She’s greeted by a chorus of yeses, and I smile. Willow should’ve been the captain of the dance team. All the girls respect and listen to her. But instead, Paris won out. She’s a senior, after all.
I let out a minuscule sigh.
“The Wolves won’t know what hit them,” Jess says in my ear. “When’s the last time you went to a Hawks hockey game?”
“Last year.” I roll my eyes.
She grins. “Just wait until you see Greyson skate. He’s so freaking fast. And he clicked with the other guys instantly.”
“We don’t know what kind of work went into it.” Paris breezes past us. “He’s talented, of course, but he’s also hardworking. They probably all took a lot of shit from their coach. Like us.”
I snort. “When’s the last time you took shit from our coach?”
“She’s not yours anymore, Reece.” Paris levels me with a look. “Or did you forget?”
Ouch.
Willow grabs my hand and squeezes. “You don’t need to rub it in her face like a bitch, Paris.” And to me, under her breath, “I brought a flask. We can drown her out if necessary.”
“Or we can get her drunk enough to shut up,” I whisper back. It took way too long in the shower to get the smell of beer off me. I’m not sure I want to dull my senses before meeting Greyson—if they win—and I’d rather watch Paris make a mess of herself.
The rest of the way to the stadium is relatively painless. Paris complains a few times about the cold and the walk from our apartment—without ever offering her place to get ready. Truth is, she lives farther away than us. We live in prime real estate, and we got it by pure luck. And then we refused to let the lease go at the end of our freshman year.
Our student IDs get scanned on the way into the stadium, and we join a horde of similarly dressed students. We find the section we usually sit in and take our seats. I end up between Willow and Amanda.
The energy thrums throughout the stadium. We’re on one of the corners, closest to the blue-and-silver painted goal and a good view of the rink. The student section fills quickly, and the ticket holders fill in more gradually. But soon enough, the whole lower level of the stadium is full.
Diagonal to us, the students who traveled with the Wolves sit in black-and-lime-green attire. They have banners and tassels, and one occasionally sets off an air horn. It’s followed by cheers and screams from their section.
The lights dim, and an announcer’s voice booms over the speakers. “Introducing… the Pac North University Wolves.”
The crowd in their section goes nuts, jumping up and waving their flags. The skaters slip out and race around their half of the rink, quickly moving into formation. Their uniforms are all-black with neon-green numbers, and their names printed in brick letters across their shoulder blades.
“And for our home crowd,” the announcer continues, “the Crown Point University Hawks!”
A door opens across from us, and white-and-blue-clad hockey players burst onto the ice. My heart jumps into my throat as they split apart and zoom close to the glass. I catch a flash of what I think is Greyson, his head angled toward the crowd.
And I swear he spots me, but then he’s past. His stick is loose in his grip. A spotlight appears in the center, and the announcer calls out the starting lineup for the Wolves. Then the Hawks. First Knox, team captain and center. Then Erik Smith. Greyson Devereux. I lean forward as he lifts his hand and acknowledges the crowd.
They scream and cheer for him, and my stomach somersaults.
How did he rise so quickly?
We climb to our feet as the last few names are called. They skate around, doing quick drills on their respective sides.
“What’s up with you and Knox?” I ask Willow.
To my astonishment, she blushes. “Not much. I mean, we hooked up. I told you that.”
“Yeah…” I follow him on the ice. “But he’s flirting.”
“Right?” Willow immediately turns toward me, her expression pained. “I don’t know what to make of it. Is he just trying to sleep with me again? Because he doesn’t need to try so hard. I’ve got nothing against a fling. But when he talks all nice, I don’t know what to think.”
I think he’s trouble.
I wouldn’t have thought that last year. But now, he’s friends with Greyson. And if Greyson is anything, he’s a dangerous influence. So… yeah, I’m worried.
“Just don’t let your heart get involved,” I warn her. “I’m all for a fling, too.”
“Especially now that you’re free of Jack.” Amanda chuckles. “No offense, Violet, but he’s been holding you back.”
I grimace. “He’s…”
“Comfortable,” both girls say.
I smack my forehead. I can see the truth in their words. I can see it, but I didn’t see it back then. I was so in love and so obsessed with the idea of being the perfect couple. It wasn’t until the “perfect” part fell through that I realized we didn’t have anything else between us.
I had dance. He has football.
When we couldn’t be the college versions of prom king and queen, we were just… drifting away.
“Now you get to try something new,” Amanda says. “Preferably someone more exciting. Greyson was eyeing you last week at Haven.”
I snort. “Did you miss the part where Paris laid claim to him?”
And she definitely missed the part where he dumped beer over my head.
I shouldn’t want Greyson, of all people. He’s vile and twisted and probably a psychopath. My lungs ache just from remembering our last encounter.
And… ugh. I’ve been turned on by thinking about it, too.
“We’ve only got a finite amount of time left,” Willow says. “We should be adventurous before the rest of the adulting shit has to happen.”
I grunt my acknowledgement. The problem is, I’m not sure if I want my adventures to begin—and most likely end—with Greyson. If that’s a battle I want to engage in.
A whistle shrills, and the nonstarters leave the ice. A referee in black and white meets the two opposing centers in the middle circle.
He says something to the players. Both Knox and the Wolves guy give a brief nod. We stand as soon as the ref drops the puck. Knox gets control over it and snaps it over to Greyson. He immediately takes off, and my attention stays on him. Even when he sends the puck soaring across the ice to Erik. He skates easily, like the blades are an extension of him. Easier than walking.
I envy that.
Dancing was like that for me, except it was just my body that I had supreme control over. Every little muscle, every expression. Down to my fingertips and my toes. It was a way to express myself, yes, but it was more than that.
It was more beautiful than that.
I see it in Greyson. In the way he skates.
And I’ve never wanted to break his legs more than I do right now.
“I need a drink,” Willow informs me after Knox is slammed into the glass, fifteen minutes into the first period.
Greyson passes by us with a scowl, his head on a swivel. For a moment, I’m afraid he’s going to start a fight. Avenge his friend. But he lets it go, and the game continues. Back and forth. I love the rapid speed of motion, the adrenaline rush from just watching.