Horror music hums in the background of my mind.
Dun dun dun.
It’s Noah Miller, winger for Granite Ice.
The one everyone calls the pretty one.
He obviously knows it too because he’s a huge flirt.
I glance up at him, taking in his thick dark hair and a steel-cut jaw I could cut a perfect bagel on. For a hockey player, he leans on the trim side but has the usual broad shoulders. He is the most handsome player on the team—too bad I’m dead-set on destroying his career.
I’m visiting Mapleton as an intern for my dad and his sports magazineSports Era. It’s more of a mission to put together a spread for Granite Ice, a barely known but up-and-coming AHL team. That sounds normal, but where it gets interesting is Granite Ice is owned by my dad’s arch-nemesis—Bill Baker.
This is the chance I’ve been waiting for my whole life—a chance to impress my dad, who has always treated me as his invisible child. I am the only girl out of four kids in my family, and my brothers followed in his footsteps to play hockey. I love hockey, but I’m not built to play it. I took up photography to get involved, taking shots of all my brothers playing, but even though I was always right outside the rink, I yearned to see that proud gleam in my dad’s eye that he offered my brothers.
He says he’s proud, but it has never been with the same tone he gives my brothers.
“Where do you want me to take you?” My hero’s gruff voice pulls me from my assessment.
Embarrassment shoots to my face and heat radiates through my cheeks. I have nowhere to look but away. Thankfully, he’s not one for chatter, and his gaze sweeps back to the ballroom as if he’s in a hurry to get back inside.
“Oh, ah . . .” I nearly choke on my saliva as I scan the empty hall, squinting without my glasses. “Here’s fine.” I point to the wall, allowing my body to slide against it all the way to the carpet floor. I’m still a little too woozy to stand, and my head feels as if it’s spinning.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” He hikes a curious brow and patiently waits. The tips of his hair appear damp with sweat from the heat of the dance floor. I zone out, staring at them, wondering what it would be like to run my fingers through them.
Cough.
What was I thinking? Boy, I really did almost lose my sanity in that mosh pit. I would never do that!
He’s a classless jerk, like all the rest of the guys on his team as evidenced by how they all nearly killed me by stomping me to death.Who has a mosh pit anymore anyway?
My dad’s right.
I lock my jaw forward, lowering my eyebrows into my mad face.Someone needs to put a stop to these arrogant jerks. I force out a strong voice. “I’ll call a friend.”
“Take it easy.” He slides his foot away, and I watch him strut back through the door. Even though he’s fully clothed in trousers and a blazer, his arm muscles annoyingly protrude out, showing off his sculpted biceps, and the ripples keep rippling all the way up to his neck.
Nobody needs that many muscles.
I shake my head as disgust builds in my chest. He shouldn’t be allowed to casually walk around with all those muscles.He’s going to hurt someone with those. I bet they aren’t even real. He probably has one of those inflatable muscle suits underneath his jacket just to be a showoff.That’s all these Granite Ice guys are. Just fake balloon muscles with no brains. I seethe, as my hand still pulsates from getting stomped on. I can’t even flex my fingers.
As soon as he’s gone, I drop a giant sigh of relief.
So glad he’s finally out of my sight.
Cradling my hand, I scan the hallway. My head jolts all the way back.I don’t have my camera!My hand flies to my face.Or my glasses!
My gaze cuts to the door, but I’m not going in there. I’ll never come out alive. I suspected this sports gala was going to be interesting, but I didn’t think it would ignite this fire in my gut to get even. My blood nearly boils as I think about how all these guys had no problem stomping on me as if I was a lifeless rug.
There’s only one thing I can think of.
These brutes must be stopped before they kill someone.
two
Noah Miller
Funny how I had hoped we would actually win a game. We were mired in a losing streak, but I thought we had turned it around.
