I snort a laugh. “Ace? So she’s consistently choosing men who are into me. Got it.”
Cynthia shrugs. “You’re not wrong. Apparently, she swapped friends and wants him.”
Honestly, it makes me feel better about myself. I’m not the only one who doesn’t get it right the first time. So I make a decision.
“In that case, I’ll go to the damn game. And I’ll tell Tasia I don’t give a fuck what she does with Ace.”
TWENTY-NINE
SYLVAN
The roar in the stands is deafening as I wait on the bench, stick in hand. It’s 1-1, and the Bears need to get fucked up. They’re extra handsy tonight.
Sweat pools between my shoulder blades as I catch my breath, tracking the puck. The crowd is a mix of noise; East York is close enough; there’s probably about as many Dragon fans in here as there are Bears.
I’m panting, my heart racing, and I’m not out on the ice yet.
But I’m up next.
Faust has possession, collecting the puck behind the net.
The way he moves, the set of his jaw, even with his helmet, I can tell he’s on edge. He wants this as much as I do; more, actually. He won’t be here next year, I know that much, no matter what he says about wanting to finish his degree.
Bullshit.
The buzz, the money, the hype, the life… Even Saint Darling can’t resist that. But he wants to earn that C on his jersey tonight and he wants to skate off the ice to angry Bears fans and hysterical Dragons when the last buzzer sounds.
Faust carries it up, Coach wants a line change, and the moment I hop on the ice in the rush, Faust targets me.
I race up the boards, Faust’s diagonal pass cuts through from the left, slipping past an angry Bear—fucker—and when our eyes connect for half a second, I know I’m going to get it in the net. But dead ahead, right behind the Bear’s goal, I see a woman.
A group of them, all familiar.
On their feet.
Cheering.
But one is turned, and while I’m smart enough to fucking focus, while usually the background is all an eraser-blur, I see her.
Neve fucking Devine.
Black Drayton’s jersey, high-fiving a girl behind her. Neve’s long blond hair is swept forward over one shoulder.
And I read the name on her jersey in white collegiate letters. The red of our own jerseys is always a toss-up for me when it comes to my vision. Sometimes I catch it, sometimes I don’t.
But white? That’s easy.
Darling.
The noise of the Dragon fans screaming at the top of their lungs for us, like I’ve already got this, is nothing but buzz I can’t feel. Muted. Might as well be silent.
What’s loud isher.
What’s loud costs me the fucking goal.
Jealousy like I’ve never felt surges up my spine, into my brain.
She’s poisoned me.
