Eli Hornsby—the pretty boy.
Pacey Lawes—the elder of the group.
And Silas Taters—the asshole.
My other three best friends like to stick their noses in my business whenever they get the chance.
I lean against the wall and cross my arms over my chest. “And what exactly was this meeting about? And if you say you’re worried about me, I’m walking away.”
He winces and looks toward the ceiling. “Uh, well . . . okay, we were, well . . . we were talking about how we’re . . . uh”—he scratches his chin—“we were conversing about certain things that pertained to you, but we didn’t particularly mention worried . . . moreconcernedabout you.”
I push off the wall and walk away when he stops me by gripping my arm. “I didn’t say worried, I saidconcerned. Not the same thing.”
“Itisthe same thing.”
“Whatever, we’re just worried.” I raise my brow at him. “I mean concerned . . . we’re concerned.” He grips me tighter, preventing me from leaving.
“There’s nothing to be concerned about. I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine,” he groans in frustration. “You barely hang out with us outside of the arena. When we were in Banff, you just read the entire time. We feel like you’re pushing the world away and—”
“Hey, sorry, am I interrupting?” a female voice says, cutting Posey off from talking about shit I don’t want to talk about.
I glance to the right, down the hall to where a tall brunette stands, holding an iPad to her chest. It takes me a second for my eyes to focus, but once they do, every muscle in my body softens.Because . . . holy . . . shit.
I don’t know who this is or what she’s doing here, but she is easily the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid my tired eyes on.
Long, dark eyelashes frame sage-green eyes so light that they almost look gray. Rosy cheeks and painted pink lips draw my attention from her soul-rendering eyes, where I feel this deep ache to get closer to see if her lips are naturally glossy. Her slender neck is just the right length for a man to explore . . . to hold. . .to mark.
Her gray dress leaves nothing to the imagination as it clings to her longer, curvy frame. The hem falls to her mid-thigh, showing off her tan legs propped up by a pair of gray heels with tiny bows on the back.
Jesus Christ.
She’s so fucking pretty.
“Not interrupting at all,” Posey says as he steps forward and lends out his hand. “Hi, I’m Levi Posey.”
The brunette takes his hand, stepping forward as well, sending a wave of her perfume in our direction. Not overly sweet but just the right mix of earthy and feminine. The lethal combination has my heart racing.
“Oh, I know who you are.” Her smile stretches across her face, twinkling under the fluorescent lights of the hallway. Christ, that smile. Like a goddamn warm hug on a cold day. “I’m Blakely White. I work in the VIP relations and marketing department.”
Blakely.
Hell, I like that name.
She turns toward me, her eyes connecting with mine, and fucking hand to heart, I feel this jolt of possession rock throughme so fucking hard that I have to catch my breath. I can’t tell you the last time I felt something like this.
Ever since I lost Holden, I’ve felt . . . empty. Like the only reason my body has functioned is to play hockey and nothing else.
Not to feel.
Not to experience the journey of life.
And sure as fuck not to fall in love.
“And you are the hands and skates of the team,” she cutely says. “Halsey Holmes, it’s so nice to meet you.”
She holds her hand out to me, and I attempt to calm my nerves as I take her hand. When our palms connect, and I look her in the eyes, I feel this powerful, electric force bounce between us, jump-starting my heart from its nearly catatonic state. What the actual fuck?
