New Year's Eve.
“Fine,” I finally agree.
“Good. I'll text the guys.” Holden heads for the door, then pauses. “And Daemon? Whatever this thing is with this girl… either do something about it or let it go. Just don't let it cost us the Cup.”
He's gone before I can respond.
I look down at my phone again. At the Uber charge. It's the evidence that she's still out there, still living her life, still using the one connection I left her.
Maybe that little tether left between us is enough. I can only assume that eventually she'll stop using the card, and everything that happened between us will just be a fun story she shares with her friends. If she doesn't stop using it, I'll decide what to do when it's time to cross that bridge.
For now, I know she's being safe, and she's having fun. That's enough for me. It has to be.
I stand up, grab my towel, and head for the showers. Tonight I'll go out with the guys, and we'll have a few drinks. I'll try to remember who I was before a girl with dark eyes and a reckless smile turned my last season into something out of my control.
I tell myself more lies while I shower, but deep down, I already know the truth.
It's too late for all of that.
Gianna is already under my skin. She burrowed her way into my world the instant she smiled at me, and now, I'm truly fucked.
Two
Gianna
Professor Donahue has been droning on and on about marketing analytics for nearly an hour, and I have been pretending to take notes almost that entire time. Instead, I'm scrolling through Instagram on my phone that is currently shielded from my professor's view by my laptop.
It's been four months, and every damn day, I check all of Daemon Lucero's social media accounts. Not to mention, I've also added the NHL app to my phone and added ESPN to my Hulu subscription.
Before New Year's Eve, the only hockey games I watched were the ones Shauna dragged me to. Ever since I met that gorgeous hockey god, I have yet to miss a Hudson Huskies game.
Instead of the usual clubs I used to frequent, I've been spending my nights out at sports bars. If none of the televisions in the bar are playing the hockey game, I've been shamelessly flashing my cleavage until one of the workers changes the station.
Somehow, I even convinced my boss at the coffee shop to add a television in the corner of the seating area. I fed him some lie about attracting a new afternoon clientele for the early hockey games. He bought it, and thankfully my lie turned out to be true.
Daemon fucking Lucero has managed to get so far under my skin that I can't get him out. The man who fucked me like the world was ending before disappearing like a coward has literally consumed my every waking moment — and most of my naughty dreams — since I woke up alone in that cabin.
I tap my pen against my notebook repeatedly as the annoyance I've tried to suppress grows. I've been using his credit card number for Uber rides ever since I found it scrawled across the cutesy stationary on the bedside table.
However, I only use it on nights after I watch one of his games. If I go to an off-campus party, I use my own card to pay my way home.
I figure if he wanted me to stop, he'd cancel the card.
He hasn't.
Which means he's thinking about me too.
“Gianna,” someone sings my name softly.
I look up to see Jeremiah leaning across the aisle, his dark hair falling into his eyes. He's wearing a Boston Bears hoodie, and I want to roll my eyes at him. Everyone in this town bleeds hockey, but most of them are Hudson fans. Jere always has to be different.
“What?” I whisper.
“Are you coming out tonight or what?”
“Where are you going?”
“Rookie's. I agreed to take Kevin with me, so he's going to meet us there.”
