She frowned. “What?”
“You were right, okay?” I said with a marked sigh. “There. I said it. He’s everything I’ve sworn against my whole life. First team golden boy. Surrounded by more of the same. And it’s only a matter of time before—”
“Slow down,” she cut in. “First, you’re not losing your mind. You just got swindled by the Hot Athlete Effect. Happens to the best of us.”
I groaned, dragging my hands down my face. “Ramona, this is serious.”
She slipped an arm around my shoulders and steered me toward the bar, where the rest of the band had already lined up tequila shots. “Second, the only way to overcome this common affliction is with the world’s oldest cure.”
A loaded shot got thrust into my hand. I hesitated, but the look she gave me left no room to back out. We clinked glasses, tipped them back together, and I winced as the burn spread down my throat. The edges of my mind softened like clockwork, but one glance at Aiden across the room made my heart catch anyway.
“I can’t end up like my mother.”
“Then don’t,” Ramona said, sliding another shot into my hand.
By the fourth one, the warmth had loosened the fog around Aiden. I could think clearly enough to know what I had to do.
“Just walk away,” I said, words dragging across the edge of slur.
“Walk away,” Ramona repeated.
I squinted at her, seeing almost a second Ramona beside the first. “How are you going to finish your set?”
She snickered. “I’m a professional, Sage. I do my best work when I’m out of my mind.”
Then Aiden unexpectedly appeared at my side, and everything I thought I’d settled spun into chaos. Maybe it was the tequila, maybe it was him, but he looked hotter than he had minutes ago, cheeks flushed from beer, posture steady.
“Can you give me a lift home?” he asked. “The guys are still partying, but I’m done. I need my bed.”
The suggestion in his tone made me trip over my words like an idiot. Thankfully, Ramona was still here and she’d heard everything.
“No can do, loverboy,” she said, waving him away. “Sage came with the band, and there’s no more room in our van. Sorry.”
Aiden’s eyes flicked to me, waiting for confirmation. I nodded, stumbling a little. Ramona caught my arm to steady me.
“What she said,” I hiccupped. “No can do, loverboy.”
He left us with a stiff nod, and went back to his table of loud hockey boys. Guilt twisted my gut as I sagged against Ramona.
“You did the right thing,” she said, giving my arm an encouraging squeeze.
19
Aiden
My skates cut across the red line and I lifted my stick, calling for it.
Grayson sent the pass before the Dallas defense closed the lane. Flat. Right on my blade. I pulled it in, turned my hips, and drove between their center and the left defenseman. The arena carried that low roar that lives under the ice during a home game. Thousands of people breathing as one collective superfan.
Five years riding the bench taught me patience, but tonight patience had no use.
A Dallas stick jabbed at the puck. I shifted it to my backhand and sent it wide to Landon along the boards. He caught it with one hand, shoulder into their defender, then chipped it back toward the slot.
I’d already circled behind the net.
Grayson read it before anyone else did. He drifted high into the right circle, waiting. I fed it up the wall. One touch from him sent it back through the middle.
Landon drove the crease.
