Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 131271 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 656(@200wpm)___ 525(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131271 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 656(@200wpm)___ 525(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
[Video ends with her arranging the puzzle piece cookies into a chaotic, mismatched mess on a plate, the logo for Icing the Cake appearing in the corner.]
Comments:
@PuckAddict29:
“THE PUZZLE PIECE COOKIES?? I’m SCREAMING. Also, why is everything you say about hockey bros 100% true? ”
@HockeyMomForever:
“Not me sitting here thinking about how my son’s team already has this problem. They’re TEN.”
@SkateOrDie96:
“‘One man’s first round pick becomes another’s seventh.’ I’m DEAD. Also, can we talk about how real this is? Hockey bros love recycling girlfriends like it’s going out of style.”
@IcingQueen88:
“I feel so called out. Dated two guys from the same team in college. They 100% knew and still fist-bumped over it. Never again. ”
@StickAndBake:
“You’re not a hockey card to be traded between teammates’ might be the best quote of the century. Put it on a T-shirt.”
@GoalieGloveGirl:
“Shawn Drayton is quaking somewhere right now. But for real, THANK YOU for saying this. The dating drama is exhausting!”
@BrodyFan13:
“I live for the subtle Drayton shade.”
@HockeyChick21:
“Wait, is this why hockey players always end up with their buddy’s ex? Because they’re too lazy to swipe on Tinder?? ICONIC take. ”
@BenchWarmerBabe:
“RIP to the players watching this and realizing they’ve just been EXPOSED. Icing the Cake remains undefeated.”
@PuckLife69:
“Okay but who’s brave enough to tag their ex in this post? Asking for a friend. ”
@HockeyDad420:
“As a hockey dad, I feel attacked. But also, I’m making these cookies for the team potluck. Thanks for the inspo!”
@FanGirlGoals:
“‘Keep their sticks out of each other’s lanes’ took me OUT. Sis did not come to play, she came to SCORE.”
12
HAYES
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Shawn leans over the table in the library and prods the notepad I’m writing on.
“Tell you what?”
He stands taller, peering down the nose we share, his blue eyes blazing. “That you took Riley out on Friday night?”
I freeze, clutching my pen, wishing it was a magic wand, and I could spell my way out of this confrontation like Harry Potter. How the fuck did he find out? And how the fuck am I going to explain myself without cringing?
“Just leave it alone.” I focus on my paper, but Shawn’s finger is back in my line of sight in a flash.
“What did you say to her?”
“Nothing. I fucking said nothing.”
“You said enough to hurt her,” he says.
I raise my head, my eyes widening, as questions begin to form. “How the fuck would you know?”
“Because I took her out on Saturday night.” He folds his arms across his black shirt, bulging his biceps. That might impress the girls around here and even strike some fear into some of the dudes, but it makes me want to shove his head down the toilet.
“You? You took her out?”
“Well…” He pauses and folds in his lips. “Not technically. We went swimming.”
“Swimming?”
“Shhhhhh,” a girl at the other end of the table hisses. It’s supposed to be a quiet room, and our full-blown argument is rippling across the space. I gather up my books, stuff everything in my bag, and stride for the exit, not checking if Shawn is following because, of course, he is. This conversation isn’t done. With every step, my tired brain is growling, ‘What the fuck?’ One day, I’m taking Riley for drinks, and we’re making out, hot and heavy, in my truck. The next day, she’s swimming with my triplet.
And she has the gall to suggest that I was the one playing games with her.
Shawn catches up to me halfway down the stone stairs, grabbing my arm.
“You know, if you’d just told us what you were doing rather than walking around like a bear with a sore head, this wouldn’t have happened.”
“What wouldn’t have happened? You wouldn’t have taken her out?” Narrowing my eyes, I study my brother, looking for all the familiar tells I’ve noted over the years. He licks the center of his top lip, and I know he’s about to lie.
“I would have backed off.”
“Sure,” I say. “Sure.”
“What’s the big deal, anyway, bro? It’s not like you’re looking for a relationship with her?”
I glare at him, nostrils flaring, his assumption that he knows anything about what I want and don’t want pissing me off.
Understanding dawns. “You did?”
“It doesn’t matter what I want.” Shoving my hands in my pockets, I turn to face the library. I need to study, and this is a waste of my time and energy. Once again, I’ve lost out to one of my brothers, and it sucks.
“Of course it does. She was upset, which shows she cares. I put her straight, so you’re welcome, asshole.”
I narrow my eyes at him as he forces his hands into the pockets of his jeans, mirroring my body language. We must look ridiculous to anyone observing. Mirror images of each other, angry but still totally in sync.
He licks his lips again. Another tell. He always does it when he’s talking about a girl he’s been physical with, like he can’t stop his mouth from reliving what he did.