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“Congrats on the win, Hart. If you’d passed to Powers at the start of the third, it would have been 5-2.”
I’m acting like a boyfriend, and she’s not my girlfriend. I just…wanted to see her. And it’s been less than two days. Fuck.
like she’s contemplating taking on Northampton’s defenders herself. A month ago, I wouldn’t have been shocked if she’d tried to shove me in front of a bus.
“Why? I thought you were friends with him.” Conor mutters something that sounds like Not anymore.
“Because we’re on a fake date, Hayes. And if I play with Thomas, I can’t beat him.”
“What are you looking at?” She follows my gaze, then smirks. “Oh, look, it’s our third roommate. Let’s go say hi!” “Eve, no—” It’s too late. I’m already being tugged in Conor’s direction. He’s standing with a woman I’m certain must be his mom, pointing at the main humanities building.
Conor smirks, then stands and follows his coach. “Hard launch,” Aidan coughs.
“I thought, I have absolutely no game when this girl is involved. Because you were standing there, just looking at me, and I
couldn’t think of a single fucking thing to say. And it had nothing to do with anything except you, Harlow.”
I told myself I’d never, ever fall in love with Conor Hart. Famous last words.
Seeing her talk to another guy? Laugh with another guy? Touch another guy? I might commit murder, trapped in a hell of my own making. Aidan sighs, long and exasperated. And then we continue sitting in silence, drinking our beers.
“Mess up all my plans, Harlow. Because I don’t want to be part of any plans unless they include you. I need you in my life, for anything to mean something. When I play in my first pro game, I want you to be behind the bench wearing my jersey. If you’re not, it’ll just be another hockey game.”
