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Freckles that stand out even more when she blushes when I pay her a compliment, even though she tries not to? If not, then she’s not my type.”
“Don’t get me wrong. You’re still sexy as hell. I mean, that bad boy aura you’ve got with the tattoos and the messy dark hair that falls over your eyes? If I were into guys, I’d be ripping that towel off your waist right now.”
“You got the blue kind,” she whispers thinly. “My favorite.” I chuckle. “Your favorite Gatorade is the same colors as my eyes? Can’t be a coincidence.”
She’s wearing my jersey. When I skate onto the ice for our home game against Cornell and see Olivia in the crowd with my number on her chest, everything else tumbles out of my head.
