey players, but I find that all of them are insane. Sexy but insane.
Would it kill you to smile?” I peer at him over the rim of my glass. “I’ve seen you do it, so I know your face is capable of arranging the muscles in that way.”