Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 94300 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94300 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
I mindlessly order two glasses of scotch and make my way back to Jet. Ava and Camille excuse themselves to go to the bathroom, and Jet stares at me with young, hopeful eyes as he reaches for the second drink.
“Shit … how old are you again?” I ask.
“Twenty-one.”
I eye him warily.
“Ish.”
I hesitate but relent. “Don’t tell your brother. Matt could snap me in half with one hand.”
“I’m a grown-up.”
“You know who never has to point out they’re an adult? Actual adults.”
Jet playfully shoves me, and I laugh, but it dies when my eyes meet Ollie’s across the room.
Geez, there he goes glaring at me again.
“Okay, seriously, what happened between you two? It can’t only be some articles,” Jet says. “You won’t stop staring at each other.”
“I think he’s trying to kill me with his mind.”
“I’ll tell him telepathic assassin is off the list of possible careers for him if the hockey thing doesn’t work out.”
“Did he say something about hockey not working out?” I ask, taken aback.
Jet pinches my arm. “Put Reporter Lennon away and be Friend Lennon.”
“I’m not his friend. Clearly. But I was curious because he has talent most people would kill for. I know my articles got to him, but if he let me explain it to him instead of trying to jump down my throat—”
Jet looks down at his drink. “I Googled last night after Noah told me the story. Read your article. The first one. You want the honest truth?” When he meets my eyes again, I get the feeling I’m about to walk into a trap.
That doesn’t stop me from defending myself. “I said he needed to get out from under Tommy, and look at tonight—he killed it.”
“You also referred to Tommy as a star and implied that Ollie was only good because of him. And I’ve heard talk around the arena. They say Ollie’s not the same on the ice without Tommy, so he’s getting it from the media and his teammates. Tonight was either a fluke or he’s finally gotten over the doubt.” Jet leans in closer. “The doubt that started with your article.”
I hang my head. “That wasn’t my intention. At all.” I wanted his star to shine brighter.
“I could see you two being friends if you could manage to get along.”
“How do you even know him?”
“He got me the job at the arena and helped me cover up the whole not knowing how to DJ thing. Apart from my bandmates, I haven’t met many people since moving to New York, but you can’t be my friends if you don’t get along. I refuse to be in the middle of two guys unless it’s in the fun way. Ooh, damn, a blond sandwich with you and Ollie would be hot.”
I raise my eyebrow.
He ignores it and moves on. The ADD is strong with this one. “Okay, so this is what’s going to happen. Because I’m Ollie’s friend, I’m gonna go say hi and congratulate him on how awesome he was tonight. Are you going to grow some balls and come with me or hide over here like a child too scared about monsters in his closet?”
“Your mouth’s going to get you into trouble one day.”
“I’m betting on it.”
The closer we step toward Ollie, the less composed he appears. His eyes are glassy, he sways a little, and as he finishes off a drink, another teammate replaces it with a new one.
Jet and I have only been here for fifteen minutes, max, and in that time, I’ve seen Ollie take two new drinks from someone like he’s on some sort of mission.
When we get close, Ollie steps around his puck bunny friend. “Hey, Jude.”
Great. Let’s start with The Beatles jokes. “Original,” I murmur.
“Let me guess what tomorrow’s headline’s gonna be.” His words are slightly slurred, but not too bad, and his Boston accent is a little thicker. “Big Idiot Goofball Falls on His Pretty Face and Should Be Traded Again Because He Sucks and is a Hack But He Managed to Pull One Out His Ass in the End.”
Even though he’s being an ass, I can’t help but find him entertaining. “That’s way too long for a headline. And good to know you think of yourself as pretty.”
He looks as if he doesn’t know if I’m mocking him or not.
“Not that you’ll believe me, but my article will say you saved the whole team. Congratulations on making the playoffs.” See, at least one of us can be mature.
Ollie blinks at me, and his shaggy, unstyled hair falls into his eyes. It’s the only time I’ve seen his hair unruly and not slicked back. I think I like it even better than the wet look.
No. Stop liking Ollie things. He’s no different than the others.
“You were awesome,” Jet says, pulling Ollie’s attention away from me.