Page 8 of The Alternate Captain (Elite Hockey #3)

Tom is under strict instructions not to mention who my brother is when we tag along to a bar with a load of other fans after the game.

It’s my favourite sort of place. Music pumping from a loudspeaker in the corner, but not so much that you can’t hear yourself think, and decent drinks with actual glasses—not the plastic ones they force on you after big events.

We all gravitate towards the back where there are a few tables free, and get some drinks ordered.

Tom sticks to beer, but I decide to mix things up with a gin and tonic that I’ll probably regret later–but it may add weight to the fake stomach bug.

My throat is hoarse from cheering, and I know I’ll be feeling as rough as sandpaper tomorrow, but the excitement and buzz from the game has everyone on a high.

We’re going to the final.

I text my brother, congratulating him on their win and he replies with a single ‘thumbs up’ emoji. And I guess he’s probably celebrating somewhere until he texts me a few hours later.

Mike

Sorry, Kel. Cap’s been riding our asses tonight. The pressure is getting to him.

“Is he talking about Johnny?” Tom says, reading over my shoulder.

“Yes,” I say, slipping my phone away. “I think he’s a bit of an authoritarian on and off the ice.”

And straight away, the vision of Johnny’s eyes on mine is back at the forefront of my mind.

“He can ride my ass as much as he wants,” Tom swoons.

“You’re disgusting.”

“All I’m saying is, he can do whatever the hell he likes to me.” And I don’t know if it’s disgust or shock, but my mouth hangs open when Tom pulls his phone out and flashes me his new lock screen. “Look at him, Kel. He’s beautiful.”

He is.

In fact, looking at him makes my whole body ache. He won the gene pool lottery for sure. It’s a pity he’s not got the shining personality to match—not like...

“It’s not all about looks. From what I know, he’s not a very nice person. He’s always shouting at the guys, constantly angry about something.”

“And how do you know this?” Tom says indignantly.

“It’s just what I’ve picked up on.” It’s half a lie.

Obviously, he didn’t make a good impression when I overheard him last Monday morning when I was on Mike’s sofa, but when I saw Mike on Monday evening, he seemed unsettled by the encounter earlier in the day.

I outright asked him if it was because of Johnny, and he shrugged, dismissing my question.

“Well, I don’t buy it. He looks too sweet. Anyway, do you fancy another, or are you ready to call it a night?”

“Let’s go. I just need to use the bathroom first. ”

I excuse myself, and when I return to our seats, Tom is in a deep conversation with two other fans but signals that we’re leaving when he spots me.

“So, I’ve done some recon and everyone loves Johnny. Told you. I’m right.” We link arms and start the walk back to our hotel.

“I didn’t say that everyone didn’t love him. I just said that he’s not a nice person. That’s different.”

“How is it?”

“It just is. Now leave it,” I snap.

Tom comes to an abrupt halt, causing me to stumble a little to regain my footing. “Why are you being a bitch?”

“I’m not.”

“You bloody are. Now tell me what’s going on.”

I frown at him. “Nothing. Well, not really, anyway.” I think I have to come clean and tell Tom why I’m so uppity towards Johnny. He won’t let it rest otherwise. “Okay, fine. But let me finish before you butt in with your opinion.”

“Agreed,” Tom says, pulling me back into a walking pace. It’s chilly, and neither of us wants to be standing outside in the cold.

“I was talking to someone on that app you put me on to. Three months, altogether. He said his name was John, and that he was a mature student. He sent me some pictures, and I sent pictures...”

“Oh my God. What sort of pictures?”

“Nothing like that. Just selfies or whatever. But he used Johnny Koenig’s pictures. And—”

“Oh, my God. You were talking to Johnny? My Johnny? What happened?” Tom comes to a stop again, turning towards me with his jaw on the floor.

“You said you’d let me finish,” I say. “But, no. I was catfished.”

Tom’s eyes are like saucers. “How do you know?”

“I just do,” I say, tugging at his arm, prompting him to walk again .

“You have the worst luck. How did you find out?” I tell him about the huge Johnny Koenig action shot in the upper lobby of the rink. “Right. And what does that prove?”

“I’m sorry, but the likelihood of the real Johnny Koenig being on a social sharing app to meet new people is wild. You’ve said so yourself—look at him.”

“Yeah, but he could be. Did you ask him?”

“No. I deleted my account,” I say.

“Without asking him?”

We turn the corner and make our way into the lobby of the hotel.

“Yes. I freaked out. I mean, if it is Johnny, which I’m pretty certain it’s not... He plays hockey with my brother and it’s just a bit—”

“So?” Tom pushes the button for the lift, and we climb in when the doors spring open. I hit the button for our floor.

“Mike would kill me. And him for that matter. Besides, I’m me, and he’s an athlete—”

“Stop it. There’s nothing wrong with you,” he says as the lift comes to a stop. A single ‘ding’ and the doors open.

Tom hovers the key card over the lock of the hotel room door and it makes a mechanical unlatching sound before he pushes it open.

“I’m not having this discussion with you right now,” I say.

I put my bag down on the desk, then take off my shoes before collapsing down on the bed.

“For once, Kelly, do me a favour and realise that you don’t have to settle for people like Darren. What if that really was Johnny, and he really was interested in you? Because there’s no way someone would carry on a conversation for three whole months if they weren’t.”

“Well, it wasn’t. And in the unlikely event that it was, I’m not interested. He’s a complete dick to my brother and—”

Tom cuts me off. “You never know. Maybe he can be himself behind a screen?”

I wave him off and busy myself getting ready for bed.

I’m feeling surprisingly sober now I’m in a different head space, reeling over the way Johnny looked at me. It couldn’t have been him, could it?