Page 4 of The Wildest One

“So, that means we need to find you one too.”

My head shook so fast that my long red hair whipped into my face. “Hard no.”

“Why?”

My cheeks puffed out as I took a deep breath. “I’m just … I don’t know.”

“You’re just,what?”

The straw returned to my mouth as I thought about her question. “I’m in my distraction-free era.”

“What are you even talking about?”

“I’m talking about time.” I leaned against the back of a chair. “The last thing I need is someone who’s going to take up more of it when I hardly have any to begin with. Between classes and work, I’m swamped, girl.”

She pointed her finger at me and smiled. “Your ass needs to make time.”

I knew Ginger better than anyone—we’d been roommates since the first day of our freshman year; therefore, I knew where this conversation was headed. So, I sucked down the rest of my drink, hoping the gin would make this talk a little less painful, and set the empty on the table in front of the chair.

“But there aren’t enough hours in a day to make that happen. You know I’m drowning as it is.”

She looked away, and I could tell she was annoyed, which was what happened every time we talked about my lack of a dating life, but when her stare returned, it appeared like her entire attitude had changed. In fact, it was like the lotto had just put the fattest check in her hands, and she was gawking at all the zeros.

“Don’t look. But,oh my God, Beck Weston is literally staring you down.”

“Beck Weston?” That name needed no explanation. Hockey had been a part of my life since my earliest childhood memories. But I still said, “As in the captain of the LA Whales,” because I needed extra confirmation.

“Uh-huh.”

My heart was pounding. “We’re talking about the guy who slaughtered Boston tonight, scoring four out of their five goals?”

“Mmhmm.” Her eyes were as big as they could get. “And he’s, like,staring, staring at you. Not just looking. I’m talking full-on ogling.”

The nervousness that had been in my chest—the feeling that came whenever I had more work than I knew what to do with and I was trying to figure out how to balance fun and school and my job and failing miserably at all of it—moved to my stomach. “Why?”

She held on to my shoulder and shook it. “What do you mean, why? Because you’re the hottest thing to ever walk the planet. That’s why.”

“Stop.”

“You know it’s true—wait, I take that back. You don’t know it’s true.” Her hand stilled. “My mission in life is to make you one day realize it’s true.”

“Ginger,” I groaned.

“We can fight about this later. The important thing right now is Beck.” She waved her hand in front of her face. “I can’t even believe we’re breathing the same air as him. I’m trying to keep my cool, but I’m fangirling so hard that I can’t stop talking.” She jumped a little. “And he’s still looking at you, girl. Like, he hasn’t even noticed me checking him out because he’s too focused on you.”

The truth was, I couldn’t believe Beck Weston—a multiple Stanley Cup winner, highest-scoring left wing in the league—was in this bar either.

But my reaction to things was much different from my best friend’s.

“Where is he?” I asked.

“It doesn’t matter where he is. You can’t look at him. You have to keep your eyes on me and play it cool.”

“Why? It’s not like anything is going to happen. For one, he may be staring, but he’d never be interested, not when he could get any woman in this state—or New England, for that matter—to have sex with him. And two, even if he were interested—which, let me emphasize again, would be so far-fetched—I’dnever do it. I’m not thesleeping aroundtype—you know that. I’m practically allergic to the whole concept.”

“Hold on a second. You’re telling me you wouldn’t?” First, she raised her brows, and as they lowered, she snorted. “Girl, are you high? I don’t care what you say, you so would.”

I couldn’t even put my brain there. The idea was that incomprehensible.