Chapter One
Leila
I stare at my reflection in the mirror, adjusting the oversized hockey jersey that practically swallows my frame. The name KANE stretches across my shoulders like a neon warning sign that screams:Do Not Date This Girl.
“I wouldn’t say I’m a serial dater,” I mutter, pulling my hair through the collar.
Abigail snorts from where she sits on my bed, painting her nails a bright shade of red. “Leila, you went on three dates this week.”
“And?”
“With three different guys. And remind me what the last one did wrong?”
I grimace. “He sneezed.”
“Everyone sneezes.”
“It felt like a personal attack.” Turning to face her, I plant my hands on my hips as I add, “And I’m not opposed to three guys—that sounds like a good time if you ask me.”
“Leila Jane, you wash your mouth out!” Abigail gasps dramatically, her tone laced with sarcasm. “If your brothers heard you say that...”
I roll my eyes so hard I’m surprised they don’t fall out of my head. “The infamous Kane brothers. Yeah, I know all about the all-star hockey players destined for the NHL.” I flop down beside her on the bed with a groan. “They’ve cockblocked me, I know it.”
“You cock-block yourself.” She waves her nail brush at me accusingly. “And have I mentioned how fine your brothers are?”
“Ew, gross. You know Levi picked his nose until he was eleven? And Landon used to tell me wedgies felt good!”
“Maybe he has an ass fetish,” Abigail says with a perfectly straight face.
“Double ew, that’s my brother!” I toss a pillow at her. “Now, Bodhi Andrews, he’s fine as hell.” We both fall into a fit of manic laughter, the kind that makes your stomach hurt and tears stream down your face. “And Keiran, he could do warmup stretches over top of me any day.”
“Oh my god, your brothers would murder their own teammates,” Abigail manages to say between giggles.
She isn’t wrong. They are what you’d call protective. The kind that involves intimidating stare-downs, and not-so-subtle displays of their athleticism whenever a guy shows interest in me.
“Come on, we need to leave soon or we’ll miss the warmup.” I grab my keys from the dresser. “And trust me, you’ll want to watch it.”
Abigail caps her nail polish and blows on her fingers. “I still can’t believe you’re making me go to this. I don’t know anything about hockey.”
“But I’ve been giving you crash courses for weeks!” I protest, slipping on my sneakers. “Besides, it’s not that complicated. Bigguys on skates hit a rubber thing with their sticks until it goes in a net.”
“A very eloquent explanation there, future sports broadcaster,” she quips, and I flip her off as we head out of our dorm room.
The hallway buzzes with pre-game energy. Students wear the team colors, most sporting the black and silver of my college, Gravepoint, while I proudly display my brothers’ blue and white. The distant sound of blasting music echoes through the halls.
“I still can’t believe you went to your brothers’ rival school,” Abigail teases as we trek across campus to where I parked Levi’s truck. I refused to use what little money we have to buy a car when everything I need is close by. If I need to go anywhere, Levi lets me borrow his truck. Landon’s, on the other hand, I wouldn’t want to even sit in. If you were to run a blue light over his seats, you would probably puke.
“I wanted independence, but not too much,” I reply, clicking the key fob. The massive black Chevy Silverado chirps, its lifted frame making it tower over the surrounding cars. “Plus, Gravepoint has been kicking their asses for three seasons straight. I figured I should see what all the fuss is about from the inside.”
“Jesus Christ,” Abigail breathes, staring at the beast of a vehicle. “How do you even get in this thing?”
“Very carefully.” I show her by grabbing the “oh shit” handle and hauling myself up into the driver’s seat. “I think Levi is compensating for something, but he says he just likes being able to see over the traffic.”
Abigail struggles her way into the passenger side, muttering about needing a stepladder. Once she’s buckled in, I fire up the engine.
“This truck is ridiculous,” she complains, but she’s grinning as I back out of the space with the help of approximately one hundred cameras and sensors.
“Wait until you see the other guys’ rides. Hockey players have a thing for big trucks and expensive cars.” I navigate through campus traffic, heading toward the highway. “It’s like a peacocking situation, but with horsepower.”
