Icebreaker (Maple Hills #1)

by Hannah Grace

“I love hockey!” She looks the part in her Mitchell jersey and Titans beanie, and I’m a little jealous I didn’t get to go. “Not as much as I love figure skating, obviously. But hockey has more drama; it was like an opera, but with sticks. I’m obsessed.”

lol i literaly love lola

Every single inch of my body feels blistering; it’s suffocating, maddening. I’m not even drunk, but I feel intoxicated by him, his touch, his smell. It’s unbelievable; the man is dressed as Gru, for fuck’s sake, but I swear one touch, and I’m going to combust.

HAHA

“Her aesthetic is Cruella de Vil. You’ll get used to it.”

“Come on, drunk boy.” It’s like trying to control a very rowdy toddler as I navigate him up the stairs. Crashing into his room, Nathan instantly strips, throwing his clothes around haphazardly. While I’m picking up his clothes, I hear the shower start, and moments later, a very loud, off-key rendition of “Last Christmas” echoes over the sound of running water.

“I don’t mind if you’re ignoring me, Anastasia,” I tell her, watching her cute butt swish about. “Because I’m ignoring you.” I hear a scoff, but she doesn’t bite. “And I know where your hairbrush is, but I can’t tell you because I’m ignoring you.”

Fuck you, calorie app.

Stanley Cup

Utah mom

Hockey aside, my mom might be in love with my boyfriend, which makes me happy but also a little scared for my dad.

“I love you, Nathan.” She coughs a few times, trying to clear the raw, gravelly sound. “And this isn’t some, I don’t know, trauma response. I’m in love with you, and that’s what I thought when I fell through that ice. How I’ve known for so long and I hadn’t even told you. How I was going to die and you weren’t going to know, and I was so mad at myself. I love you and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you when I realized.”

“I love you, too,” I finally manage to stammer out. “I’m so fucking in love with you, Anastasia.”

“Coming inside of me is not a freaking Christmas present, Nathan.” “It makes me feel jolly when I do it.”

“I forgot about this, so I haven’t had time to wrap it, so close your eyes and hold out both hands.” “If it’s your dick, Na—”

WHAT’S MY NAME? Why can’t I remember what my fucking name is? Ian Hawkins is standing beside me looking like Darth freaking Vader, with his hand outstretched ready to meet me for the first time, and I cannot remember what my goddamn name is.

Lola is playing Angelica Schuyler in the spring production of Hamilton

“Have you three got nothing better to do than fucking Oprah me?”

while being fully judged by Lola, who’s on the couch watching Hamilton for the tenth time this week.

when she calls her screeching phone a fucknugget I can’t help but laugh.

Feel nauseous. Take deep breaths. If you’re going to be sick, make sure you direct it toward Aaron.