Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 64727 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64727 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
Celine’s lips formed a perfect O. “That sly devil is edging you.”
“You think?”
“Oh, yeah. Step up your game, Rafey. Be the aggressor. Some guys like that, and you need a positive distraction in your life. This is your last hurrah before graduation. Don’t you dare spend it fretting over roommate.”
“You’re right. I can see myself losing my mind after waking up to yet another beer can pyramid on the coffee table and taking out my aggressions out on a willowy Adonis who glides on frozen ice like a dream and who likes me for my excellent pinky game.” I wiggled said pinky with a laugh.
“That’s the spirit. We make our own reality, honey. If you don’t want the next three months to be a rinse and repeat of the past five, you have to change the game.”
I wholeheartedly agreed, then wisely diverted conversation away from moi. I’d rather hear about my friend’s romantic exploits than conjure a survival plan for dealing with my daily blahs.
Life seemed infinitely easier for my beautiful, talented bestie. Uncomplicated, handsome men sought Celine’s attention, women admired her, and she was a gorgeous skater.
Of course, Celine had her own challenges and insecurities, but hers were prettier than mine. Like Taylor Swift lamenting a broken heart in sequins and killer heels versus the dweeb singing an off-key rendition of a ’70s ballad in a honky-tonk karaoke bar. I was the dweeb in that scenario, by the way.
Don’t get me wrong—I was confident enough, but I was better on the ice than on land.
I was skinny, average height with boring brown hair, a meh shade of green eyes, and an acerbic tongue that got me in trouble more often than not. Hot guys didn’t notice me. In fact, I had a feeling that the only reason Eli had given me a second look was because I’d scored higher than him at our last competition. One measly point, but it had gotten me on his radar.
As for Gus…I was almost completely invisible to him. I was the type of person men like Gus looked through. I had nothing to offer and zero interest in trying to win his favor, so it didn’t matter. Gus wouldn’t give me the time of day if he didn’t need my rent money, but that didn’t mean he was an outright jerk. As I’d mentioned, Gus was nice enough. We just came from different worlds…even though hockey players and figure skaters technically shared the ice.
I didn’t care if we were friends. I didn’t need or want a hockey bro in my life. All I wanted was a little peace and, if it wasn’t too much to ask, a guarantee from the universe that these last few months of school wouldn’t be a total disaster.
CHAPTER 2
GUS
This hangover wasn’t my worst by a long shot. I still felt crappy, though, and my mouth was dry as dust. I hobbled to the kitchen and sent up a prayer to the fridge gods that there’d be something on the shelves.
The gods answered with a gallon of pulp-free orange juice and a single slice of cheddar cheese.
Meh, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.
I glugged half the carton, swiped my hand across my mouth, and was about to polish off the rest when I sensed someone behind me.
Rafe, my cute, but very grumpy roommate. The dude was about as friendly as a porcupine who’d lost a fight with a cactus. Seriously.
“Want some?” I held out the container, positive I could win him over with a friendly smile.
Wrong.
“No, I don’t want to share germs with you, but thank you for asking,” he replied, a thunderous expression on his pinched face. “What I would appreciate is for you to replace my orange juice and maybe add a sticker to remind yourself not to touch it next time.”
“Oh, shit. This is yours?”
“It was,” he corrected.
“I’m sorry, man. I’ll make it up to you. Let me buy you breakfast.”
“No, thanks. I have class.”
Now, that could have been taken one of two ways: A, I have class and would never drink out of a carton in my boxer briefs and a holey T-shirt while smelling like the south end of a northbound mule. Or B, I have a Biology lecture to attend.
Yeah, I was getting A vibes, too.
Rafe spun on his heels, marched out of the room, and stomped up the stairs. And unless I was way off the mark, he’d closed his bedroom door with more force than usual. Yep…he was pissed.
Again.
I hoped it was my imagination, but I could have sworn I’d caught a hint of true animosity in his glare this time. The sort of steely-eyed venom I associated with opponents doing battle on the ice in the middle of a heated game. Not my fucking roommate.
Shit.
Did Rafe hate me?
My best friends, Ty and Brady, thought so. In fact, they even seemed amused that I hadn’t caught on sooner.