Harrison hadn’t realized he had taken hold of Arlo’s wrist until he felt muscles and tendons tense in his grip.
“You can’t drive.”
Arlo placed his free hand on Harrison’s, his eyes darting to the beer bottles on the floor between them before landing on him.
“I won’t go,” said Arlo, gently freeing himself from Harrison’s hand. “Why the hell would I want to drive back to my shitty apartment when I’m full of burgers, and there’s a king-sized bed in the guest room?”
Harrison let out a shuddering breath. He felt dizzy and drained, and in desperate need of sleep. “Give me your keys.”
Arlo said nothing as he walked over to the kitchen island and picked up his keys, which were attached to what had to be ten anime keychains, and brought them over. He placed them in Harrison’s open palm with a frown, but he was quiet.
“I’m going to bed,” said Harrison. “Clean up this mess and go the fuck to sleep. You have a game to win tomorrow.”
Arlo grinned. “A game againstJett Fraser. And I’m going to kick his ass.”
Harrison paused, waiting for Arlo’s next question he knew was coming.
“If you wanna come watch, it would mean a lot to me. It’s not every day a nobody gets a chance to go up against an NHL star.”
Harrison smirked. “Go up against an NHL star andwin,remember?”
But Arlo knew his answer, even without him having to say it.
Harrison gave him a playful smack on the cheek and stepped carefully around the broken glass. He couldn’t stop himself from saying, “And you’ve never been a nobody, Arlo.”
He retreated to his room before Arlo embarrassed them both and started crying.
Jett
When Mike mentioned playing a game or two with him and his teammates, he had expected it to be low-key and easy for the most part. Mike wasn’t the most talented hockey player, not that Jett would ever say that to his face because he wasn’t anasshole, but he was a bit shocked to find a challenge waiting for him at the Windsor rink.
And it wasn’t because of Mike.
Sorry, Mike.
Jett felt chills radiate through him as he faced off against the guy who was hanging out with Killinger the day before. There was a strong resemblance between them, and even though Jett felt like he knew everything about Killinger and could say for certain that he didn’t have another brother, there was no mistaking those pale blue eyes or that angry scowl.
“Don’t take this so seriously,” Jett told him, trying to calm the guy down before he blew a blood vessel. “This is just for fun.”
Mini Killinger didn’t miss a beat.
“Get fucked, buddy.”
The puck hit the ice, and Jett cursed when he hesitated for a split second, losing the face-off to the asshole who was already skating away from him with impressive speed, leaving him scrambling to keep up.
One of Jett’s defencemen tried to block him and knock the puck off his stick, but it was obvious who was the better player. Mini Killinger did some flashy puck handling before faking to the left and breaking away from the other players, shooting the puck into the net over the goalie’s left shoulder.
Damn.
“You’re a fucking monster as usual, Townsend,” said the guy on defence who just got his ass kicked. “Not giving your hockey hero a break, huh?”
Townsend? Not Killinger?
“Fuck off,” said Townsend, shoving the guy away from him before he could get pulled into a friendly hug. They swung around the net and skated toward Jett for the next play, but when blue eyes landed on him, Townsend turned red from his cheeks to the tips of his ears.
“Shit, sorry,” said Townsend. “I didn’t mean to tell you to get fucked.”
Jett smiled and shrugged. “I’ve told myself worse in the mirror.”
