CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
GIGI
Hat trick
IT’S WEIRD BEING OUT IN THE OPEN WITH RYDER, ESPECIALLY IN the arena. Sometimes we show up together if our training aligns. We hold hands, and I don’t miss the looks from his teammates or mine. Cami thinks it’s fantastic. Whitney’s always asking me what we talk about, refusing to view Ryder as anything other than the silent bad boy from the beginning of the year.
Then there’s Case, who’s not quite giving us the silent treatment, but not gung-ho to start a conversation either. If I see him, he nods. Says hello, how ya doing. Other than that, he’s shut me out. I haven’t seen his name on my phone since December. Not that I want him to be texting and calling constantly, but I was hoping maybe one day we could be friends.
And while his friendship with Ryder was short-lived, at least they’re still performing on the ice.
We’re definitely going to win our conference and make it to the championship. The Briar men probably won’t win the conference, but they’re in good shape get a bid for the tournament.
It’s February and blisteringly cold outside when we leave the Graham Center gloved hand in gloved hand. I’m griping because despite what Al Dustin said, there’s still no word from Brad Fairlee.
“I was hoping I would hear in January at the latest,” I grumble, my breath coming out in white puffs. “Because then I could be training with them and maybe even play in Worlds.”
The Worlds game is in May, only two months away. Unlike Ryder, I’ve never actually competed in an international event. And, yes, I knew it was going to be a long shot. They don’t just put you on the team and throw you on the world stage. But I was still hopeful I’d receive some sort of news by now.
We walk to his Jeep and he unlocks the doors for us. I eagerly jump in the passenger seat and fumble for the seat warmers. It’s freezing out.
“The guys are throwing a party tonight,” Ryder says. “You in?”
“Sure. Can I invite Diana? We spoke earlier and she said she felt like going out.”
“Yeah, of course. Ask Mya too.”
“She has a date tonight.”
Because of the frigid weather, the party is primarily indoors. But every now and then someone goes out to smoke a joint or a cigarette, and a gust of icy air slams through the house and brings a chill to my bones.
There’s a competitive game of beer pong happening in the kitchen. A solo match between Diana and Shane. Diana, who must have been a polar bear in a previous life because she never gets cold, wears a short skirt and halter top, drawing the eyes of nearly every guy in the kitchen. She just landed a perfect shot that plopped in the cup in front of Shane. Beer splashes over the rim and soaks the front of his T-shirt.
“Did you have to put that much heat behind it?” he grumbles.
“Sure did,” she chirps.
Their game continues with a fair amount of trash talk, ending after Diana beats his ass and saunters down the table toward him.
“Are you feeling under the weather tonight? Because I’m still waiting for you to flirt with me,” Diana says, her sweet smile belied by her mocking green eyes.
“Why would I do that?” Shane drawls.
“I’m a cheerleader.”
He narrows his eyes.
“I thought that was your thing. Bang anyone in a cheer skirt and then leave them brokenhearted and distracted, making me clean up your mess at practice.”
Flicking up an eyebrow, she sashays past him without a backward look.
Shane turns to me. “Your girl’s got a mouth on her.”
“Stop breaking all her friends’ hearts,” I reply with a shrug, and Ryder chuckles.
Glaring at me, he wanders into the living room.
Beyond the doorway, I spot Beckett and Will in the corner with a dark-haired girl sandwiched between them. Will whispers something in her ear, while Beckett lazily runs his fingers along her arm.
I glance at Ryder. “I can’t figure out if they’re competing or teaming up.”
“Probably the latter.” He looks like he has more to say, then shrugs.
“What?” I demand. “Do you have gossip?”
“No. Because I don’t gossip. I’m a grown man.”
“Do Will and Beck ever hook up?”
I still don’t know Beckett well enough, but I try to remember if I’ve ever caught any bi vibes from Will. No. He’s always seemed solidly hetero.
“Do they?” I push when Ryder doesn’t respond.
He shrugs again. “Nah, I think they’re both into women.” A pause. “They have a lot of threesomes.”
“Oh my God, really?”
“Don’t say anything,” my boyfriend warns. “Larsen is such a choir boy. Shane commented on their extracurriculars once, and Will looked like he was going to throw up.”
Yeah, that’s why I’m surprised to hear it. Will truly is the boy next door. How on earth was he able to be corrupted like this?
Beckett Dunne is a powerful force, I suppose.
Then again, who am I to talk? I’m going around banging guys in opera boxes and saunas.
The next few weeks fly by. Before I know it, it’s March and we’re playing in the regional semifinal after handily winning our conference and moving on. The single-elimination tournament is being held in Rhode Island this weekend, and I’m not at all worried about tonight’s opponent. My girls and I have been rock-solid since the season started.
In the locker room, before Adley arrives to deliver his pep talk, Whitney gives me a look.
“What?” I say.
“Team USA is here.”
My heart jumps. “Really?”
“Yup, I saw Adley talking with the head coach and one of the assistants.”
I’m not the girl who caves when an anvil of pressure suddenly crushes my chest. If anything, I use the nervous energy to my advantage.
And tonight, I proceed to play the best game of my life.
It’s what we call a barnburner. High-intensity, fast-paced, both teams determined to score as many points as possible. Not unlike the exhibition we played in the fall.
“That’s what I’m talkin’ about!” Adley shouts when I return to the bench after lighting the lamp. He’s slapping his clipboard in excitement.
It was my second goal, and it’s only the second period. By the time the third rolls around, I’ve secured myself a nice little hat trick. I know my dad is probably screaming in our great room, watching the live feed at home. I wish Ryder was in the stands cheering me on too, but the men’s team is in Vermont tonight, competing in their own semifinals.
I’m riding a high of exhilaration when the game ends. I’ve never been more accurate in my shots. Never shown the kind of speed I utilized tonight. It’s embarrassing, but it’s kind of the Gigi Show in the locker room afterward as we celebrate moving on to the regional final in a few days.
Teammates slap me on the shoulder, pat my back. One of the seniors lifts me off my feet, twirling me around.
“What the hell was that, Graham!” she crows, before going to the showers.
I get dressed in a hurry, because I have a feeling Brad Fairlee will be waiting for me outside the locker room. There’s no way in hell he can’t be waiting, not after the way I just played.